Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are many ideas about how the earth came to be. The author’s thoughts differ from my own, and as long as one of us is right, it shall be okay. For now, I take you to the garden of eden, where the angel Hannibal stands, and the demon Graham is soon approaching.

The garden of Eden stood proud amongst the desert, encased in heavy sandstone that no human could move. Two figures stood atop it, seemingly watching two people leave the walls. The sun was beating off of their dark skin, and it seemed to bother the man more than the flaming sword he was holding. Graham may have noticed this if he wasn’t studying Hannibal like art that had not yet been invented.

Graham broke the silence, his dark wings casting twin shadows to the ones being cast by the angel. It was funny, to him, that there was no difference in the two’s shadows. “You’re welcome, by the way. That was getting very boring.”

“I am not going to thank you for leading those two into temptation.” Hannibal answered stiffly, watching the pair like a hawk. “Eve is expecting. She should not travel.”

“Go protect ‘em, if that’s what you want. Use that big flaming sword, even.” He replied jovially, as if he hadn’t just created original sin. In his defence, it was all getting a bit too domestic. Graham studied the entirety of him, then, and not just the curves of his face. “Where is your sword?”

Hannibal didn’t answer. Graham looked out to the humans, scoffing. “You gave the humans the flaming sword? Big boss up there sign off on that, did she?”

The angel blushed a deep red, and Graham decided that it’s just like an angel to have the complexion of a cherub. Not that he was complaining - it was very useful that the angel was pretty, because he could be annoying beyond all reason. Hannibal ducked his head, looking at the sandstone beneath their feet. “She is expecting, Graham.”

“They would’ve figured it out.” He shrugged, watching as they disappeared into the distance. “When do you think it’ll go wrong, then?”

“Whenever I stop doing my job well.” The angel answered with a proud grin, making Graham groan audibly. Rain began to spot, falling on the sandstone and turning it a beige colour - it did not fall on Will’s head, finding himself covered by comforting shade in the shape of a wing.

As the world developed, so did they. They had frequent meetings, often ordered to thwart the other’s attempt at tipping the balance in their favour. It almost made Will want to cause chaos - to see Hannibal desperately try and pick up the pieces, to see the flush of his cheeks. There was a difference, though, between causing chaos at his own accord, and being asked to be a glorified delivery driver.

This did not mean he couldn’t have fun with it, of course. Will drove a black chevy, as elegant as it was boisterous. He’d grown fond of the music the humans made, how quick they were to damn God. It made for a beautiful, angry sound, and Will had no reason to stop himself from turning the music up. 

Waiting for him was the demon Hastor, and a cronie of his that was far younger than Will. Accompanying the two was a wicker basket, and if you didn’t look inside it, you would have no idea that the antichrist was inside, for she was sleeping soundly. 

Will slammed his car door, walking out towards the three. The boots on his feet made heavy thuds, and the gentle swish of material from his flannel over his t-shirt did nothing to soften the annoyance he was carrying on his shoulders. “Right, where is it then.” Will asked, avoiding as much interaction as possible - he hated demons more than anyone, perhaps especially because they were like him, and not despite it.

He caught eyes with the wicker basket on the floor, picking it up and looking the baby in the eyes. “Looks normal. Where am I taking it?”

“You’re late, Graham.” Hestor grumbled, unsettled by his nonchalance, watching as Will held the wicker basket as if all that was in it was some cucumber sandwiches. 

“Here, aren’t I?” He shrugged, eyes meeting the antichrist’s once again. “Looks a bit too nice for the antichrist.”

“..The chattering order of nuns at saint beryl’s will take her, and swap her with the baby of the democrat. Over the next 18 years, you will make sure that you follow her behaviour, and steer her towards evil.” Hestor was practically frothing at the mouth at the importance of the job, and Will thought absentmindedly that he needed to get out more. 

Will nodded, looking at the two demons. “That’s it, then? Surely you can just call an uber for it and just send me an email about the whole babysitting thing.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.” He brushed it off, carrying the basket in one hand as he slinked back to his chevy. As soon as they got into the truck, antichrist beside him in the passenger seat, she began to wail at the loud noise.

He looked over at her, turning the music off as they turned out of the clearing and onto an actual road. “You know, if you’re going to be the antichrist, you should probably get used to it. Lots of screaming in Hell - it’s not nice, either, my friend would hate it. You probably would too.”

The drive continued in silence, and Will reckoned they had an hour to kill. “Now, I know you’re new to the earth. Angel, he likes food. I don’t really care about it. You probably need it.” The baby looked at him from her basket, taking in every word. “Music, on the other hand. I have a collection of vinyl. When I go down for something stupid and they feed me to some beast, you can have it, I guess.”

By the end of the hour, Will was pulling up to the hospital, and he felt almost regretful about it. The antichrist had listened to him, and was stocked up on enough recommendations to last her life. However long that was. Judging by what had been the longevity of Christ’s life, he couldn’t hope for much more for the antichrist. It was a shame, too, because they had the same colour eyes, and he’d… he’d grown slightly attached. He supposed it was because the antichrist couldn’t talk back.

He handed her off to some dithering nurse who made some offhand comment about her ‘toesie-woesies’ - he had half a mind to take her back, only he might actually die for that. He had another plan, anyway. One that would require a miracle.

“Hello,” Hannibal answered straight away, even though Will was calling from a postbox. It was that degree of kindness that had always gotten the angel in trouble. “Who is this, may I ask?”

Will cleared his throat, hiding his relief at hearing his voice. It had been too long, maybe thirty or so years. “Hey, angel. You free?” 

“Will!” His response was involuntary and joyous - enough to make a demon smile, which it did. “Will.” Hannibal repeated, controlling his tone. “Is everything okay?”

“I have just done something I wish I hadn’t.”

“It was probably the right thing to do, then. Nevermind, my address is 7 Guild Street, Camden.” Hannibal replied, having stated a hundred or so years ago that the only devilish activity he would take part in would be teasing Will. It seemed fair, as Will had caused him multiple grievances over the years.

One of the few good things about being a demon was that he could manipulate most aspects of the world, including the speed of his car. He was knocking on the dark oak door of Hannibal’s home within an hour and a half, feeling awfully stupid for the concern he was feeling about how he was dressed. Hannibal had always been well put together, carrying himself with an air of grace that no-one could ever replicate. He’d seen them try, and it was a fruitless attempt.

It opened, and Will was taken aback by how sharp he looked. He was used to Hannibal, the angel, who wore slacks and jumpers whenever possible. The years had changed him, he supposed. Will had changed too, finding rebellion in dirty boots and soft textured fabric. Looking so sharp as an angel was its own form of rebellion, he supposed.

“Will, please come in.” He smiled, stepping back so that Will could enter. The first thing that struck him was the dark oak furnishings of the house, the elegant darkness that seemed to surround him as he looked around the foyer. He saw himself, and wondered if the angel had truly missed him that much. “What is it that you have done?”

He turned to look at the angel again, finding his heart somewhere in his throat, which was not generally where he preferred it. Will had tried to rationalize the way Hannibal made him feel - they were the only deities they knew, of course they’d have a better understanding of each other than anyone else.

“I may have delivered the antichrist.” Will blurted. Hannibal always made him say the truth - not on purpose, he would be able to feel it if it was. It was something more like pure trust. If anyone was going to turn him in, it would never be Hannibal. “Not.. delivered, but. In my car. To the nuns.”

“Nuns?” Hannibal asked, guiding him to the sitting room. A small fire was crackling in the hearth, and Will revelled in the warmth. “Will,”

“Satanic nuns, Hannibal.” He rolled his eyes a little, sitting on the sofa. “It took me an hour to get her to the hospital.”

“Did she look healthy?” He asked softly, sitting next to him. Will watched as his suit followed every contortion of his body, only half listening to what he was saying. “I know she’s the antichrist, but.. She’s a baby. You didn’t play her your music, did you? Poor thing.”

“She hates my music, you’d get on very well.” Will ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “We have 18 years, angel.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised slightly, which was an alarming facial expression for him. “What do you mean?”

“The antichrist. She’s going to turn 18, and then she’s going to end the world.” Will explained, his tone bitter and patronising. “What did you think the antichrist was going to do?”

“What’s to be done about that? We cannot halt the divine plan, Will. We are not gods.” He reminded him, handing him a glass of wine. “Do we truly have 18 years left?”

“Of earth, yes.” He nodded, taking the wine and knocking it back in a way that Hannibal hated. “No more nice little artisan bakeries.” Will hummed, “No more rock music.”

Hannibal looked paler than usual, and didn’t even mention the way Will drank the expensive wine. “What do you think will be next, Will?” He asked, tone sober.

He shrugged softly. “Nothing to do with us, angel.” Will looked over at Hannibal, who was in a state of mild distress. “Unless armageddon never happens, that is."

“You’ve missed me.” Hannibal sighed softly, a smile on his face. “You wouldn’t try to manipulate me so obviously unless you had something blurring your senses.”

“Taken up psychology, have you, angel?” It was true - Will was trying to manipulate him, and Will had missed him. Missing Hannibal was the worst kind of ache, like being stabbed. The knife had been taken out once he’d heard his voice over the receiver, and now he was bleeding out.

“Psychiatry. What would you have me do, Will? Tell me.” He asked, refilling their glasses. “It’s been a while since I’ve been manipulated by such a divine being. Thirty years exactly.”

“I want you to make the antichrist not evil.” He knocked back another glass as soon as it was full. 

“You’re not ready to give this up either.” It wasn’t a question, Hannibal knew him too well. His voice still sounded soft with shock as he said it.

Will looked over at him, the emotions all too much for a demon. “We haven’t had enough time yet, angel.”

----

When Will woke up, there was light pouring into the room, blades of pale yellow covering the bed. Sunlight didn’t cover Will - Will covered sunlight. Except here, he realised. Which is how he came to the jarring realisation that he was in the bed of none other than Hannibal, and that he was alone.

Something vile stirred in his stomach, and he wondered if it was because they hadn’t sobered before falling into bed. Then he heard the voice of the angel Gabriel downstairs. That would explain the immense feeling to commit a crime. He was wired to sniff out angels, as a defence mechanism. If they were close, he had more chance of being exposed and doused in holy water.

He waited with bated breath, hoping to God - not that she’d helped him before - that the angel downstairs had suddenly become excellent at lying. He had mentioned psychiatry the night before, and could only hope it translated into being able to mask emotions. Will hated getting up early, unless it was to fish. He was beginning to think that he might not get the chance to fish again if he didn’t get dressed and find a way out.

Pulling on his jeans, Will tried to listen closely to what was occurring downstairs. He heard footsteps quickly approaching, and panicked. Which is exactly how he watched Hannibal walk into the room, confused at the lack of Will. If he should want to find Will, of course, he would only have to look at the ceiling. 

“Dear Will?” Hannibal asked softly, clearly trying to sniff him out. “Gabriel has left. You can come out. If I had known that he was going to come, I would have let you know.” His tone was apologetic, as it often was - only, not to Will. This was because Will was often late, and unbearably rude. It was a wonder that the angel put up with him at all. 

“Up here.” Will coughed, lowering himself. “Why was he here? Not in trouble, are you, angel?” He teased, fixing his clothes as he readjusted himself. 

Hannibal chuckled, rolling his eyes and drawing closer. His careful hands went to Will’s collar, fixing it. “I know you are a demon, but there is no reason to look unkempt. The angel Gabriel wants me to monitor your attempts to make the antichrist not evil.”

“See, not even breaking any rules, are you?” He hummed, feeling his angel’s presence as he got his clothes made acceptable. “The child is the daughter of an american democrat.”

“An american democrat? That’s ghastly.” He sighed, his own clothes straight as a pin. “Strange, that God should make the antichrist a girl.”

“What makes you say that?” He asked, confused. 

“Well, women in society are raised to be accommodating and nurturing - they are forced to ignore their own anger and pain to make others comfortable. The antichrist will have to have none of that if she’s going to, well.. Be the antichrist. Maybe it’s part of the plan. That I’ll be able to save her, as it were.”

Will sighed, a gentle hand on Hannibal’s side, grounding himself more than anything. “Or, angel, society will cause her to grow resentful of the world. If she doesn’t feel like it has anything to offer her, then why should she think twice about destroying it?”

“You’re doing it again.” Hannibal warned softly, “You need to stop getting in others’ heads, mylimasis. It seems you are more yourself than ever, it would be a shame to see that change. If we are to do this, I need you.”

There it was. The painful truth, the reason they were scared of it all ending. They needed each other. They needed more time, having spent the past centuries in stupid spats and juvenile fights that Will had never regretted more. 

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice called softly, a hand on the back of his neck. That seemed to draw him back, out of wherever his brain had slipped. “Whose head are you in?”

“Someone’s.” He muttered, shaking his head slightly, bright blue eyes finally looking like they belonged to a living person. “We need to have a plan. Am I meant to know that you’re babysitting me?”

“Dear Will, I’d hate for you to see it like that.” Hannibal hummed, endlessly entertained by the rudeness that Will had never been able to change. “See it as an excuse. I can cook for you again, we can go out. Perhaps it would be a good idea for us to live together, for the purposes of our mission.”

“Demons don’t knock, angel. They’d find you without any issue.” Will’s tone soured at the thought. “And unless you want to know what hellfire is like, I don’t recommend meeting them.”

Hannibal smiled, “You look so pretty when you’re concerned for me. We shall live separately, then. Unless…”

“Unless?” Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me mull it over. Breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen, I had forgotten how much you adored a late morning. I have an appointment in half an hour, regretfully.” The angel sighed, looking out of the window. 

“Psychiatry.” Will hummed it over. “I took a psychology degree not so long ago. Before my taxidermy degree.”

Hannibal gave him a bemused smile that he was sure was reserved for Will only. “Taxidermy?”

Will shrugged, pulling on his boots. “Demons get bored too. Preferred it to torturing the innocent. Suppose you’ve taken up undoing what I should be doing, as always.”

“You haven’t done anything bad for quite some time, Will. Humans are much more evil. Monsters, some of them. Rude as anything.” Hannibal sighed, distaste flavouring his speech. “I have taken it upon myself to correct that for quite some time.”

He didn’t think much further into Hannibal’s ways of correction.

“When can I see you again?” He asked, “I think we have about six months before the democrats start looking for a nanny.”

“Six months before we become godparents. I should think that the smartest idea is to use these six months to our advantage. I shall see you Saturday night, dear Will. It has been too long since I have sketched your face - I was beginning to lose the ability to draw you from memory, and what a shame that would have been.” The angel never faltered, making even the boldest declarations of love and adoration sound smooth and practiced. Will, however, did not possess this quality.

Will had left Hannibal’s home half an hour later, leaving through the patient’s exit as to make him look like an early appointment. He supposed he was, in some way. A man sat in the waiting area, and Will was overtaken with jealousy that this man should be able to spend time with Hannibal when he had to keep such a distance.

“Where have you been?” Called the demon Hastor, “Been waiting here for ages, you’re late to your own home.”

“Can’t be late, then.” Will shrugged, resting his legs over the of the chair. He was past caring for what the other demons thought of him. “What do you want, Hastor? Apart from severe facial reconstruction.”

“We’ve received intel that an angel will be trying to correct the antichrist.” Hastor grumbled, his voice invoking the feeling of stepping on Legos. It was hard to go back to the rough way demons spoke when you’d spent the night in the arms of the most well spoken creature God had ever had the pleasure of making. “We need you to find out what the angel is planning. Get close to him - angels are stupid, he won’t notice.”

“Right.” He groaned, rolling his shoulders back as his hand went to run through his hair. “Who’s this angel.”

“He calls himself Hannibal.” 

Chapter Text

“Thank you so much, Will.” The mother of the democrat beamed, pulling on her coat. The baby girl, Eve, was only nine months old, and Will held her like she was fine china. “The new gardener is coming today, his name is Hannibal. Please show him around and make sure he doesn’t do anything.. Untoward.” She grinned, stepping forward again to kiss the top of Eve’s head before leaving. “Bye! See you both later.”

“I’ll see you later, Alana.” Will smiled, Eve reaching for his curls. Eve Verger-Bloom had dark curls like her mother, but Will could see the fierce tenacity of her other mother coming through with every coming day. Today, Will didn’t need to fake any smiles when it came to interacting with people. Hannibal was arriving.

Will hummed softly, walking around the house with Eve in his arms. “Today, Eve, you will meet a very nice gardener. Nicer than I am. He won’t be fond of how I’ve been raising you.” He hummed, walking up the stairs and into the quaint little nursery. Eve would need more clothes if they were going to spend the day outside - which is what Will was planning. He took a delicate cotton hat and some shoes from the nursery, balancing Eve on his hip before sitting on the floor to dress her.

“For the antichrist, you’re very agreeable.” He sighed, putting her shoes on her. “I hope I’m doing the right thing, Eve. You’re not evil at all. I can tell when someone is - Hannibal is like you, so full of light.”

He didn’t know at what point Hannibal would arrive - he assumed it would be soon, seeing as he had told him what time that Will would be the responsible adult of the house. Will tried to brush it off, milling about the house as he tried to prepare as much as was necessary for a day in the large garden. 

By half past ten, Will and Eve were settled on a blanket in the garden, the sun soaking into their skin. Will couldn’t really feel it all that much, but he knew it was good for the baby, so he did it all the same. Then, a man in the most formal gardening attire ever seen knocked on the door.

“Over here!” Will called with a wave, causing Eve to turn her head, gurgling a little. She was excited by new people. Nothing like Will at all. 

Hannibal walked over, a small smile on his face. Will didn’t want to admit how much seeing him made his heart swell. “Will, how nice to see you in the light. You look positively exquisite. And this is little Eve? She looks nothing like her namesake, but I will care for her all the same, I suppose. May I hold her?”

Will couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Hannibal’s kind words, carefully handing over Eve. “Try not to give her a flaming sword, Hannibal.”

Hannibal wasn’t listening, however. His attention was on the child in his arms, who was reaching up to grip his nose. “She’s a gorgeous little thing. I trust the parents are nice enough? I have only met the mother.”

“Two mothers.” Will replied. “Margot and Alana Verger-Bloom. Very nice, actually. Strange pick, for the antichrist.” He took Eve back into his arms as Hannibal handed her back over - she instantly latched onto him, having become quite attached. “Margot is a democrat, and Alana works as a psychologist.”

“When did she start practicing?” He asked, beginning to examine the flowerbeds. “I hope our cover isn’t blown so soon.”

“Recently. She’s quite young, they both are.” Will lay down on the blanket, resting Eve on his chest. “She didn’t recognise your name.”

He nodded, beginning to work on the beds. “What have you been teaching Eve? Nothing too bad, I hope?”

“I can’t bring myself to.” He admitted, fixing Eve’s hat over her ears. “She’s going to make a terrible antichrist. Which is what we wanted, I suppose… There’s just no darkness within her.” Will sighed, guilt welling up inside him, beginning to snowball. “None at all, is there, Eve?”

“You sound so remorseful about making my life easier, dear Will.” Hannibal laughed, picking up a trowel and beginning to work. “Does Alana ask much of you as Eve’s carer?”

“No, not really. Just that she is well fed and that I care for her as my own. Anything else is a bonus.”

Hannibal hummed in thought, “Perhaps God has decided to give us some time off.”

“I hope not. That implies that it’s going to get harder.” He laughed, sitting up, repositioning Eve to sit in his lap, her back against his chest, endlessly enraptured by daisies. 

They spent the rest of the day in the garden, and Will had to remind himself that the child was not theirs at the end of the day. “Well, someone’s been having fun!” Alana beamed, walking into her own back garden. “I got the rest of the day off, the academy was shut down. B-o-m-b threat.” She spelled out the word as she walked towards Will, taking her heels off once she got to the grass. 

Will smiled at her, welcoming her onto the blanket. “I didn’t think there was much sense in keeping her inside. Sunlight’s good. Vitamin D.” He explained, looking over at Hannibal. “That, and the company.”

Hannibal took his gardening gloves off, getting up from where he had been knelt by the gardenias, tending to them lovingly. He walked over, shaking Alana’s hand. “Mrs Verger-Bloom. Will sings your praises.”

Alana shook his hand, then welcomed her child back into her arms. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Hannibal. My wife tends to do most of the hiring - except for Will, of course. I did all the background checks I could, and a psych eval. I can’t say I’ve ever met a nanny I’d trust more with Eve. What made you take up gardening, Hannibal? I did some research, I saw that up until about six months ago, you were a practicing psychiatrist.”

“You are very thorough, Mrs Bloom-Verger.” Hannibal complimented. “Healthcare professions are causes of great stress. I would be a terrible psychiatrist if I couldn’t recognise when something was simply unhealthy for me. Gardening does not cause such stress.”

“Call me Alana, please. My wife is Mrs Bloom-Verger.” Alana pulled one of Eve’s socks up absentmindedly. “I teach Psychology at the local college. I could never practice, I care too much. I think it requires a disconnect.” She mused, her hair blowing wild in the wind. 

“Right again, Alana. It is a shame you never practiced, I think you would have been truly something special in the field.” Hannibal sighed, sitting down next to Will. “Having spoken to Will for quite some time, I can assure you, Eve is in the most nurturing of hands.”

Alana’s eyebrow quirked. “You know each other?”

Hannibal and Will looked at each other for a second, Will breaking the silence. “I suggested the gardening job to Hannibal when you mentioned it. I know you’re selective of who interacts with Eve, and I wouldn’t let her be around someone in my care that I didn’t trust.”

“Well, that makes my Eve an incredibly lucky girl. You two should come for dinner with us - I promise my wife isn’t as severe as she presents herself.” Alana promised, “She’s just got walls.”

“We all have walls, Alana. Please do not apologise for your wife, she has not done anything yet.” Hannibal smiled, “Unfortunately, I believe the time for gardening has passed, and I must go. I will be back tomorrow, it has been a pleasure to meet you, Alana, Eve. And a joy to see you again, Will.”

Will watched wistfully as Hannibal left with the setting sun, packing up Eve’s blanket and various toys they’d bought outside with them. 

“You should have said that you have a partner.” Alana scolded lightly, holding the conservatory door open for him, Eve on her hip. “I would have invited him to dinner if I had known that was why you had declined our invitation.”

“I’m not good with.. People, Alana.” He admitted, tidying up the belongings once they were back inside. “Hannibal is much more well spoken.” 

Alana nodded, “And he admires you.” She sat down in the living room, welcoming Will to sit with her. Most of his shifts ended like this - he found comfort within their quiet friendship. “I had been concerned when I first saw him, he was looking at you like he had never seen anything like you. If I hadn’t known you were.. Whatever you are, it’s not my place to pry, I would have fired him.”

“You mean a lot to my daughter, Will, and you’re basically family. I won’t have you feeling uncomfortable whilst caring for her.” She explained, her eyes looking into his. Normally, people who said such caring things about Will only meant it because they felt he was pathetic, something that needed caring for. Alana didn’t feel that way, and it was clear. She cared, even if she had a tendency to overstep. “I think that seeing a healthy relationship other than mine and Margot’s could be good for Eve. Outside of you, she doesn’t see any men. Which, of course, is what Margot would prefer, but it’s important not to project.” 

Will nodded, reading heavily in between the lines. “Whatever made Margot so wary of men, I promise, won’t happen to Eve under my care. I… I have seen all types of men. Hannibal is the only one I trust. He’s entirely selfless and gentle.”

“Very angelic, isn’t he? Like he has a glow. Maybe it was just the sunlight.” Alana commented offhandedly, gently getting the dirt from underneath Eve’s fingernails as she spoke. 

“He’s an angel.” Will told her, “Is there anything you want doing before I go? I’ve done the washing, it’s in the dryer.” 

Alana shook her head, standing up. “No, no. Go get some rest, Will. We’ll see you and Hannibal tomorrow. Stay safe.” She kissed his cheek, embracing him and letting Eve wrap her arms around his neck in as much of a hug as a toddler could perform.

Hannibal, however, was not having such a pleasant start to his evening. The angel Gabriel interrupted his grocery shopping, following him around the store. He wished he could be rude and snappy like Will, only that would cause suspicion. In Will, it was simply part of his charm. It was his first time having to shop for meat in a while, and he wanted to be able to pick it to the best of his abilities.

“How is the antichrist?” He asked, following Hannibal like a lost pup despite his imposing frame. 

“I am managing to refute Graham’s attempts at making the child evil, Gabriel.” Hannibal answered, being as polite as was possible when tempted to add more meat to the meat counter, free of charge. “I have been hired as the gardener, and have influence over the child.”

“You’ve always been one of our best, Hannibal.” He praised, clapping his shoulder. “We just don’t want you to take it too hard when you fail.”

It was the first interesting thing that Gabriel had said in over a thousand years. Hannibal turned to him, looking into his unblinking eyes, his imposing frame bathed in white fluorescent light that is only appropriate in supermarkets. “Why do you believe I’ll fail, Gabriel?”

“Well, Graham is one of the most evil demons they’ve got, and it’s the antichrist. I know you’re good, Hannibal, but this is more.. Damage control, than preventing the entire thing.” Gabriel explained. “I mean, Graham was one of the first. Did you know he led Eve and Adam into temptation? Incredible, the way her brain works. Anyway, glad to hear it’s going well. I’ll leave you to buy.. Whatever that is.”

He was being set up to fail.

Hannibal was a smart man, and he couldn’t quite believe he’d been led so blindly. He needed to call Will. He was being set up to fail, but he wasn’t going to. Will was the worst demon alive.

“Fuck.” Will groaned, upon hearing the news. “They couldn’t have picked anyone else to make her evil? She’s like..”

“Your daughter, yes.” He nodded, watching as Will paced in his foyer. “Surely she should grow into her inhumanity. I don’t know how demons work.”

“She’s not a demon, she’s human.” Will refuted, “These are a demon’s natural eyes.” He closed his eyes for a second, revealing amber snake eyes to Hannibal. They made Hannibal weak in the knees. 

Hannibal drew closer, all angelic intenion out of the window. A gentle hand reached to cup his face, thumb running along the top of his cheekbone. “Why would you hide these from me?”

Will laughed, shaking his head. “Snake eyes, Hannibal. Hardly attractive.”

“Incredibly beautiful. Will you allow me to sketch them?” He asked, looking into Will’s eyes.

He buried his head in Hannibal’s neck, laughing to himself. “I can’t deny you anything. Ineffable man.”

“Hardly a man at all.” He corrected, hand shifting to the back of Will’s neck, just holding him. “What’s to be done about this?”

“We’ll just have to see.” Will hummed, “I want Eve to grow up happy. I want Alana and Margot to have the daughter they want.”

“And what daughter would that be, mylimasis? It is unreasonable to expect things from her when she is only a child.” Hannibal warned softly.

“I don’t think not ending the world is a tall ask, Hannibal.” Will scolded, pulling back to walk into the kitchen. “She’s not evil. I know evil.”

Hannibal sighed, gentle hands reaching Will’s shoulders. “Come sit in the lounge. You’re carrying too much tension in your shoulders again. Please, let me calm you.” He hummed, leading him into the living room where the fire was crackling. It had been recently stoked, and was bathing the room in a warm hue. 

Will followed him, sitting beside the fire as Hannibal settled behind him. “I normally can’t stand the smell of angels.” He sighed, feeling Hannibal work his hands into the knots in his back.

“You don’t seem to mind the smell of me.” He remarked, a hint of pride in his voice at being the only angel he could stand to be around. “Tell me, what makes me so different, Will?” Hannibal pressed.

He laughed, watching the fire. “What doesn’t, angel? I’ve never been able to separate myself from you.” Will reminded him, “Even in the garden, when I found out you’d given your sword to Eve.”

“I can’t help but feel we will be changing her life another time.” He sighed. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t have tempted her?”

“They would have remained there, and they wouldn’t have had to survive, or adapt.” He explained, voice quiet as Hannibal massaged his back. “We wouldn’t have art or music that wasn’t about God. You wouldn’t have spoken to me.”

“Cunning, dear Will.” Hannibal gently pried his shirt off of him, Will complying easily. There was nothing sexual about it, their relationship had somehow transcended that kind of intimacy. “You’re extremely good with Eve. A shame, that you weren’t born a human, yet I am eternally grateful for it.”

Will nodded, feeling remorse for his chances of fatherhood himself. “Alana and Margot want us to go for dinner at theirs.” He told him, “I think it would be good, and I wouldn’t deprive you of an opportunity to dress up.”

A deep chuckle rumbled through Will’s back, Hannibal’s head resting in between his shoulder blades. “You know me entirely too well, mylimasis. Do you have any suits?”

“I avoid them if I can. They make me look.. Demon-y.” He groaned, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t want to look like that. It makes you look good. I think it would just look.. Wrong. I don’t like being reminded of it.”

Hannibal nodded, pressing a kiss to his exposed shoulder. “Just dress pants and a shirt, then. Nothing too formal.” 

Will turned his head to look at Hannibal with a half-smile. “I thought that was going to be harder.”

“I would never push you to the point of discomfort if I didn’t truly believe it was for the best.” Hannibal reassured him, getting up and pouring a glass of wine. “There is absolutely nothing to be gained from you being forced to look a way that makes you uncomfortable.” 

Will watched him move through the room, practically gliding as he travelled in smooth movements. He realised that there was very little he’d deny Hannibal, if he only asked. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I will be satisfied with the time I’ve had.” Hannibal answered simply, sitting in front of him on the antique rug, handing him a glass. “Will you, Will?”

He shook his head, “No. No, not if it ends now. There’s something. I’m missing something.” Will admitted, panic overtaking his body. “I need to stay.”

Hannibal simply nodded, wrapping his arms around him. “There is no need to panic, Will. We have little over sixteen years.”

“You’re not worried?” He asked, “Hannibal, do you even realise what could happen to you if they find out that we’re not mortal enemies?”

“Immortal enemies.” Hannibal corrected with a smirk. 

Will swatted him on the shoulder, rolling his eyes as he let out a chuckle. “Won’t be immortal if hellfire gets you, angel.”

“There is no use worrying about it now.” He sighed, sipping his wine. “Truly, you stress too much. We should take the Verger-Blooms wine when we dine with them. I have done research into the two in your absence-”

“Stalker.” Will butted in, more than happy to taunt him.

“I have done research into the two, as I was saying.” Hannibal rolled his eyes, attempting to look even mildly exasperated with Will. “And I have reason to believe that it may be in Eve’s best interest that I take some evil out of the world.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hannibal, I knew you’d changed since we met initially, but murder?” 

“I am taking evil out of the world. It is not murder if he is not a person. Which he is not. He is a pig.” Hannibal explained with a shrug. “I had thought that you would be more on board with this, Will.”

“You thought I’d be on board with fucking murder? Of a man who I’ve never met?” Will asked, outraged. “Hannibal, fucking hell.”

“I see I have caused you more stress, mylimasis.” Hannibal sighed, as if suggesting he muder someone was supposed to elicit any other reaction. “It was not my intention. I had forgotten how much you treasured humans, forgive me.”

Will looked at him, heat behind his eyes. “You can’t just kill people because you don’t like them.”

Hannibal didn’t seem to completely comprehend that, but pretended to. “It is my job to make sure that evil doesn’t prevail. There is someone close to Margot that has hurt her, and could potentially hurt Eve. Are you telling me you wouldn’t?”

Will didn’t like what his answer would be if he opened his mouth, so he finished off his glass of wine. 

Chapter Text

Hell, as expected, was not a nice place. The idea of flames and flogging, though, was entirely too exciting to be the truth. Every surface was a shade of grey only found in the prisons of England, a shade picked to bore the prisoner into submission. After all, with no stimulus, what inspiration could you have? To put it plainly, Hell was as boring as an office block, only instead of underpaid, overworked twenty-somethings, there were mindless demons who were of the opinion that they had freedom in their badness.

Today, a day before Eve Verger-Bloom’s sixteenth birthday, the demons of hell were gaining a glimpse at the hellhound that the antichrist was going to receive as a present from her real parent. Demons crowded around the cement-toned room, watching through the bars in the door with rapt attention. 

The hellhound was hideous, muscle mass and teeth. There was nothing about it that a normal teenage girl could love. Hestor grumbled his way to the front of the horde, grabbing a demon by the scruff of the neck as he went. The cement door swung open, and the demon was thrown inside. The hellhound’s teeth closed before the door, and the rest of the demons were covered in a spray of whatever had escaped the hound’s mouth.

Meanwhile on earth, the Verger-Blooms were planning a very important party. Eve Verger-Bloom had no interest in a dog, much to her mothers’ delight. Abigail Hobbs had all the interest in the world in a dog, much to her father’s dismay. Funny, how things should work out.

“A hellhound?” Hannibal asked, hoping that Will had accidentally said Hellhound when he meant absolutely anything else. “Eve wants a car. She can’t have a hellhound.”

Will nodded, sucking in a breath. “Yeah. We’ll just have to stick with her tomorrow. Hope the dog finds someone else. But he won’t. We’ve hitched our posts to the fucking antichrist, Hannibal.”

“We have dedicated sixteen years to a girl that we adore, and given her the chance to express all of her wants and needs, Will. We knew how this might turn out.” Hannibal reminded him as they walked down the path of the park towards Alana and Margot.  

Over the sixteen years, the two had become something of paternal role models to Eve. They had become quite fond of Margot and Alana, too. He normally avoided emotional bonds with those who weren’t of a similar mortality status to his own, because that would mean outliving them. With the current state of the world, he was willing to risk it.

“Will, Hannibal!” Alana beamed, hugging them both, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. Margot smiled warmly at them, and that was the equivalent of what Alana had done. She avoided contact with men due to her trauma, and neither of them would ever challenge that. Will was satisfied with the amount of affection he got from other sources. 

“Hello, you both look radiant as ever. Will and I were just discussing Eve’s birthday present.” Hannibal smiled, “Thank you, again, for getting her measurements for us without letting her know. It’s important for any young person to have at least one good suit.”

Will rolled his eyes, linking his arm in Hannibal’s, “As you can tell, I had absolutely no say in the matter. Hannibal’s tailor does some exemplary work.”

“And he has my daughter’s measurements?” Margot asked, skeptical. They began to walk the length of the pond, Alana dropping back a little to walk alongside Will, Hannibal stepping forward to talk to Margot.

“She is one of the very few people I trust with my appearance, and has made pieces for Will before. Believe me, Margot, I would not have done it if I had even the slightest belief that she had any intention other than making Eve a fine suit.” Hannibal explained carefully, “I understand your apprehension, and apologise for making you feel uneasy.”

“They’re so formal.” Alana stage whispered to Will, who laughed. The two were kindred spirits - they cared so much that it made them uncaring, and were so passionate that it could make them harsh. Their lovers, however, were calculated and well thought out. It was good that one had the another, as they would be trainwrecks without their other half. “I can’t believe Eve’s sixteen. You two don’t look like you’ve aged at all.”

There it was - the hardest thing about all of this. Hiding such a big part of your life from people you loved so dearly. It tore Will up some nights. He smiled, looking at the slight grey of Hannibal’s hair. “We’re aging. Just slowly.”

Alana grinned, wrapping an arm around Will. “Thank you for looking after Eve for so long. Suppose she doesn’t need a nanny anymore, huh? Fucking hell, sixteen.”

“This is the nicest way I’ve ever been fired, Alana.” He teased, running a hand through his hair. “As long as we’re still allowed to be her weird uncles, I’ll try not to be too much of a bitch about it.” 

She rolled her eyes, “You know she wouldn’t let us separate you from her. Girl’s fiercer than her mother, god help you.”

God, ironically, was the one who had put them in this position. 

Hannibal snorted a laugh at something Margot had said, and for a moment, Will could be at peace with the moments he was being granted. He would remember this as he was forced into a tank of holy water - the spring air encompassing him, Hannibal’s etiquette and poise completely out of the window when he was in the company of truly good friends. Family.

That night was one of cold sweats and twisting in sheets - stress and worry had completely encompassed Will, and the lack of stress in Hannibal was only making him more concerned. He woke with a start, standing in the middle of their garden. They had moved in together some years ago, and were yet to be caught.

He could hear Hannibal calling his name softly from the little porch they had, finally bringing him back to himself. Mud coated his feet, the garden had experienced april showers only days before. Hannibal pretended not to notice, but guided him into the house without letting his feet touch any carpeted surfaces.

“You’re going to worry yourself to illness.” Hannibal scolded gently, taking a flannel to Will’s skin. “I wish you would simply tell me what was happening, Mylimasis.” He sighed.

“Eve gets her hellhound tomorrow. The start of the apocalypse is tomorrow.” He reminded him, “We’re going to see Eve change, we’re going to have to comfort Alana and Margot when their daughter doesn’t go to college for law, but decides to end the fucking world.” Will stressed, his hands moving frantically as he explained, tears brimming at his eyes. “I can’t take it, Hannibal. Please. Please.” He didn’t know what he was begging for, but he knew he needed it. He needed freedom.

Hannibal took him in his arms, supporting all of his weight as he sat on the laminate kitchen floor. Will collapsed into him, sobs wracking his body. He’d never felt such grief, not for something that hadn’t happened yet. It was destroying him. 

Will wrapped himself around Hannibal, clinging onto him. It took half an hour for them to move, the moonlight illuminating their pale skin, one flesh as they tried to cope. Hannibal’s gentle hand came to the back of his neck, the other at his waist. “Will, please. Look at me. Breathe with me.”

“Makin’ me do breathing exercises, doctor?” Will asked, still hiccuping sobs, but now sporting a broken, toothy smile. 

Hannibal smiled, his fingers gently combing through the curls at the nape of Will’s neck. “Yes, mylimasis. I am. Please humor me.” He asked softly, pressing their foreheads together. “Come on, breathe with me.”

Will complied, if only to make Hannibal happy. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. With every breath, he grew further into himself, connecting with who he had been before he went to sleep. His breaths, initially, were shattered and shaky. As he continued, his breathing slowed, returning to a normal pace. 

They sat there for a second, just letting themselves calm down. “Are you feeling any better, Will?” Hannibal asked softly, their foreheads still pressed together. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to.”

He took a second, closing his eyes. “I’m okay. Can we go back to bed? Tomorrow is going to be hard.” Will asked, gently pulling himself up, taking Hannibal with him. “You’re cold, angel.” He sighed, a gentle hand on Hannibal’s cheek. “How long was I in the garden?”

“A while. You kept running into the fence.” Hannibal sounded almost bemused by this as they slumped up the stairs. “I will warm up in no time.”

Will turned to him on the landing, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Did you laugh at me running into the fence? Arsehole.”

There was a telling silence, then a gentle roll of laughter as Hannibal wrapped his arms around him. “I have a feeling that you’ll forgive me.” He sighed, pressing Will into the wall. 

“I think you know that I already have, cocky bastard.” Will replied, feeling a gentle kiss being pressed into his jaw in the dark. He held Hannibal tighter, the cold of the house beginning to bite into his fingers and toes. “‘M cold, angel. Means that you’re cold too.” He nudged him in the side, gently guiding him into the room. 

“Does it matter?” Hannibal asked, pressing his nose into the crook of Will’s neck, crowding into him. 

“We will have more time, Hannibal.” He promised, kissing his temple. “But tomorrow, we are going to see our god-daughter and a hellhound. You need your energy, because you will be doing most of the socialising.” Will walked them towards the bedroom as a singular unit, one body walking together in the night. 

Hannibal groaned, pulling them down onto the bed. “It will be okay, Will.” He assured him, pulling the duvet over them with a lazy swoop of his arm. “The sun will always rise. God will always need entertainment, and we are the most dramatic beings of all.”

“You are,” Will countered drowsily.

“I am, and you are my eternal muse.” 

Night turned to day, and the sun rose just as Hannibal had promised. God did need entertainment, just as Hannibal promised. And, as he dressed in his three piece suit, Hannibal continued being the most dramatic being to walk the earth - and he had walked it for a while. Will watched him from the bed, not wanting to leave the comfort of the expensive sheets. The second he got dressed, he would have to confront the reality of his situation. His daughter was going to get her hellhound today.

“You have to get up, dear Will. Eve will not forgive you if you do not, and I’d hate to upset her on her sixteenth birthday.” Hannibal told him, which finally coaxed him from the bed. “Thank you, mylimasis.”

Their attendance was welcomed with open arms, Eve having grown into a delightful but blunt young woman. She looked most like Margot, but there was no mistaking her eyes. She opened the front door, breaking into a grin as she saw the two men who had raised her.

“Will, Hannibal!” She wrapped her arms around them, the same height as Will. “Come in, come in.” Eve ushered, closing the front door. “Mom made me a cake.”

“Margot?” Will asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You think I’d make a cake?” Margot asked, emerging from the living room. “I thought you knew me, Will. I am about as good at being a housewife as I am being sweet or demure. Alana is just getting Eve’s present, she’ll be here in a second.” She placed a gentle hand on Eve’s shoulder, walking past her. 

The rest of the day continued without error, and Will was only growing more and more anxious. They sat in the large garden, Will’s head on Hannibal’s shoulder as they grazed on picnic foods. Eve quirked an eyebrow as she looked at them, biting into a strawberry. 

“How did you two meet? I just realised, I’ve never been told.” She hummed, lying back into Margot’s lap. Her mother accepted the affection easily, her lithe fingers combing through Eve’s brunette hair. 

Will looked up at Hannibal from his shoulder, hoping he could think up a better lie than him. Hannibal sighed wistfully, a hand around Will’s back. “I met Will a little over twenty years ago. He was a young man, about 26 years old. He was stunning, truly. I was about 32. I saw him, and I was simply taken with him, so I asked to sketch him.”

Alana beamed, pouring a glass of lemonade. “I remember your first day, Hannibal. You left, and all Will could talk about was you.” She reminisced, “Thank you both for being so good to Eve. You really are family.”

Margot looked over, hand lightly scratching Eve’s scalp. “You’re the two men I find tolerable.”

“Love you too, Margot.” Will laughed, blushing lightly at the talk of his and Hannibal’s relationship. “So, Eve. Good sixteenth?”

“Yeah. Can’t wait to start learning how to drive.” Eve sighed wistfully, the slowly setting sun casting a golden glow on her features. “And college’s gonna be good.” 

Alana nodded, carefully packing away the food. “You’ll flourish, Eve. Come on, let’s get inside before it gets too dark. We have to let these two go at some point, unfortunately.” She teased, dusting off her trousers as she stood up. 

Will and Hannibal kept their composure until they were in the car. The doors locked, and Will turned his head. “There was no hellhound. It’s out there, though. I can feel it.” He muttered, watching Hannibal’s face as the angel drove. “I don’t understand. I don’t get it.”

“Abigail is safe.” Hannibal reassured him, a gentle hand resting on his knee in between changing gears. “We, however…”

“Maybe they’ve made a mistake.” Will sighed, “Maybe the hellhound hasn’t reached her cause it’s lost… no, that’s not right. Fuck, Hannibal.”

Hannibal sighed softly, rolling his shoulders back. “I don’t think Eve is the anti christ.”

Chapter Text

“Happy Birthday, Abi.” Garret smiled, kissing the top of his daughter’s head as she sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast. “I know you’ve got plans today, honey, so me and your mom won’t keep you long.” He promised, standing behind her chair as her mother sneakily lit candles on a cake behind them. She pretended not to notice the sound of the lighter - she pretended that she couldn’t hear a lot of things that she could. 

Her mom came into her peripheral, large birthday cake in hand, finished with sixteen baby blue candles. She beamed, and Abi smiled back. It wasn’t her mom’s fault that she was itching to leave. 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear abigail, happy birthday to you.” Her parents sang softly, her father’s gruff voice mixing with her mother’s soft lilt like oil with water. Abigail shuffled her feet anxiously, blowing out her candles. If she got out of the house too soon, her parents would realise she didn’t want to be there, and she wouldn’t be able to leave at all. Although, whenever she closed her eyes, it began to feel more like the only way she’d leave for more than a day would be in a police van, cuffed and brushing knees with her father.

Carefully moving the cake away and putting two wrapped presents on the table, her mother looked at her again. “What did you wish for, honey?” She asked, completely oblivious to how her husband was staring her daughter down. Don’t you dare, his eyes said. Then, she turned to him, and his eyes said something completely different. So different, in fact, that it nearly made her believe she was overreacting.

Abigail shook it off. “To start college really well.” She beamed, tying her hair up. “And that Marissa and I will share a class.” Those were things that Abigail wanted, of course, but the things she had wished for were completely different. Abigail had about as much faith in God as she did in man, and so praying to God had never seemed to make much sense. She didn’t see the harm in trying once a year, though. 

Dear God, kill my father so I don’t have to feel guilty about doing it myself.

It was a simple enough wish, one she repeated in her head like a mantra as she sat down next to pretty girls on the train, as she gutted a doe, as she closed her eyes at night.

Dear God, kill my father before he kills me. 

That was how it had started, of course. Abigail had grown far more vengeful since then, felt the darkness well inside her as the girls she led to death crowded in on her when she turned the lights off. She was drawn out of her thoughts as her mother gave her a side hug and a kiss to the head. 

“Of course that’d be your wish, clever girl.” She simpered, nudging the presents towards her. “Go on, then you can go see your friend. Just humor your old mom for a second.”

Abigail loved her mother dearly - she wished she was more like her. Every passing day, Abigail looked more like her father, and it was enough to make her cry at the sight of a mirror. She unwrapped the first present carefully, grinning as she realised they were the books she’d been unable to find anywhere but wanted desperately. “Oh my god, thank you so much!” She almost squealed, wrapping her arms around her mother. She didn’t even look at her dad, not wanting him to taint the memory.

“Think you’ll find the next one really useful next time we go to the cabin, Abi.” He said sweetly, only it sounded as if he was coming from a million miles away. She wished he was. Unfortunately, he was cramped into the tiny kitchen with them, glaring daggers into her throat.

She didn’t want to open it, but knew that as soon as she did, the sooner she could go. With gentle hands she took off the small pieces of sellotape, revealing a showy case containing matte white knives. They had a gentle yellow hue, and it was only when she picked one up that she realised quite what they were made of. Bone.

“Made ‘em out of deer bone just for you, thought you’d find them easier to use.” He explained, “Cause of your tiny hands.” Her hands may have been dainty and slight, but she saw them managing to span the circumference of his neck every time she slept. 

Abigail nodded, smiling shyly as she stood up from the chair. “Thanks, dad.” 

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her. His hugs weren’t warm in the same way her mothers were. His hugs were the kind of warm you felt when you were sick, a sheen of cold sweat on your face. Her hugs felt like falling into a warm bed after a long day, knowing that it’d be okay when you woke.

Her mother watched them affectionately, wiping a stray tear from her eye when she thought no-one was looking. “Go on, then, adventurer. Your dad and I packed you a picnic, text us if you’re going to be back late. You know how your dad worries.”

This was true. Her father did worry. For the entirely wrong reasons sometimes, but he worried.

It all left her mind for a second when she saw Marissa Shaw in her pretty sundress, too dressed up for a birthday picnic, but that was Marissa. Beautiful, strong Marissa. Marissa, who looked entirely too much like her. She’d been trying to get her to dye her hair blonde for the longest time, no matter how little it would suit her.

“What took you so long, abi-snail?” She teased, wrapping her strong arms around Abigail to the point of nearly lifting her. “Happy birthday, you pensioner.”

“Your birthday is three months away, you’re so dramatic.” Abigail scolded lightly, linking a free arm in hers as they began to walk to a clearing in the woods. “Mom and Dad didn’t want me to come, but they let me.” She explained, wicker basket in her other hand. 

Marissa nodded, her boots making gentle thuds on the earth. Abigail thought she was something ethereal, and it was why she had tried to keep such a distance between her and her father. Marissa wouldn’t die, not at her hand. 

“Anyway, they’re not here. What did you get for your birthday?” She asked, carefully pulling the blanket from the basket Abigail was holding, laying it flat on a sunny patch of grass. “Guessing not a dog, that sucks.”

Abigail nodded with a sigh, sitting down. “No dog. Couple books on psychology that I asked for, and my dad made me some knives.” She explained, feeling Marissa’s weight next to her on the blanket as she lay back, closing her eyes. “Really want a dog. A big one.”

“What breed?” She asked, taking apart the contents of the well packed basket. “Jesus, your mom has set us up. This is some nice fucking food.”

“Mom’s good like that.” She smiled, looking far more at peace as she did. In the open air, she wasn’t trapped. She could run. She wasn’t on a train, she could hear birds and the rustling of leaves. “I don’t know. A big one, for sure. One that could protect me.” Abigail decided, and deep in the forest a Hellhound only shrunk to the size of a mountain dog. “But one that I could give affection. That would lie at the end of my bed.” 

“A staffy? They’ve got cute faces, too.” Marissa mused, biting into an apple. “Expensive, though. My uncle paid like two grand for one. Good dog, though.”

“My dad would want to take it hunting.” Abigail sighed, regret colouring her speech. “Staffies are meant to be great hunters. I want..”

Marissa nodded, watching a formation of birds fly across the hazy blue sky. “Seems like you’ve gotta either choose. One that can protect you, or one that can’t hunt. Can’t have both. Like, I’ve got you.” The words struck Abigail in the chest, but Marissa continued on so casually. “And that big brain of yours never stops, even when it should. But that’s what makes you, Abigail Hobbs, you. If you got a big dog, and it killed a few deer and made your dad happy too, that’d be alright, wouldn’t it? Better, actually.”

It struck Abigail, then, how lost she’d be without Marissa Shaw. “A staffy then. Or a bull mastiff. I don't know how I’d train a big one, though. Probably a puppy.” She decided. “A puppy that would love me before it grew too big, and that I could love even when it got scary.”

The staffy-mastiff cross puppy was listening in, tuning itself to the owner’s wants. Only hours ago, it had been hell-bound, eating demons for snacks whilst held captive in a cell. Now it stood in a forest not far from suburbia, sandy coloured fur and soft face. 

Abigail heard it coming before Marissa saw it, bolting upwards, eyes flung open. She could recognise prey and predators from their footsteps, and she wasn’t sure what this was. Well, not until she saw the uncollared puppy bounding towards them. It was such good luck that it almost felt like a set up. “Here, c’mere.” She called, sitting up on her knees. 

Marissa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ab, what if it has rabies?”

“I’ve had my shot.” She shrugged, arms out for the puppy. “Look at it, Mar.” 

The hellhound jumped up at Abigail, making her laugh as his gentle paws pressed into her jacket. She reached carefully around his middle, picking him up and setting him on the blanket. “Well, this beats hunting knives.” She muttered, a cunning grin on her face as she reached around the dog’s almost square head to gently scratch him behind the ears. “God, you’re a pretty boy, aren’t you? Mar, pet him, he’ll think you don’t like him.”

Marissa petted him gently, hesitant in her touches. “Are you sure about this? Abi, you can’t just take in a stray dog. Who lets a puppy out into the forest?” She asked. Her paranoia was appreciated by Abigail but it was completely misguided.

“Please, Mar. Let me be happy.” Abigail begged with soft eyes, holding the puppy to her face so that Marissa would have to fight two sets of puppy eyes. “Please, Mar.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’m not stopping you from being happy, Abigail. I’m stopping you from being in danger. Has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are?” There was no heat behind her words - they’d grown up together and any argument they had only lasted mere minutes.

Abigail laughed, lying back down with the puppy padding about on the blanket. “Only you, Marissa. Only you.”

“That’s cause you hate everyone else.” Marissa reminded her, feeding the dog stray pieces of meat from a sandwich. “What’re you gonna name your dog?”

“Salem.” She decided, peering at the dog from where she was lying. “What do you think, Salem? Ready to hunt some witches?” Abigail joked, letting out a gasp as the puppy jumped on her chest, licking her chin. She laughed, unable to contain her joy.

Her parents weren’t happy when she got home, but her mom was a pushover, and she had too much information on her dad to make him try and fight her. It was manipulative, she knew, but she couldn’t even begin to feel that it was wrong. She had destroyed parts of her humanity because her father asked it of her, how could he not return the favour? He was as strong-armed into it as her.

That night, Abigail slept better than ever, little Salem tucked in by her chest as she lay on her side. She heard him snore through the night, and his presence brought her peace. The dog was small, but there was no mistaking the teeth in his head - Abigail hoped it would never come to that, but she couldn’t help but imagining him grown up, sinking his teeth into her father’s neck with the intent of protecting her. Her dreams that night were a cacophony of blood and teeth, but not one nightmare was to be found. Abigail Hobbs felt powerful.

Chapter Text

“..The chattering order of saint beryl.” Will bolted upright in bed, not offering any context. “We need to go there. Tomorrow. I need to find that dippy nun and ask her who she gave the antichrist to.” His voice was gravelly, anger that very rarely presented itself now coming to the forefront. “We’ve had the wrong kid for sixteen years, Hannibal. We.. we knew. Eve’s a sweetheart. There’s an antichrist out there, with a hellhound, and we have two years.” 

That morning, Hannibal let Will drive. He sorely regretted it as soon as they were out of the little town and onto country roads, because his beloved was sending the four by four down the little lanes with such speed that Hannibal was scared to open his mouth. They parked outside, and were unpleasantly surprised by the sight of a paintball game happening in the large outside space.

Will felt their rage before he saw them - pent up co-workers aiming for bosses that never gave pay rises. Still, it was the chattering order. Hannibal took his arm before he could do anything bad, walking into the stone building.

“Tell me when you see her. Let me do the talking - you’re positively fuming, you’ll scare her off.” Hannibal assured him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as they gave themselves a tour of the building. 

“Graham?” A voice called, and Will turned to look at the source of the noise. The nun he’d handed the antichrist to. He gently squeezed Hannibal’s arm in confirmation. From the way her eyes had glazed over, he knew Hannibal was doing something. 

“Do you keep records of the births that happen here, sister?” Hannibal asked, his voice becoming even more polished and suave. 

She shook her head, though it looked like her physical movement was limited. “The demon Hastor burnt down our order after we had served our purpose.” 

Will cursed under his breath, growing antsy. “Hannibal, she’s not going to help.”

“Ignore my partner, he didn’t get enough sleep.” Hannibal smiled, “Do you remember what the parents of the antichrist were like, sister? Or what they named the antichrist herself?”

The sister’s dark cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes gleaming with adoration. “Oh, yes. Little Abigail. Her parents were very good at the english accent, especially for Americans.” 

Will audibly groaned. “Hannibal, I’m going to go do something bad, come get me when you’re done with shit-for-brains.” He walked out into the courtyard where people were still playing paintball. Clicking his fingers, he made the game far more high-stakes, and got into the passenger seat of his car. The antichrist’s name was Abigail. She was English. That narrowed it down to roughly a million girls, he thought sourly, then brushed it off. He could figure this out.

A girl called Abigail, who recently got a dog, and was born on Friday 13th April. She had blue eyes. Will remembered them. He let his head tip back against the car seat in frustration, a loud groan falling from his lips. He felt the presence of his angel before he heard the opening of the car door, and did his best not to start ranting.

“You gave them real guns, Will.” Hannibal informed him - he was polite about the fact that Will had just made people massacre each other. “Incredibly messy.”

“Yes. Yes I did.” He confirmed, looking at the road ahead. “You made Mason Verger eat himself, and then killed him. I don’t think this is the time to judge styles.”

Hannibal seemed to agree with this, because he started the car and began driving. “The nurse was, admittedly, useless. Did you want to kill her, Will?”

Will glared at him. “I’m not.. I don’t want to kill people.”

“Your actions contradict that, mylimasis.” Hannibal hummed, “I would hate for you to see the act of murder as a means to an end. It can truly be poetic.” He mused, driving into the town. “What’s to be done about our hidden daughter?”

He chose to ignore the flowery way his angel talked about the taking of lives. “She’s local. Or.. was. She has a new dog.”

“If you’re suggesting we lurk in dog parks, Will…” His voice flavoured with distaste, and Will laughed. Hannibal hated mud. He hated anything that wasn’t clean. Apart from Will, of course. Will could track all the mud in the world into Hannibal’s home and would be greeted with a kiss.

“I think it’s time we got a dog, and I think that the antichrist may need a psychiatrist. Either that, or the people the antichrist interacts with will need a psychiatrist.” Will explained, his own motivations not being completely selfless - he loved dogs. He had always loved animals, of course, but dogs connected far more with him than anything else.

Hannibal only nodded - he was entirely too easy for Will to get results from. What was a little manipulation between lovers? Hannibal had done his fair share, too. “The dog will not ruin any of my carpets or wooden furniture.”

They both knew that the dog probably would. 

“I’ll go to the shelter tomorrow.” He decided, rolling his shoulders back and fishing for his bottle of aspirin in his coat pocket. “Being around satanic nuns always gives me a migraine.”

“She was incredibly dithery.” Hannibal sighed, eyeing the way he swallowed the aspirin like candy. “Will, medicating so recklessly is dangerous when you’re human.”

The demon laughed, “Neither is trying to save the world from the antichrist, angel. This stupid vessel is going to breakdown from the stress.”

“..What’s your natural form? I’ve never asked.” The angel had managed to get them home without error, a feat that was quite impressive when your demon boyfriend had just killed thirty people.

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t there long enough to check in a mirror. You the typical biblical angel? All.. eyes and wings?”

Hannibal nodded, “I am. Do I have any say over what breed our dog is?” He asked.

And there it was, the crushing weight of their commitment looming over him. Their dog. Their home. The only reason this wasn’t their car was because Hannibal was too refined for his beat up chevy. They walked into their home, taking off their coats.

“Depends what’s at the shelter.” Will shrugged flippantly. “I’m not getting a small dog, though.”

“Must we get one that’s got more in common with a bear than a dog?” Hannibal groaned, walking into the kitchen. “It’s hardly like we need a guard.”

“Must you have gotten a partner that’s got more in common with the devil than a human?” Will replied, snark lacing his tone as he followed Hannibal. “Look at me, angel. We can’t have a small dog, it’ll look like I’m walking a rat on a leash. And the dog will be more appreciative of your.. Scraps.” 

He raised an eyebrow at that. “When I killed Mason Verger, you said it tasted divine.”

Will poured himself a drink, sitting atop the marble counter. “Doesn’t change that it was human, and that there were parts of him that I refuse to eat.”

“Barely human, really, Will.” Hannibal contested, making Will huff out a laugh of disbelief. “He was little more than sow, and can you honestly say you were disappointed to know his life had ended? A world he exists in and a world where Eve can be safe are not two worlds that align.” 

They both knew that Will did more to help Hannibal with the disappearance of Mason Verger than originally perceived. “What dog would you want?” He asked, the subject making him painfully uncomfortable.

“I suppose you will know when you see the dog, won’t you?” He replied, so sweet that it was almost too easy to forget that he was a person-eating angel. “You know that if you see one that you are connected with, I will not have the heart to stop you. You make me weak.”

“You will never be weak, Hannibal. I could never hope to hurt you by weakening you, even in the parts of you that are… distasteful.” Will promised, crossing the distance between them to reach him. “Even the parts that reside within myself that I wish to kill.”

Hannibal laughed, “One would think that I was the devil between us, Will.”

Tadfield Dog Shelter was as nice as you could get for the underfunding it received - Will could feel that the dogs were uncomfortable, but not unhealthy. He held Hannibal’s hand as they walked down the alley of cages. There was a poodle-mix that he could feel Hannibal gravitating towards, but Will’s eyes caught that of a mutt’s.

He carefully stepped towards the cage, doing his best to read the dog. He was sullen and scared, and Will felt the pain as if it were his own. “Hannibal?” He called softly, and the angel’s head snapped towards him, the Louisiana drawl of his voice like a siren’s call to his sailor. “Come here,” He asked, kneeling beside the cage. 

Hannibal did so, joining him and letting the expensive fabric of his trousers grace the unkempt concrete of the shelter floor. “You want me to talk to him?” He asked, “Will, you have all-speak too, you’re aware.”

“Yes, I know, but he doesn’t trust me.” He told him, looking over at the cowering dog. “They can tell. I’m going to go sort out our information with the woman at the desk. Please see if Winston wants to come with us.”

Will made his way to the counter, doing his best Hannibal impression. People tended to gravitate towards him. Then again, there were dark scorch marks in Will’s back where wings had receded into his person suit, and they pressed against his desperation to be good like nothing else.

The woman at the desk gave him a bright smile - she was young and covered in dog hair. “Hello, what can I do for you? Your husband seems quite taken with Winston, he barely ever comes to the door unless it’s for me.” The tag on her shirt read Marissa, and he would have to guess she was doing voluntary work. “I love your eyes, by the way. They look like my best friend’s.” Will soon learnt that Marissa The Shelter Employee was a chronic oversharer, and that was without the horrific flow of emotions reaching him from her, the space between them only that of the counter.

Will watched Hannibal check no-one was looking before shooting him two thumbs up, highly uncharacteristic and highly amusing.

“We’d like to adopt Winston, actually.” Will told her, the excitement of finally having another animal companion thrumming in his chest. “I’ve had animals all my life, and my husband may as well speak dog.”

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow at the suggestion that they were married, but materialised two golden rings, one on each of their left ring fingers. “Hello.”

“Hi! It’s great that you’re both here, it’s great to know that he’s going to a loving home.” She gushed, her eyes flitting back to Winston. “Actually, since it’s dead in here, would you like me to fill you in on Winston’s life whilst you fill in the form? The form isn’t too bad, normally people struggle with getting past my mom. Very overprotective.” Her last statement was said in a half-whisper, almost conspiratorial as she clicked away on the computer. 

“Names of the primary carer/s?” She asked, her voice not losing it’s chipper tone.

“Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.” It seemed strange, then, that their names were never as intertwined as their lives, their hands, their stupid attempts at lashing out so that the other would see their name within their actions. 

They rattled through the questions, and Will let Hannibal take over. It was easier to let Hannibal speak - he was charismatic and suave, something light and beautiful. Will always seemed to put people at unease. 

“Cool, that’s great! Thanks for being so patient with the form, my mom makes it really rigorous so that we know the dogs are going to good homes.” She explained, walking them towards the room where the animals were kept, closing the door behind them. “Winston can tend to be a runner. If you’re not in a rush, maybe you could familiarise yourselves with him before taking him?”

Winston was let out, and initially, refused to come out of his cage. He didn’t break eye contact with Marissa, whom he seemed to trust. She beckoned him out carefully, a gentle hand going to his soft auburn hair.

“We found Winston on a country lane.” She explained as he got more and more familiar with the two men. “My mom was driving me back from a college open evening, it was dark, and I think what happened was this guy managed to run away from a bad situation. He’s intelligent, and requires w-a-l-k-s at least once a day. For the stimulation, if not for the exercise.”

The dog stepped slowly towards Hannibal, who was sitting with Will against a pair of lockers. Hannibal reached out a gentle hand, and Winston sniffed it petulantly. 

“What do you both do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?” Marissa asked, watching nothing but Winston. It seemed that she was ready to snatch him up at any sign of danger - Will wondered how she’d cope with his absence.

“I am a psychiatrist, but our home has an office that I use. Winston will not be neglected.” Hannibal assured her, getting his chance to carefully pet the old dog.

“I’m unemployed, but I used to work as a teacher.” Will explained, falling into the lie easily - he had taught before, so it wasn’t out of the realm of believability. “Trust me, I’ll need to go on a walk more than he will.”

Marissa nodded, “Cool! Total respect to the both of you, can’t imagine that’s particularly easy. Hopefully Winston will be able to remind you guys to take breaks - I have to remind Abi to take breaks all the time.”

“Abi?” Will asked, dog completely forgotten even as it sniffed at his knees.

She beamed, then. “My best friend! She just got a dog, actually, he’s really cute. Came out of nowhere, though, so she’s coming in to get me to check it for rabies and stuff. Not that she cares. Think she’d let it bite people, to be honest.”

Bingo.

“Well, Marissa, should you and your friend ever want to see Winston, we would happily walk him with you.” Hannibal smiled, Winston now keening into his ear scratches, leaning into Will. “We should get home, I have a meal cooking in the slow-cooker, and I’d hate for it to spoil. Please feel free to contact us using any of our information, we hardly lead hectic lives, and you clearly hold Winston dear to your heart. You have our thanks for looking after him until now.”

The couple were giddly as they drove home, Winston a little shaky in Will’s lap as Hannibal drove. “So, getting little Winston here was a good idea.” He explained, “And you love him, and you’re not going to be mad about mud on the carpets.”

Hannibal laughed, then, something uncommon for him. It seemed their joy was shared. “Did you believe I was going to be truly annoyed in the first place, mylimasis? I do think we should get rings, though.”

Will spluttered, raising an eyebrow. “Repeat that, maybe?”

“I think we should get married. I liked telling Marissa that we were married.” He shrugged. “We may not have more than two years, Will. I would not have thought about this otherwise. We are more committed than most married couples.” 

He considered it for a second, a gentle hand on Winston’s back. “Over two thousand years, are you tired yet?” It was a joke, obviously, but Hannibal knew better than to indulge his insecurities.

“I’ve never been happier.” He told him simply. “Marissa seems very kind.” The unspoken surprise that she was friends with their antichrist was evident.

“Angels have befriended demonic beings before, Hannibal.” Will reminded him as they parked in their driveway. “Some have even proposed to them in the most casual way possible.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes a little. “Have those demonics beings said yes before?” 

It hadn’t occurred to Will that Hannibal would even need reassurance. “Hannibal, I have spent over two thousand years trying to get your attention. Yes, I will marry you. Now help me get this dog out of the car before he panics and pisses on my lap.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Abigail says to them as they walk towards her and Marissa is, “You’re a psychiatrist.” Her tone is analytical, and Hannibal feels her ice blue gaze pierce him in a way that cuts close sto Will’s own affect on him that it almost knocks him back. Instead, he smiles at her.

Marissa makes a little face, rolling her eyes, though she doesn’t seem displeased at all. “Abi, meet Hannibal and Will. Hannibal and Will, meet Abigail, my best friend.” It comes off as more of a practised apology, and Will realises that she’s had to make this apology before. He had never been more sure that he was related to someone, if only distinctly.

“It is wonderful to see you again, Marissa, and a pleasure to meet you, Abigail. Do not worry, Will here has a dispassion for psychiatry too.” Hannibal chuckled good naturedly, eyeing the tiny dog sitting on the grass next to the antichrist. It had large paws, indicating that it would only grow into something fearsome. Strange, that she should pick a puppy. “Is this your dog?”

Abigail looked at them strangely, as if they had grown multiple heads. “Mar told me you two were married.” She shook her head, dismissing the conflict in her head as she reached down to fuss the dog. “This is Salem.”

Winston had perked up at seeing the other dog, and started sniffing around the puppy, watched by Will with a careful eye. He met Abigail’s eyes for a second, “We are, but it does not mean that I like psychiatrists more than I like the next nosy bastard.”

Marissa laughed at that, and they began walking across the hilly park, letting the dogs off. “You said you were an english teacher, right, Will? I would have thought that being around so many teenagers would make you nosier than psychiatrists.” Her jokes were good natured, and Will couldn’t help but be glad that such a joyous creature had befriended his antichrist.

“Lecturing is easy - hardly as social as you’d think.” Will told her honestly, watching as Winston walked beside them, following Salem with ease. “Salem is a natural leader. Have you been training him?”

The antichrist shook her head simply, “He’s just a smart dog. I read somewhere that Staffies were nanny dogs before they were used for dog fighting. What english do you teach, Will? I’m studying it next term.”

Will tried not to let out a verbal acknowledgement of his understanding. Abigail, in all her demonic ancestry, believed that she could have been anything else if something hadn’t happened to her. What, though, he hadn’t quite figured out. His plan to kill her to save Hannibal from the apocalypse flew out of the window on gossamer wings. “I’ve taught most of Shakespeare's texts, but the pain of the education system is that you teach what you’re told.”

Marissa groaned dramatically, her head flying back in exasperation as they strolled so casually. It was the first time Abigail had done so much as chuckle as they walked. Will knew the feeling. “Fucking Shakespeare.”

“His writing is actually good, Mar. You just have to get through the wording.” Abigail supplied helpfully, “You’d enjoy midsummer night’s dream. Nothing too heavy, just fairies and dubious romantic consent.”

Hannibal chuckled at that, “I have to say, I find it slightly inane.” He only said it to prompt Will to talk about the works that he’d so readily consumed over the years, and Will knew this, but he followed the breadcrumbs nonetheless.

“You only find it inane because there’s not much treachery or tragedy. It’s a comedy, Hannibal.” He reminded him, giving Winston a gentle scritch behind the ears. “Marissa, does Winston play fetch?”

“Plays absolutely anything. He loves the attention. Good luck getting it before Salem, though, Winston. Godspeed, old man.” Marissa smiled, her eyes diverting to the trees. “Can’t see any good sticks… Abs, can you use your hunting arms for me and break one off or something? I’ll watch Salem.” She asked, and for the Antichrist, Abi only fought it with a resigned sigh and rolled her shoulders, walking over to the trees. With Abigail out of earshot, Marissa turned to the two of them with a twinkle in her eye. “I know she comes off as hostile, but she’s the sweetest. Just gotta get through those cinder block walls, yanno? She has strong arms, though, and a cute dog, so I can’t be too picky.”

Abi walked back over, holding a sensibly sized branch in her hand. Both Salem and Winston perked up at the sight of it, and Hannibal hummed, clearly amused. She stepped away from the three of them, weighted wood in her right hand, rough calluses from hard labour at home against the bark. Swinging her arm back, she released the branch, watching as it soared and the two dogs shot off into the distance like bullets from a gun.

“You hunt, Abigail?” Hannibal asked, trying to make his inquiry seem as non invasive as possible. Hard to do, though, even to a demon.

She nodded, not taking her eyes off of the little spots that had become of their dogs as they ran. “I hunt with my dad. Deer, mostly. He has lower back issues, so I tend to do the lifting. Why?”

“Will was a hunter when I met him.” He smiled, reminiscing over the ruthlessness he’d once hated. “He still occasionally brings me offerings of veal. You should come for dinner, the cuts are exquisite.”

Ah, Will hummed internally. So this is where they were taking it. Hannibal was nothing if not cunning, and he’d already dispelled any chance of them doubting the food they provided and made sense of the rarity. They killed less when together, their newly solidified fondness satiating them enough to save most who inconvenienced Hannibal or riled Will. There had been exceptions, of course, like Mason Verger. Their parental instincts had simply taken over, and Hannibal felt some sense of justice within nourishing the family with the meat of the man who would no longer pain them. Will was simply grateful for Hannibal’s cooking.

Abigail hummed softly, wondering if Will’s presence on a hunt would stop her father from making her hunt anything but deer. Still, it was too much of a risk. “I only hunt for my father.”

“And I only hunt because I know my husband adores the cuts of meat.” Will replied in turn, the truth not lost on Hannibal’s tongue as he fell silent for a second. The dogs returned, the stick almost comically large in Salem’s mouth. Winston was chasing behind, but barrelled into Marissa, who fussed him and reassured him that he was just as good as Salem. Salem visibly preened at winning, waiting for Abigail to throw the stick again.

“What else are you studying, Abigail? And yourself, Marissa. Am I right in assuming that here you have to take three subjects?” Hannibal asked, his hand coming to meet Will’s, linking fingers like simple machinery that had been turning for centuries. “Forgive me for the culture shock, I am originally from Lithuania.”

Marissa beamed, shaking her head, patting Hannibal affectionately on the arm. “Don’t worry! You got it right. I’m taking Animal Care, Art and English Lit! Hey, maybe Will could help with my english! Saves Abi having to help, I’m a wreck with having to put my thoughts down onto paper.”

Will was impressed by how unfazed she was by Hannibal’s… Hannibalism, and how sharply he carried himself. She looked as if she could feel at ease in any situation, even if it was near death. Abigail was the distinct opposite, intimidating but distinctly untrusting.

“English Literature, History, and Sociology.” She answered, throwing the stick once again for the bounding dogs. “You’re American, Will?” Abigail guessed, though she sounded sure of herself. She had the whole time.

“I am. Louisiana, specifically, though my accent has mutated every time I have travelled.” Will explained, “Do you play any sports? You have a good arm.”

“Just wrangling dead animals.” Abigail deadpanned, making Will snort a laugh. He was seeing himself in the troubled antichrist more than he’d like to admit. From the way Hannibal looked, it seemed as if he saw it too. Lucky, then, that Hannibal loved him so fiercely. A child with Will’s likeness was probably causing him to ascend. “If my dad has any leftover deer, I’ll give you some. I do most of the work nowadays, and it’d be nice to taste it with actual seasoning.”

Hannibal made a face of displeasure. “Meaning your family has fresh deer at hand and neglects to season it properly?”

She nodded, shrugging. “Pretty much. Better than nothing, and I’m not allowed out past five so it’s not like I can eat at Marissa’s. Or get fast food. We only get fast food on trips.” Abigail explained, easing into conversation much more than previously, which was a shame as they were nearing the end of the trail, and the dogs were back alongside them. Winston was heavy with exhaustion, and Salem didn’t look like he’d even broken a sweat.

Since his initial adoption, Winston had become accustomed to being in the car, and sat proudly in the back, watching the road from in between the two seats in the front. Will and Hannibal were almost as tired as their dog, the emotional nature of the day wearing them past physical exhaustion and pushing something different, almost bone deep.

“You told me that night that she had beautiful blue eyes.” Hannibal said, driving out of the park’s gravel car park. “You did not tell me they were like yours.”

Will laughed a little, pretending to take offence. “Are my eyes not beautiful and blue, angel?”

He only scoffed, eyes trained on the road. “You know that your eyes cut me deeper than any knife you could possibly find. So.. severe, almost too perfect. Hers are similar.”

“Only similar?” Will asked, not sure where the difference lay.

“Antichrist or not, she will never be you.” He answered simply, and if Will was allowed such a thing as a heart, it would have leaped out of his chest and handed itself to him on a plate. “I am glad that Marissa has been doing my job. I wonder who has been doing yours.”

The thought tasted sour on Will’s tongue, like rotten fruit. “My job was never to hurt her. Someone has hurt her, and when we find out who it is, I will help you kill them myself.” His tone must have been positively murderous, because Hannibal looked at him like he wanted to pull the car over. “I wonder if Eve knows either of them… No, she wouldn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” Hannibal asked, doing his best to regain control over his concentration.

“Eve is privately educated, Abigail and Marissa are not.” Will told him, “Abigail’s clothes are held together by subtle stitching, either done by herself or her mother, if my read on her father is correct. I can’t see her making friends without knowing them before her first traumatic incident, which I’m assuming was at least a year ago. They met at school, meaning that although Marissa is slightly better off, she also goes to a state school.”

“Your mind is beautiful, Will.” Was all Hannibal said as they pulled into the driveway of their moderately grand home. Will had insisted it wasn’t too grand, otherwise they both knew how over the top it would be. Not garish, no, Hannibal couldn’t be garish, but he could be over the top.

They lived barely inside the village, but within a walking distance of the center. Close enough to have a few neighbours, like the home situated next to theirs. It was significantly less polished, but was painted an off-white colour and had a garden that Hannibal had tended to frequently even though the house itself was none of his business nor charge. It looked unsightly, and he couldn’t stand to have something so aesthetically grotesque close to the home that he dedicated himself to.

Only Hannibal would not have to worry about this garden for much longer, as in London, a witch was getting ready to abandon high society.

To understand this witch, you would have to understand her great great grandmother, Agnes Nutter. You see, nowadays, the art of witchcraft has become wildly gentrified, and you can find a set of tarot cards within any middle class white girl’s room. Way back to a time that Will would probably guess was ten years ago, it was enough to have you executed.

Agnes Nutter was, to put it simply, a witch. It did not help that she was also a very sensible and intelligent woman, as that alone would have been enough to execute her. She spent her time healing the sick, and generally using her common sense, something incredibly frowned upon. The large mob that amassed outside her house one fateful day had all benefited from her obviously satanic advice, such as, don’t eat meat that’s gone green.

The mob was not a surprise to Agnes, who had filled her underskirt with nails and gunpowder about half an hour ago. The weight was uncomfortable, and she had predicted they would be earlier than they were. Still, she had no doubt that the lateness was inspired by a change of heart, and so kept the ticking time-bomb concealed under her dress. Her only daughter was out working, and would live a life of prosperity with her descendants should she heed her mother’s warning.

A ham-fisted knock rattled her door, and Agnes audibly groaned, opening it. “Ready?” She asked sarcastically, the nails rattling as her skirt swished. “You’re already late.”

“We-what? We’re here to take you and burn you at the stake!” The leader of the mob roared, as if his unbearably obnoxious tone gave him any sort of power.

She nodded, shrugging her shoulders. “Get on with it then.” Agnes pushed through the throng, now leading them as she walked to her pyre. As soon as the flames touched her, the scene exploded, sending nails flying into the troupe that had clamoured to burn her. It was with this same vengeance that all Lounds women lived, fighting for the future that Agnes had predicted.

Freddie, in particular, had been named in the prophecy. Other women in the family had been told to get stocks in companies that were bound to make money, Freddie had been tasked with bringing about a future that would enable life on earth. The box of prophecies sat in her suitcase as she drove into the town, never leaving her side. She grimaced a little as she got closer - her house dwindled when put next to its neighbour. Good thing the garden was fairly tidy.
It may have been morbid curiosity that led her to knock on the door of the grand house, but did the intention matter if it presented itself politely? It was up for debate.

Meeting new people was a particularly painful passtime for Will, but he opened the door nonetheless, as Hannibal was cooking and had raw chicken on his hands. When he opened it, he was greeted with a woman who had a mane of orange hair and something about her that urged him to run. She smiled, and her teeth looked like they were itching to get at his neck.

“Hi! Freddie Lounds, I just moved in.” She offered her gloved hand, Will’s looking rough in comparison to her gentle form. “I didn’t realise I’d have neighbours.”

“Hannibal!” Will called, glad to hear the running of the sink as soon as he called. For the meantime, he smiled at her. “I’m Will. My husband is on his way, if you’ll give him a second.”

He felt a presence behind him, a gentle hand fitting itself in the dip of his waist. “It is nice to meet you, Ms Lounds. I’m Hannibal, I hope you don’t mind that I have been tending to your garden in your absence? I am particular about aesthetics.”

She seemed to be genuinely pleased to hear that, shaking Hannibal’s hand with vigour. “It’s great to meet you both, thank you for the upkeep of my garden. My practice often requires me to grow herbs, you have helped me immensely.”

“Your practice, Ms Lounds?” Hannibal asked, his person suit sliding on like a second skin as he spoke to the woman.

“Witchcraft, which I hope doesn’t upset you. It is less disruptive than most believe. Just the bringing of fate.” Freddie promised, and Will instantly identified the scent that had made him feel as if he was in danger. “I am also a history teacher,”

Will nodded, knowing that the more he spoke the more he’d fuck it up. Luckily, Winston picked up and began trying to get through the walls to get to Freddie. “I’ll leave you two to it, before our dog ruins the house.”

As soon as Will was gone, Freddie looked at Hannibal conspiritally, “Is your husband okay? He looked.. Sick.”

Hannibal smiled politely, shaking his head fondly. “He is a careful creature, that is all. My husband is in perfect health, I would not have it any other way. What alerted you?”

The relationship between witches and immortal beings was often a tense one, picking sides all too common. Light witches, they found themselves in the company of angels, their energy benefiting their craft. Dark witches, the opposite. Hannibal wasn’t sure if Ms Lounds was either.

“He just looked a little pale. I should begin unpacking, but it was wonderful to meet you.” She smiled, tossing her mane of auburn hair over her shoulder. With that, she flounced off down the driveway, not turning to see if Hannibal closed the front door.

“I fear we have found ourselves our problem, dearest.” Hannibal hummed, watching as Winston sat protectively ontop of Will, sensing his unease. “Whilst you are aware of my.. Usual practice of eliminating issues, I fear we may need to exercise caution. Whatever moves we will take, she will be able to predict them to some degree of accuracy.”

Will groaned, burying his head in Winston’s back, the wiry fur tickling his skin. “And you’re sure?”

“You’ve never been so quick to think about killing a human,” Hannibal sighed softly, his eyes swimming with adoration as he looked at the dramatic demon. “What about Ms Lounds riles you up so?”

“Fucking witches.” He muttered, words muffled by Winston’s thick coat. “Hate ‘em so much. They’re always an issue.”

Hannibal chuckled, sitting beside him, an arm wrapping around him. “Well, I cannot express my pain that I will not be able to indulge you, but I feel that it is imperative we play the long game with Ms Lounds.”

“Ugh.” Will muttered, dropping easily into Hannibal’s weight, “Why couldn’t we be born as human? Worry about.. Taxes, or whatever.”

The angel querched an eyebrow at that, endlessly amused by the way Will’s mind worked. “I fear we would not be nearly as happy as we believe ourselves to be today, Will. How could I rest knowing that we only have a human time span of each other's company? Do not wish such a fragile thing on the only consistency we have.”

Will laughed, rolling his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Lecter.”

“On the contrary, it brought me here.”

Chapter Text

“I have a proposal, dearest.” Hannibal hummed, sitting beside him as the fire roared in the hearth. “You may not like it, but I would like you to consider it.”

Will looked at him, stealing his glass of whiskey and taking a sip before handing it back. “What, Hannibal? It has to be bad if you already know I won’t be a fan.” He teased, hand reaching up to card through Hannibal’s ashen hair. “...Who do you want to murder?”

Hannibal laughed, rolling his eyes. “Must you call it that?”

“When I find a better term, I will use it.” He sighed, leaning into him, watching the fire, manipulating it slightly with the movement of his fingers. “Who, then, angel? You’re getting more frequent with these.”

“It is only because the local butcher is beyond atrocious.” He countered, then looked Will in the eyes in a way that made Will feel like he was floating. “You should teach Abigail’s course. All the positions in the college are taken,”

Will looked at him, slightly taken aback by where he knew it was going. “You’re going to k-Sorry, we’re going to kill an innocent English teacher?” He was used to Hannibal’s… hannibalisms, but this was a new escalation. “You could get her fired instead. You’re an angel.”

Hannibal hummed contemplatively, hand ghosting Will’s neck. “I could, but haven’t you missed doing terrible things with me, Graham?”

It was like being back in those times where forever was a promise and people were seen, to them, as nothing more than puppets who did odd things and made nice music. The angel, luring people in, watching them with amusement, the demon, relishing in the feeling of just letting go.

He drew in a shaky breath, a low hum escaping his throat. “You’re beautiful when you mess with my head, Hannibal..” 

Bill Pollard was a polite young man who smiled at cute dogs and babies as he passed them on the street, and he most definitely didn’t deserve the fate that was going to become of him as he sat in his weekly book club. Hannibal Lecter was the worst intentioned angel around, and fast approaching.

He regarded him with an easy grin and a wave, sensing that he was new. “Hey, man! It’s your first week, right?” 

He nodded, admiring the books on the mahogany case. “Yes, yes it is. I haven’t shared my love for literature with others in a situation like this,” 

“How did you find it?” He pushed his blonde hair behind his ear, the low light of the bookshop making it look gold. Hannibal noted that he would have to take care with making sure it was not marred by the mauve of dried blood.

Hannibal hummed, contemplating his thoughts like a poker dealer sorting through cards as he considered the obvious interest the English teacher had in him. “I found it interesting, but lacking in intimacy. I have thought of running a much smaller scale event such as this, with dinner provided, of course.”

“You cook?” Bill asked, a grin forming on his face. Poor boy, that he should be entranced so easily. Not that he could be blamed, of course, he was an angel.

“Oh, yes. My late husband adored my cooking.”

His expression filled with sorrow and pity, but his interest never faltered, and Hannibal understood Will’s love of fishing once more. “Oh, I’m sorry. Here, have my number, I know how hard it can be to lose someone, and your insight on Wuthering Heights was really refreshing. It’s rare that people get it, yanno?”

Bill’s perception of Wuthering Heights was utterly baseline and performative. Hannibal thought that his students would soon thank the world for his disappearance, and the replacement that would follow.

Hannibal took his number with a curt nod, punching the numbers into his phone. “Perhaps you would like to come to dinner?”

And just like that, the fish took the bait.

Will’s blood thrummed under his skin, abandoning all humanity for the sweet release of power and control. Hannibal was too clean for Will’s methods of killing, and preferred to clean up, using the fruits of Will’s labour to nourish them both. To anyone else, it would have been monstrous, horrific. To them, it was love in its truest form.

Here, love, indulge the parts of yourself that you hate, and I will wash the blood from your hands with tenderness.

“I had forgotten what this looked like.” Hannibal hummed, preparing the meal, eyes not leaving Will as he cut apart a joint with precision. “You are exquisite when you indulge, Will. I wish you would let yourself do this more often.”

His eyes changed from human to suddenly reptilian, dually flickering lights underneath a red mist of adrenaline. The kitchen counter was crossed within milliseconds, harsh black raven’s wings emerging from Will’s back, Hannibal pinned against the fridge.

“I had not, however, forgotten this,” Hannibal hummed, appraising Will as if he was art, even though he was being held up like a ragdoll. “What a truly religious experience you are, Graham. To believe I had once thought of you as something other than my only equal.”

Will chuckled at that, burying his head in his neck, short horns emerging from his forehead, interrupting his mass of curls and poking at Hannibal’s neck. “And yet you describe me as a god.”

“Who is to say the two can’t coexist? I am hardly self sacrificial.” Hannibal offered, “I am glad your wings are in good health. I have told you before about the importance of exercising them.”

“I’m holding you to a fridge.” Will pointed out, laughing still. “You could at least pretend that I had the upper hand, for five minutes.”

“Do forgive me, mylimasis.” Hannibal laughed, shaking his head, then straightening up, hardly keeping back a smirk. “Now, now, where were we? You may say something threatening. I’ll permit it.”

Will lowered him to the ground gently, scratching his head. “You are an ass.” This statement, whilst wholly heartfelt, did not stop him from pulling Hannibal into a bruising kiss as the doorbell rang. “Go get dinner, angel.”

Hannibal was still recovering from the kiss when he opened the door, Will situated in the study, black wings open in the space, gentle lighting licking the contours of his frame like hellfire. The only human in this situation had no idea how out of his own league he was, and kissed Hannibal’s cheek as he entered.

Will would seethe at the idea of anyone’s lips pressing Hannibal’s skin, and Hannibal found few things as beautiful as Will’s possessive nature. 

“Hey, you look great! I brought wine, I didn’t know what meat you were preparing.” He grinned, and all the things that Hannibal found endearing within Will - cheap aftershave, cluelessness - were all repugnant within the man. 

The wine was cheap and no doubt tasted acidic and sharp. It was insulting enough, regardless of how he fit into their plans. “It is much appreciated, please, come in.”

Dinner stepped in, and Hannibal locked the door.

“This is a nice place,” He hummed, “I mean, I thought you were well off, but.. Wow, man.”

The devaluation of his home as a price list, as having a numerical value, enraged him more than he knew it would. Dinner would have to wait. He had a hellhound to satiate. The thought of those vicious teeth biting down into flesh brought a smile to his face, and Bill thought that it was due to him. Silly boy.

“Would you like to follow me to the study? I have some truly magnificent art that I believe you will enjoy. Are you a religious man, Bill?” Hannibal asked, leading him through the house. Sometimes, in the heat of their inhumanity, the house itself felt alive in comparison, heartbeat providing a steady rhythm to the stabs of music, written in mauve. 

“Uh, sure!” Bill followed him, more unsure of his footing with every step. Maybe he was aware of his circumstance. Maybe he was weak at the knees with anticipation of something all too different, but similar at the same time. “Religious? Uh, kinda? Why, you a christian guy?”

Hannibal chuckled at that, opening the door to the study. “Let me introduce you to the god of my idolatry.”

There, in the low lighting, was a muted man transformed by a sinister glow. His wings, once contained by pale skin, rested against the skin of his back, shirt long forgotten. He was shrouded in darkness, seemingly harmless as he peered at a copy of Wuthering Heights, sharp nails never piercing the soft leather of the cover.

Bill looked at Hannibal, who looked a few seconds short of dropping to his knees, and heard a low chuckle from that very corner. The man had turned, though the more he saw, the less he was convinced that the creature in the corner was a man at all.

“Graham,” Hannibal hummed his name with reverence, as if it were only to be said in times of prayer.

The beast never moved, and it scared Bill all the more.

“Would you like some whiskey, Bill?” Hannibal asked, a cruel undertone within his voice, almost a hiss. “You do not seem to be comfortable. Has something unsettled you?”

Bill almost choked on his tongue in an attempt to reply, and found snake eyes following every movement he made, moving before he did. “Uh- No, no. Yeah. Yeah, whiskey would be good.”

Hannibal nodded, directing him to the chair patients often sat in, pouring whiskey into a crystal glass. “What does looking at Graham make you feel, Bill?”

“What?” Bill managed to get a word out. Will was impressed. 

“I think he’s monstrous.” Hannibal offered, passing him the crystal glass, noticing the tremor in his hands. “Destructive, divine. I look at him, and I feel infinity.”

“I.. It’s impressive special effects makeup.” Bill offered weakly, now unable to tear his eyes from the creature in the corner. “Why.. why is he here?”

The creature laughed again, and took confident steps towards where Hannibal had seated himself, standing behind him, clawed hands finding his shoulders. Hannibal had never felt more alive.

“Ask yourself, dear Bill, why are you here?” Hannibal prompted, relishing in the feeling of Will’s hands flexing atop his shoulders. He had worn one of his less favoured suits, hardly expecting Will to calculate blood spray before pouncing. It had been years, how could he?

Bill stuttered, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat. “Look, I, I obviously misjudged the situation, I’ll just go,”

A low rumble resonated through the room, beginning in the depths of the creature’s chest. 

“I wonder, Bill, how you thought your night might go, how you might easily get what you want from a man wrapped in grief of the loss of his husband.” The psychiatrist continued, ignoring the signs of distress from the man, so entirely inconsequential that even his words were ignored. “And how you thought my husband may react to your disrespect.”

“Your husband’s dead..” Bill’s voice was scratchy, now, an octave higher than it once had been. He looked as if he was considering how to leave. How to escape. 

Hannibal hummed contemplatively, a wicked grin gracing his skin, tongue skating across his lips. “I suppose, in a sense. Although, I would argue that those who were never alive in the first place cannot be dead either.”

“Stop playing.” Will told Hannibal, his pulse quickening as his mind flooded with Bill’s past perceptions of how his night would have gone, the images of Hannibal’s skin flushed red under someone else’s hand. His grip on Hannibal’s shoulders tightened once more. He would pretend to be sorry for the bruises he left each time, and Hannibal would pretend to want an apology.

“As you wish, mylimasis.”

Will had sat at the dining table with Hannibal late that night, picking flesh from his teeth. Nothing went unsaid, both in perfect understanding of the other. Morality, to them, was something to be manipulated, and what better depiction of their mortality was there than a visit from the Verger-Blooms. They dined with them every Thursday night, a tradition that had begun as soon as Will felt comfortable enough to indulge Hannibal’s specific need to peacock. They would often show up to their house in work clothes, weary from the day. It was something they encouraged - Hannibal cared for the three women more than he could possibly let on, and the potential to take care of them was not lost on him.

The families were so intertwined, in fact, that they had keys to the other’s home. Will was halfway through sneaking Winston some offcuts that he knew Hannibal wasn’t going to use when the front door opened.

“Hello?” Alana called, the sound of footsteps following. “Thought you’d be in here.” She hummed, eyes widening at the sight of Winston. “Who’s this? Eve, Margot, come look at this little guy.” She simpered, crouching down to give Winston affection. He was cautious, but quickly befriended Alana.

Margot stepped through the kitchen, almost floating as she walked. The elegance had transferred through to Eve, who mirrored Margot in more ways than they could ever name. Except, of course, for the side-splitting grin on Eve’s face when she saw Will, racing over to hug him.

Will felt his chest swell at the sight of her, so proper and grown. The babe he had held in his arms, now an intelligent young woman who still wanted to hug him. “Hey, Eve. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Mom’s probably going to want to steal your dog.” She hummed, settling against a counter. “We’d probably have one if me and mom weren’t fussy.”

“Ah, that was my problem.” Hannibal sighed, stepping into the domestic scene, all clean lines and sharp clothes. “Alas, I cannot deny Will anything, even if it is much to my detriment.” He sighed, bending to give Winston a gentle scritch behind the ears, then hugging Alana. “New perfume, Alana?”

“Hannibal!” She beamed, hugging him back and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Margot got it for me, isn’t it nice? And, hey, how did he convince you to get a dog? Margot hasn’t budged in eighteen years.”

“Once again, Margot proves herself to have impeccable taste.” 

Margot was a loving woman, and there was no question that she had love for the two men - she just didn’t feel as comfortable expressing it as her wife and child did. This was something that both men respected and understood, and only made contact with her when she initiated it. Both men gave her a wide berth as they navigated the kitchen, instead electing to make no effort to hide their tactility with the other man.

Hannibal pressed his hand against the small of Will’s back as he passed him to hug Eve, seeing the girl as the closest he would ever get to a daughter. She grinned at him, “You caved and got a dog, hm?”

“I have, Evelyn. Unfortunately, I am susceptible to Will’s many wants.” He sighed, looking at his half-prepared meal. “Will?” 

Will turned to him, an innocent smile on his face. “Yes?”

“Am I to assume that Winston had the offcuts?” Hannibal asked, unable to act like he was all too annoyed. 

“I wouldn’t know, but you know as well as I do that Winston has never done anything wrong.” Will hummed, “And they were offcuts, hardly worth speculation. Drinks, anyone?”

Margot laughed, shaking her head. “I have realised that the reason you are the only men I can tolerate is that you both act like children.”

“You let them take care of me,” Eve countered, helping herself to a drink. “I’ve turned out great.”

Will laughed, nodding. “You know it, Eve. Your mom did background checks and everything.”

Eve looked at Margot incredulously, “What crimes could either of them commit? Hannibal doesn’t even lick envelopes!”

“I do not like the taste. Wax seals are just as effective.” Hannibal shrugged, continuing to prepare the food as the people he loved mingled around him. He normally disliked people getting in his kitchen whilst he was cooking, but the verger-blooms brought him a gentle sort of peace. “Even though you think they are pompous.”

“You are pompous, Hannibal. Should we go sit and give you your space?” He hummed, pressing a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek - they had fallen into an easy routine of perfect marriage in front of others, so much that it had become something they did without people there.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” He hummed, tablecloth over his shoulder as he set about preparing the parts of the English teacher that hadn’t been fed to Winston. It made his chest swell with the overwhelming feeling of being wholly protected that Will thought of Bill, even posthumously, as meat barely worth his dog.

The quaint family settled in the living room, Eve electing to sit next to Will so that her mothers could sit together without Margot getting concerned about the insinuations of PDA. They had only just worked up to holding hands in public. 

“Are you still unemployed, Will?” Alana asked, a gentle hand on Margot’s thigh. 

Will nodded, running a hand through his curls. “Yeah, I am. We’re alright, though, Hannibal’s practicing, why?”

“There’s a few openings at college, English, History and.. Art? I think? Anyway, I could get you an interview for the english opening, if you want?” Alana offered, “Jack’s just desperate to get people competent on the team. It is a shame that we have to replace Bill..”

Ah, it seemed that news travelled fast. 

Chapter Text

“Hannibal,” Will muttered, the daylight pouring across the expanses of skin not hidden by the duvet. A gentle hand went to his shoulder, now de-clawed and significantly more human.

Hannibal only replied with a hum, turning so that they were both facing. “Will, good morning.” 

It had been a week since they had gotten rid of the English teacher, and Hannibal still looked at him with newfound reverence. Everything Will wanted to say was suddenly lodged in his throat, imposing and all too soft for a demon. “I..” He began, eyes trained on the thread count of their sheets. “What you said, Wednesday.”

“I believe I said a lot, mylimasis.” He prompted, a hand bridging the gap between them, carding through Will’s curls, gently soothing the skin where horns had been only a few days before. “Please, specify, so that I can ease your mind.”

Will’s eyes squeezed shut, trying to get over his own inhibitions as he revealed the most intimate parts of himself to the angel he’d quickly die for given the opportunity. “You.. When you were talking about me..”

Hannibal inched closer, arms winding around Will, pulling him into his embrace. “Yes, I remember. I did not say anything that I do not believe, even if I exaggerated slightly for dramatic effect.”

“Even.. Even with my horns?” He sighed, wincing as he said it. “It’s been over.. God, the last time you saw me truly was in the Garden. You didn’t seem to like me much then.”

“Will Graham, you beautiful, cautious creature.” Hannibal sighed, placing a gentle kiss where a horn would be. “I was much in denial of my own being, how could I have known what I felt was nothing short of ineffable? I assumed, wrongly, that your darkness had no depth. I have since corrected the error of my ways, Will, and only clamour for forever because heaven has no light when compared to you.” 

Hannibal Lecter was many things, but a false flatterer was not one. He wasn’t false at all, not to Will. Every word spoken to him was utterly truthful, and it made his heart stutter. 

“Will,” He breathed out, holding him close to his chest, “You’re crying. I have upset you. Forgive me, it was never my intention.”

Will shook his head, blinking back tears. “No. Hannibal, you haven’t upset me.”

“Oh?”

“I just.. It’s nice. To be talked about like that. Thank you.” He admitted, kissing him softly, “I’m not.. I’m just not used to it.”

“It seems I have made yet another error within neglecting to tell you quite what I see within you.” Hannibal’s voice sang with remiss and regret, “If you are to cry when I voice my thoughts. I should do so more often, so that you realise how my being sings with want at the sight of you.”

Will groaned, burying his head in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. “Not what you expected when we were in the Garden, huh?”

“Not at all. Perhaps the miracle of love is not lost on me,” He mused, “Nor is the sight of you, a dangerous thing, dark wings and slit pupils..” Hannibal’s own eyes closed, the image of Will simply too much to bear alongside what he could see. “You are the only god I will pray to, Will,”

“I think you’re prone to heresy,” Will commented lightly.

“I am a devout worshipper at your altar, Will, I’m hardly a heretic.” Hannibal decided, sitting up. “I wonder what Abigail thinks of God,” 

Will paused, letting the possibilities rack his neurons. “I think she’s agnostic but opportunistic.”

“Not unlike yourself, then.” 

He smiled, then, stretching. “No, she isn’t. My interview is at one, help me with what I should wear?” Will asked, sitting up beside him. “Seeing as getting this job is actually quite important.”

“I’ve already laid it out on the dresser, mon cherie.” Hannibal hummed, “Breakfast.”

Will laughed softly, “You’re like a fifties housewife in an angel suit.” 

“Well, when my husband kills for me and devotes his time to teaching the youth, what else would be appropriate?” Hannibal responded easily, getting up and quickly changing into a suit. “I will be with Margot and Eve for the day. I believe Margot has something to discuss with me. If you are finished with your interview before I have left Margot and Eve, I am sure that they would be more than happy to see you.”

“Should probably do the whole marriage thing soon,” He sighed softly, “Years on this earth has led me to believe that if we don’t make a fuss of it, people will be concerned.”

Hannibal looked at him with a grin. “Cunning boy. I was going to talk to them about the engagement, as is custom. They are your family, after all.”

“Our family.” He corrected, regretfully fleeing from the covers. “I think we play human well.”

“Only because they have no idea.” Hannibal handed him his shirt. “I believe it is love that makes us so relatable. God, when devising our lives, their lives, did not expect our love to be wholly one in the same, though I cannot honestly say my love for you is on par with any love I have seen.” 

Will wondered where he’d found such an amorous angel. He crossed the space between them, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he slid his arms into the shirt. “Such a poet.” 

“Poetry could not express it, it would only be an insult.” Hannibal continued, practiced fingers deftly buttoning Will’s shirt. “I have done research into your employer.”

“Of course.” He smirked, pulling on his slacks. Hannibal prepared for everything, methodical and aching with detail. “And?”

“Jack Crawford has years of teaching under his belt, and maintains a senior role within the college. His colleagues seem to respect him, and I do not expect that you should have many issues if you are to keep your smart mouth under wraps.” Hannibal teased, fixing his collar for him.

Will appreciated the insight, but he could see so much more from just being in front of him. He had control, that was obvious, but it came from fear. He didn’t let up, he could tell, and would try to heed his husband’s warning. Only, his analysis waned when Will’s newfound enemy stepped out of the room.

“Will, what a pleasant surprise!” Freddie Lounds grinned, “I hope you’ve come with low expectations.”

Jack Crawford raised an eyebrow, “Will Graham.”

Will stood, offering Jack his hand. If Freddie had fucked up his chances, he would have to get rid of her. The handshake was firm, and Jack clearly had no intentions of letting Will take the reins. “Please, come in. I have no interest in your relationship with other applicants, or other colleagues.”

Clearly, Alana had put a good word in.

“Glad to hear it.” Will sat down opposite him, “I take it Alana tried to put a good word in?”

Jack smiled, then, chuckling fondly. “Yes, she did. Alana Bloom is one of our best, and has a good judge of character. Unfortunately, even Alana Bloom is prone to bias. You raised her daughter, I’ve been told.”

“Yes,” He nodded, “I appreciate your scepticism.”

“Childcare is different to teaching teenagers.” He told him, and Will bristled at the idea that Jack didn’t think he knew that. “You have a degree in teaching and a degree in English.” 

Will nodded again. He’d gotten many degrees, in many things. There wasn’t much else to do as an immortal but learn. “I finished my english degree whilst taking care of Alana’s daughter.”

“Impressive. You’ve got no prior teaching experience?” He asked, and Will could feel the careful skepticism. If his angel was here, he could dispel all of Jack’s worries with a simple movement. 

“I’ve taught in a school in Camden for half a year, before my partner and I moved here seventeen years ago.” He explained, hesitating slightly on the word partner. Times had changed, he knew, but it was a hard habit to shake. He wondered if he’d constructed his lies well enough - he looked around forty, and he hoped that Jack simply assumed he was a hard worker. 

Jack nodded, seemingly impressed by his response, looking over his resume. “Great, well, unless you have any questions about the job, I’ll get back to you. I think Dr Bloom is waiting to greet you outside, I will pretend not to know it is happening as a kind gesture.” 

Will chuckled, surprised at his kindness. Had Hannibal followed him? “I appreciate it. It’s been good to meet you, Crawford.”

“Call me Jack.” He shook his hand again, good naturedly, showing him the door. For once, Will felt good about his chances. 

Of course, on the other side of the door, was Alana, who gave Jack a curt nod and waited until he closed the door to wrap her arms around Will. “How did it go?”

He laughed, hugging Alana back. “It went well, I think. How did you know when my interview was?”

“Mother’s intuition.” 

It seemed to often escape Alana that she wasn’t, in fact, Will’s mother. He wasn’t going to protest, as he quite enjoyed her company, and appreciated the child she had allowed him to parent. “Alright. Hannibal’s at yours, I was going to swing by.” 

Alana smiled at that, “Good, we’ve missed you. It’s weird not coming back and seeing your faces every day. Eve misses you.”

“I’ll take her out hiking or something this weekend, if that’s alright? I know Margot doesn’t really like the outdoors, and hey, you two could have a date night.” Will grinned, running a hand through his hair. 

“You, Will Graham, are a saviour.” She beamed, kissing his cheek. “I’ve got to go teach my first years, but I’ll see you later, yeah?”

When Will arrived at the Verger-Bloom house, Hannibal’s car was there, and the sight of it settled his stomach. His chevy was loud and imposing, good for lugging stuff around - Hannibal had a rolls that drove like a dream. Maybe they were prone to cliches. 

He let himself into the house with the key - the house was always locked, though Mason Verger was long dead. Will understood, and locked it behind him as he walked through the hall, hearing the strange european lilt that set everything within him on fire. “He is, quite simply, the love of my life. And, I have reason to believe he is eavesdropping, because he still uses that atrocious aftershave.”

Will rolled his eyes, walking in and sitting beside him on the plush sofa. “So dramatic. Hey, Margot, Eve.”

Margot smiled, giving him a nod. It was the quiet affection they’d grown to love off of her - Will knew that, out of the unlikely pair, Hannibal actually preferred Margot. Less unkempt, less emotive. Easier for Hannibal to understand, to empathise with.

“Hey, Will.” Eve, however, was her father’s daughter, blunt and snarky. If she was upset, you would know it in spades. Luckily, she rarely had reason to be upset. “How did the interview go? Mom said she put in a good word, but I’ve heard that he can be a bit of a hard-ass.”

He felt Hannibal wrap an arm around his waist - it felt strange, to be separate when they spent their time endlessly intertwined. “It went well, I think I’ll get it. It’ll be weird not being around you all the time, kid.”

Eve laughed, “Mhm, and you’re not gonna love getting to talk about your books without actually having to have a conversation at all.”

There was Margot and Hannibal within Eve, too. Painfully analytical, in an almost unemotive way.

“That may be one of the finer aspects.” He admitted, hearing Hannibal laugh. Truly, the man was an angel. “How’re you both? I saw Alana after my interview.”

“Well.” Margot answered, her habit of short answers never leaving her around men, keeping herself safe against all odds. 

Eve, however, was a steam train. “We’re good! Starting college next week, can’t wait. Thank god I’m not taking psych, cause mom trying to teach me would kill me off. Wait, oh my god, you might end up teaching me. Eh, mom teaching me is worse than my dad te-will teaching me.” A heavy blush decorated her olive skin, and Will smiled at her good naturedly.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn. We’ve long since considered you our daughter, of sorts. Seeing as we may never be able to have our own, and I don’t think it’s any overestimation to say that Will is a father figure to you. Family is often unconventional.” Hannibal assured her, and knew she would listen. 

“Does this mean you’re going to give me slack?” Eve asked, raising an eyebrow, the blush calming down a little. “Cause you really could.”

Margot laughed at that, a gentle hand fixing the clip in Eve’s hair. “If you think I will let you slack because of Will’s generosity, Evelyn, you are sorely wrong. You’re a smart girl, that will never change, but without proper intellectual stimulation you may grow frustrated.”

Eve groaned, rolling her eyes. “Ugh. So, Hannibal, what’re you gonna be doing now? Guessing you’re not gonna just wait around for Will.”

Hannibal smiled, his thumb gently  caressing the curve of Will’s waist. “Not at all, Evelyn. You are aware of the hold he has over me, but I will be returning to psychiatry. I will still have the time to cook for you all, do not fret.”

“That is why I was asking, to be honest. Don’t think I could live without your cooking.” Eve admitted, toying with the bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly. “Hope you get the job, though, Will.”

Chapter Text

Will had texted Marissa the night before the first day, wondering if she and Abigail would like a ride - the college was a little further into the nearest city, and he was sure that it would come off kindly, even if his intentions were altruistic. He was a smart, deviant man posing as a neurotic softie, and he was sure it was what would make their plan work in the end. 

Marissa was naive, and far less sceptical than Abigail. It was manipulative, yes, but there was no way around it if they were going to stop the apocalypse from happening. Will didn’t particularly want to kill Abigail, so manipulation was the kindest evil.

He parked outside Marissa’s house, Abigail having walked there. The two girls piled in quickly, both looking fidgety but for clearly different reasons. Will wondered what had made her so fidgety, then quickly realised that she was leaving Salem home for the first time, but… there was something else there. Something dark.

“Are you both ok?” Will asked, waiting until they buckled their seatbelts to start driving. 

“Abs is just worried that Salem’s not gonna behave himself.” Marissa supplied helpfully. “I’m excited.”

Will felt a spark of pride. His psychoanalysis was great, even now. “Abigail, Hannibal is working from home, if you’d like to have him take care of him during the day with Winston, we can arrange that.” He hated this. He wanted to know what was happening, wanted to help her, wanted to stop the world from ending, wanted to keep Hannibal.

This was what it was all about, if he was ever going to be honest with himself. He loved Hannibal, though it was rare that he said it first. He loved Hannibal so much that he was driving to a college in a shitty little town in England, with two teenage girls in tow. He loved Hannibal, and everything else was dull in comparison.

“I’ll let you know.” Abigail smiled, “Thank you.”

Will had briefly met the staff the day before, but today would be his first day. Students were easy - he wouldn’t have to actually talk to them. Staff, however, would see him as new meat. He let them out a little down the road so that no-one would raise suspicion about two students arriving with a lecturer, and headed towards the car park.

He had hoped that he would manage to get through at least one lesson without having to talk to anyone, but someone knocked on his door as soon as he set his bag down. Will looked up from his laptop to see a woman walking through - he didn’t know who she was, but she was distinctly not Freddie Lounds, and that made him welcome her with a slight smile.

“Hey! Beverly Katz, Alana told me to give this to you.” Beverly grinned, handing over a cup of coffee. “First day jitters?”

Will took the cup happily, reminding himself to text Alana his thanks when he got a minute to himself. “Will Graham. I’d call them more… socialising jitters.”

“Well, you’re doing alright at the minute. How’d you know Alana?” She asked, leaning against the desk. “Then again, everyone knows Alana. Seemed pretty intent on you getting that coffee, though.”

He smiled at that, Alana was always deeply affectionate, regardless of if her subject was in the room or not. “I’m kind of a father to her daughter.” 

Bev querched an eyebrow, “Does her wife know about that, or?”

Sometimes Will wondered how he got through life without getting his head cut off. “I was her nanny, sorry, should have clarified. Alana’s wife and I are friends. They hired me when their daughter was born,”

“Ah. Makes more sense. Well, I’ve got to go teach a class, but I’ll see you around! I’ll save you a seat in the staff room with decent cushioning.” She winked, walking out, her hair like an oil spill, slick as it waved behind her.

The clock struck nine and students began filing in. Once he’d gotten over himself and they stopped fidgeting, it was easy to forget that they were even there. It was the first lesson, so there was no actual content - reading over the curriculum, questions, and the like. It was interesting to see where his antichrist had grouped herself.

Abigail sat in the middle, which seemed like a compromise on Marissa, who very obviously wanted to sit at the front. They sat together, Eve a row in front. He tried not to pay any specific attention to them, of course, but the three were the only ones asking questions, apart from a few others.

Eve was a particular topic of interest when Will entered the staff room, Alana there waiting with Beverly and, much to his absolute horror, Freddie Lounds. 

“Will! I was just telling Freddie and Beverly about you,” She beamed, as if she wasn’t arming Freddie with ammunition.

“Nothing too incriminating, I hope, Alana?” Will asked, and he hoped it came out less genuine than it was. He’d forgotten what dealing with new people was like - most of his time was a blur of Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, of course not. You know Eve sees you as her dad.”

“What does your husband have to say about that, I wonder?” Freddie mused, sipping from a flask.

Alana’s eyes lit up, and Will elected to make himself comfortable. The husband in question had texted him only minutes prior.

Hannibal

I do not have an appointment within your lunch break, and I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of you eating cafeteria food. May I have the pleasure of your company? I would come to you, of course.

When Will looked up, Alana was in a full fledged rant about Hannibal. Even he didn’t talk about the angel so affectionately, though he supposed Alana had not seen the true animalistic beauty of him - only the gilded person suit. “But when we first met, obviously, I had no idea that they were together, because Hannibal was my gardener. So when he left, I pulled Will to the side, and I was like, ‘Hey, this guy seems really into you, you okay with that?’ and then he told me they were together.” She explained, “They’re both the best fathers we really could have asked for for Evelyn.”

Beverly looked at him, then, like she was appraising art. “Hm. I do get a dad vibe. Got any photos of Hannibal?”

Alana paused for a second, scrolling through her phone. “Might have some from when she was a baby.. Christmas, maybe? Hm. It’s like they haven’t aged a day, honestly, the only way you can tell that there’s a sixteen year age gap is Eve.”

“How peculiar.” Freddie smiled, but Will felt the venom within what she was saying. 

Hannibal arrived at his empty classroom, knocking politely, tupperwares in hand. Will felt the tension seep out of his being as he walked through, the sight of the angel more than enough to calm him. That, or, Hannibal was making him feel calm. Emotional manipulation was his strong suit in a multitude of ways.

“Your stress is more pungent than your dreaded aftershave, dear Will.” Hannibal sighed softly, finding a chair and pulling it over to Will’s desk. “I had hoped that I would be greeted by the delicate scent of your happiness.”

“Our new neighbour is a teacher here.” Was all Will said, and Hannibal seemed to understand, neatly opening the tupperwares after wiping down Will’s desk.  “She thinks our youthful appearances are particular.”

He didn’t seem to feel nearly as threatened as Will did, smirking a little. “Well, I shall have to give her my thanks, as I have not halted my aging over the past eighteen years. Neither have you. What a wonder good food is, hm?”

“I’d blame it on the good company,” He replied, the scent of whatever Hannibal had brought him making his mouth water. “This smells great, Hannibal.”

“You are most welcome, Will, especially if you are to be so complimentary.” He teased, alluding to Will’s usual abrasive nature. “Have you seen either of our Verger-Blooms yet?”

Will nodded, thankful for a topic that didn’t make his chest burn. Freddie Lounds felt like the threat of holy water. “Both of them, actually. Alana took the opportunity to brag about you, and Evelyn is a wonderful student. The same for Abigail and Marissa.”

Hannibal nodded, eyeing a well worn copy of Frankenstein (Or The Modern Prometheus) on his desk. “I had noticed its absence from the study, but put it down to something easily explained such as renewed interest.”

He laughed, eyeing the tabs he’d put in the book. It was almost an eyesore. Hannibal had bought him the first edition when they had lived together in England - the 1820s were a beautiful time, if not plagued with social misconceptions. The copy lay in their library, but Hannibal had bought him many editions over the time - the most modern one was the only one he could stand to mark, knowing that he could buy another.

“Well, if anything is bound to strike a chord with someone abandoned by god, then it will be the work of Mrs Shelley. A wise choice, Will. Cunning, as always.” Hannibal praised, seeing right through any motive Will had. “Now, chicken soup. It is light, but will keep you nourished.”

Truly, he had no idea what he had done to deserve the angel in front of him.

“Any takers to your psychiatry, Hannibal?” Will asked, tasting the soup. Of course, it didn’t disappoint - everything about it was perfect, bone deep and hearty in a way Will wasn’t aware that a simple chicken soup could.

Hannibal nodded, “Yes, there are. I feel as if, after a proper assessment, I will be back in my habit of helping people. I think I will continue to work from our home office - I would have no luck with trying to find an office here that fits my tastes whilst remaining close to home, should anything happen.”

“Ok.” Will shrugged, “They’re just people, Hannibal, you know I don’t mind.”

You know I’ll kill them should they step out of line, you know I’ll smell your distress like a bloodhound, you know I’m capable. Stay close, you know I can protect you.

“Which means you will no doubt see the faces of my patients,” He continued, visibly pleased by the brash confidence Will displayed. “I may have to, legally, ask you to sign a contract. Otherwise I feel my patients would hinder their own recovery at the fear of being overheard or found.’

Will sighed, “Could be worse. Do they have to know I live there? I’d rather they didn’t.”

“You want them to think I’m alone?”

“I don’t want them to consider me in their plan, should they have one.” He explained, the soup settling well in his stomach.

“And if I wore a wedding band?” Hannibal asked, sounding far more vulnerable than Will had ever heard him. “If I wanted people to know that I am endlessly intertwined with someone else?”

Will didn’t quite know what to say, even after all those years of being loved so ferociously. “Then I’ll let them believe you have a demure husband.” He admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And I will keep you safe.”

“Your mind is a beautiful place, Will.” He replied softly, a hand reaching across to feel the weight of Will’s head in his hand. “I felt it, then. The savagery of your love. Tell me, how does it feel to know that I devote my every moment to you, in the hope of amounting to all of you?”

“It feels like you’re going to find a way to propose with as much drama as is possible.” He replied snarkily, drawing a laugh from Hannibal. “But it also feels like divinity.”

“Divinity is beneath us, Will.” He corrected gently, letting go of his face and returning to his soup. “The only thing I am beneath is you.”

If Hannibal was a less well mannered man, he would have turned it into an overt sexual innuendo. Luckily, Will was less well mannered. 

“It’s normally the other way around,” Will remarked conversationally, smirking at the way Hannibal’s eyebrows shot up. Surprising Hannibal was a particular pastime.

“You are lucky I cannot eat you for being rude.” Hannibal muttered, finishing his portion of soup. “Someone is approaching your door, Will.”

Will nodded, laughing at his remark but not furthering the cannibal jokes, lest someone take it seriously and look into the lives of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. Luckily, it was the ever-smiling Alana Verger-Bloom who ducked her head around the door.

“Alana, come in.” Will smiled, finishing his soup and carefully helping Hannibal pack away the tupperware. “Thank you for the coffee earlier.”

She walked in, and Will saw for the first time how much Alana enjoyed her work. Truly, she was in her element. Practically glowing. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re here,” She smiled, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Hello, Hannibal.”

Hannibal nodded, giving her a polite smile. “It is good to see you, Alana.”

“Good to see you too, looking suave as always. Will, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me and Eve?” Alana asked, and Will had to admit - he was confused.

“Margot is my evening appointment,” Hannibal explained, and Will couldn’t exactly say he was thrilled at the fact that Hannibal saw himself fit to help Margot. Hannibal’s therapy had been questionable at best, and he saw Margot much like a sister. Still, he couldn’t see Hannibal harming her - that wasn’t his design. “I had not told you as it was not necessary.”

Will disagreed, but he was not about to have an argument with Hannibal in front of Alana. “Yeah, that’d be great, Alana, thanks. Want me to bring takeout if we’ve not got to cater to the picky eaters?” 

Margot and Hannibal despised takeout and all other chain restaurants, picking apart their food and sneering at it as if it had offended them personally. Alana, however, was much like Will with the idea that there were seldom things more comforting than sinking your teeth into a greasy burger or pizza.

“You, Will Graham, are a blessing. I’ve got to go prep for my next lesson, but I’ll see you both later.” Alana beamed, kissing them both on the cheek before walking off. As soon as she was gone, Will looked at Hannibal.

“You’re treating Margot.” 

Hannibal sighed, placing his hand on Will’s. “We have been discussing it a lot. Alana has only just agreed. I have no doubt that she invited you to distract herself from the ethics of it all.”

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should talk to me about it.”

“An error in my judgement, Will. I had believed that your disconnect from my work would follow through to all of my patients. Once again, I am unable to predict you.” Hannibal never fully apologised, but this was as close as it got. “I believe that, as one of two men that Margot trusts, I will be able to provide a safe space for growth and rehabilitation.”

“...And when she talks about her brother? She’s smart, Hannibal, she’ll decode your snark like a children’s puzzle.”

“I will share her joy at the fact that he lies in an unmarked grave, and wonder aloud how the will ever got lost so tremendously.” Hannibal promised, lifting his hand to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “You’re scared.”

“I don't want her to know what we’ve done and then see us as unfit parents to Evelyn in the aftermath.” Will admitted, the idea sending arrows through his chest, holy water descending like waves across his psyche. “We’ll.. We’ll never have a human life, and that’s something I’m okay with. But we have a child, and I don’t know if I’m prepared to let go if it goes wrong.”

Hannibal nodded, pressing his forehead to Will’s, a gentle hand finding his jaw. “Trust in me, Will. I would never hurt you so, nor could I deign to hurt myself needlessly.”

“Okay.” 

Will found it easy to trust Hannibal - he’d seen what had become of the angel, the twisted ethics, the pearlescent eyes, the beauty within his monstrosity. They had been enemies, at first, sly jabs across civilisation, setting various humanas on the other just to see what would happen. Admittedly, the only good thing to come out of that was Hannibal’s penchant for seeing Will kill, bare teeth and claws. 

Hannibal couldn’t kill - it wasn’t actually something angels could do. But he could craft his words well enough to drive other people to, could set them upon each other like pawns in chess, could drive even the most dominant of men to submission. Will didn’t mind being his hellhound if it meant feeling the reverence wash over him when Hannibal watched.

“You’re thinking about hunting.” Hannibal hummed, closing his eyes, letting their consciousnesses merge slightly. 

“I am.” Will agreed, wondering quite where his mind was going, when he saw platinum blonde hair strike his vision. “He was a particularly difficult one.”

The angel chuckled softly, pressing his lips to his. “You are a magnificent beast, Graham. Thank you for letting me help you indulge.”

Will kissed him back soundly, opening his eyes. “My lunch break is nearly over, Hannibal.”

“Then I shall see you at home. Would you like me to drive you to Alana? Perhaps it may be within her interest to drink, and I have found that it is a social act.” Hannibal advised, pulling back but looking as if he wished he’d never done it at all.

“Yeah, that’d be nice actually. Please, look after Margot,” Will sighed, the last phrase unspoken. But look after me most.

Hannibal seemed to understand, placing a kiss on his cheek before arranging the tupperware back into his bag. “I will see you later, dearest.”

“Later.” Will replied lamely, feeling the relief sap from him as Hannibal left. The man truly was his only solace.

Chapter Text

“So, are we going to talk about the fact that mom’s gone to therapy, or?” Eve asked, sitting in the armchair that Margot usually took up, wearing some loungewear that Hannibal had gotten her on the off chance she might like them. He was good like that. Thoughtful. 

Alana visibly stiffened, and Will thought that it might be nice if he was helpful every once in a while. “Everyone has their own stuff. Your mom getting help is a sign of health - she’s acknowledged whatever problem she has, and is actively aiming to remedy it.”

“Isn’t there like, a whole thing, where you shouldn’t have a psychiatrist you’re friends with.” Eve asked, scratching the back of her head nonchalantly. There it was, the cunning that she’d inherited from both sides.

“Yes, there is.” Alana answered, sighing. “But, I wanted your mother to get help, and the only practicing psychiatrist she’ll have is Hannibal. I trust him to look after her, and I’m sure that he will be able to separate himself from his emotional attachment.” That was a lie, but only slightly. Will could feel the worry ebbing from her, and wanted to remedy it. God, sometimes he wished he hadn’t fallen, then he could still help. 

Eve nodded, obviously choosing her words carefully. It would be interesting, Will decided, to see how her mind worked. “Cause mom hates men?”

“Because your mom hates men, yes.” She repeated, “I’m getting a drink. Want one, Will?”

“Yes, please.” Will nodded, looking over at Evelyn when she disappeared into the kitchen. 

“It’s about mom’s brother, isn’t it?” Evelyn asked softly, and for the first time since she was a child, Will saw the babe he’d held in his arms, rested on his chest in the heat of May. “She still checks the windows before bed every night. There are three locks on every door.”

Will sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I think so. Hannibal would never tell me anything, nor would I want him to. That’s between your mom and whoever she wants to share it with.”

Eve nodded, and Will felt as if he’d passed a test of some kind. “She sees you and Hannibal as family. You know I see you both as my.. Dads. I’m glad she’s talking to someone. I wish she’d talk to me, though.”

“She will.” He hummed, watching Alana come back in with drinks. 

“Who will what?” Alana asked, sitting back down next to Will, handing him a glass of whiskey.

“Mom.” Eve admitted, seemingly shrinking within herself. Here it was - the inherited intelligence came with cons. “I wish she’d talk to me about her.. Stuff.”

Alana smiled softly, sipping from her glass before setting it down on a coaster. “She doesn’t want you to know because she wants you to live a happier life than you would if you knew. It’s something we usually disagree on. We always tell you what we should to keep you safe.”

Will, even though he’d spent the most time with Eve out of anyone, felt almost as if he was intruding. “Maybe it’s something she’ll discuss with Hannibal.” Was all he said, even though he could see Margot’s motivations and feelings laid out for him. He couldn’t psychoanalyse her in front of Alana and Evelyn - Margot todl them just as much as she wanted to, and that was something Will could respect. He’d done the same, hiding his past from Hannibal, his feelings. If Hannibal had seen through his lies before Will wanted him to, he didn’t say.

Hannibal, however, was an open book to Will. Not verbally, of course - everything he said was cloaked in metaphor and symbolism - but still, an open book. To everyone else, Hannibal was a clean slate. Margot, however, was quickly emerging from the group of ‘everyone else’ and into ‘interesting’.

“My brother was a monster,” Is her response to Hannibal asking if she grieves. “How can I grieve a man that took everything from me, and smiled whilst he did it? Fuck him.”

“You believe he took enjoyment in hurting you.” Hannibal stated, wondering if Margot would ever figure it out. Would she understand? Thank him for the freedom he and Will gave her? Or would she be angry? He remembered what Will had asked of him, and ignored his desires. Funny, what Will could persuade him of if he only said the words.

Margot rolled her eyes then, an attempt at looking casual when he could feel the tightness within her chest. “You didn’t see the way he smiled. I thought, when dad died, he would stop. He was only doing it because he was scared. I tried to forgive him, then. Then he carried on. More often. Worse. I don’t have a womb, Hannibal. Someone who loves you doesn’t stop you from having what you want most.”

Hannibal had never been more sure that he’d done the right thing when he’d separated Mason Verger’s limbs into separate freezer bags. “No, they do not.”

“I never wanted children growing up. My childhood was painful, and I didn’t like the chances of raising a daughter who’d go through the same hurt.” Margot told him, “If I had a son, I would be able to kill my brother, and leave with the Verger legacy.”

“And if you had a daughter?”

“We would both be trapped in that hell until we died, and I would have put my own daughter through something I couldn’t stop.” Margot admitted, tears pricking her eyes. “My daughter is the best thing in my life, Hannibal. I would die for her. I’d kill for her. Every day, I wake up, and I live for her. I don’t think I could have stopped him if he found me.”

Hannibal nodded, remembering the way Will’s teeth had ripped into his throat. The crimson spray had been truly beautiful. “And then he died,” He reminded her gently, having put the tissues on the coffee table before the session, understanding that should she get emotional, approaching her at all would potentially trigger her. 

“Do you think he suffered, Hannibal?” Margot asked, hardening her gaze. “I want him to have died in pain. I want to sleep better, knowing Evelyn is safe in bed, and that I’ve locked all the windows.”

“If I remember what Alana said the police had reported, I would almost call it definite that he died painfully.” Hannibal hummed, “You don’t feel safe, even when he is dead.”

“He’s dead. My head isn’t.” Margot reminded him. “Do you know what it’s like to lie in bed with the woman you love, and have to ask her not to touch you tonight because every hand feels like his? To have to push your own daughter away because hands are hands and sometimes your brain is so fucked that you can’t differentiate? No. I don’t feel safe.”

“Prior to his death, did you believe that you would feel safe if he were no longer alive?” 

Margot nodded. “Hence my attempt on his life.”

An interesting development, even by Hannibal’s standards. 

“And how did it feel, when you attempted to take his life?” Hannibal asked, suddenly a lot more interested in who Margot Verger was - he could read everyone else easily, but she was tougher, hidden by walls that Alcatraz would be jealous of.

She paused, then, and Hannibal preened at the fact that he’d given her a question she had to think about. “Hopeful. On the precipice of freedom, but I knew I’d never fling myself over. I’m glad someone killed him before Evelyn was old enough to know what was happening.”

“And does Evelyn know now?”

“She knows that I don’t trust men. I hope she never knows why.” Margot admitted, carefully dabbing at her lower lashes to rid them of tears before they could spill down her face. “She’s not naive, but she’s optimistic.”

“And hearing of your hurt would rid her of her optimism?” 

Margot laughed a little, then. “If not, she’s Alana’s daughter more than she is mine.”

“How are you and Alana?” He asked, all his movements slowed. If he ever got out of his chair, he announced it - the last thing he wanted to do is to pair Margot’s emotional vulnerability with her triggers.

She smiled at that, thankful for the change of topic. “We’re good. She’s pissed at me for refusing to see other psychiatrists, but she’s glad I’m seeing one. I’m thinking of getting her a dog for Christmas.”

“You hate dogs.” Hannibal smiled back knowingly.

“Alana loves them.” Margot countered, “She lets me control the house’s security because it makes me feel safe. I don’t think a guard dog would be a stretch.”

Hannibal nodded - his own hellhound had kept him safe since the beginning of time. “It may be a good idea. What are you looking for from therapy? Diagnosis? A particular goal?”

Margot sighed, “I don’t need a diagnosis. I have a psychologist for a wife.”

“And her findings?”

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Margot relayed. “Yours?”

“The very same. Luckily for you, PTSD is extremely treatable - of course, with all mental illness, it never fully wanes, but it will become manageable.” Hannibal promised, having promised Will the same thing over 200 years ago. He’d held his face, sheltering him in the warmth of their bed as he promised him he’d be okay. He liked to think that he’d kept that promise.

“What treatment do you think I need?” Margot asked, eyes flitting to the clock on the wall. She felt revealed, stripped bare, and was only just finding goosebumps across her skin. Hannibal recognised it as a common symptom of emotional distress, and decided to let up on her a little.

“I think the more informal we keep your treatment, the more effective it will be.” Hannibal decided, “If you wish to end our conversation here, we will, and I will drive you home. No doubt my Will has provided Alana and Eve with all too much processed food.”

Will definitely had. Pizza boxes stacked neatly on the antique ottoman, and the three had shuffled onto the same sofa to watch shitty crime shows. It was horrifically inaccurate and equally hilarious. Eve had fallen asleep, her head on Will’s lap as they discussed bloody murder. The tell tale noise of three locks alerted them both, but they did not feel the need to get up. 

“Alana?” Margot called, letting Hannibal in and then locking all three bolts behind them. She stripped herself of her outdoor coat and gloves, hanging them neatly before walking into the living room, Hannibal close behind. 

“In here, love.” Alana hummed, stretching to get up. 

Hannibal resumed her place, the sight of Will’s tender care for Evelyn all too much to resist. “I trust everything is well, mylimasis?” He asked softly, careful not to wake the teenager sleeping soundly in his lap.

“It is.” Will nodded, “It’s a far cry from what it was like when she was small.”

“As is the miracle of growth.” Hannibal hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I would suggest that we take our leave, to allow Margot to stabilise herself, but I would hate to disturb Evelyn’s slumber.”

Margot hummed, sitting in the armchair that Evelyn had bundled herself in to begin with, Alana sitting on the arm. She seemed to have a penchant for sitting on anything that wasn’t a chair. “There’s no rush, Hannibal.” Margot assured him, though Hannibal could see the emotional exhaustion was wearing on her. “She has grown, hasn’t she?”

Still, they made an exit as soon as was possible, getting into Hannibal’s car after saying their godbyes. There was a tense silence, and neither knew how to begin. Hannibal broke first - he always did.

“You wish to know what plagues Margot.” Hannibal hummed, fingertips drumming across the steering wheel as he drove. “Or, rather, if we have furthered her pain in an effort to help her.”

Will nodded, staring straight ahead. The stars weren’t as bright these days - they were like diamonds in sunlight when they had begun, now they were sparse blobs of white. Manmade ugliness was devastating in its encompassing nature. “Does she know?”

“She doesn’t.” He told him, “And I believe that Margot’s mental health, unfortunately, is only slightly affected by the mortality of her brother. The idea of him still reigns triumphant, honoured in the destruction left.” Hannibal explained, and Will wanted to punch him for being poetic about the mental state of one of his favourite humans. “You are not satisfied.”

“Hannibal, she is family.” Will explained tersely, “She is family, and I am upset because she is ill and we can’t do anything.”

“Ah, Will. Your bleeding heart always manages to surprise me. Your empathy.” Hannibal spoke with reverence, and it satiated Will a little to feel wanted. “You fear that you are not useful, and therefore not wanted.”

“Don’t psychoanalyse me.” Will snapped, staring straight ahead now, jaw set.

And, for all his bickering, Hannibal coalesced. 

Will wished that was enough to dispel his bad mood as he poured coffee into a thermos the next morning - he’d learnt his lesson, the staff room coffee maker was truly diabolical. “Will,” Hannibal hummed, a gentle hand pressed into his waist as he pressed his lips to the nape of his neck. “You’re carrying so much tension. Would you like me to join you again at lunch? Perhaps later we can seek a solution to whatever is upsetting you.”

Everything within Will wanted to snap, wanted to lash out at Hannibal. But, down deeper, in the ache of his bones, he wanted the softness that Hannibal held within his sharp suits and even sharper knives. It all came down to him - if Will were to lose him, he’d hand himself over to holy water, after all, what was the point if he was going to be resigned to loneliness again?

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Will nodded, turning to kiss Hannibal before leaving, mentally preparing himself for whatever work was to bring.

What work brought was a weirdly charged conversation about religion in the staff room. Will was trying to numb the fire in his brain when copper hair filled his vision, Freddie Lounds sitting opposite him with her own thermos - it seemed she had caught on too. She was smart, he had to give it to her. Even if she used it to be fucking incessantly annoying. 

“Hello, Graham.” Freddie smiled, and Will felt like he was being hunted. Hearing her say the name bestowed upon him by God herself sent his skin crawling - the only person that said it nowadays was Hannibal, and he said it with such reverence that it could never remind him of that time. Freddie was the perfect fit for a minion of hell.

“Freddie.” He replied, wishing something stronger was in his thermos.

“I just realised, I’ve never asked you, are you religious at all?” She asked, picking at a thread on her jacket, forcing nonchalance with every syllable. Will wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

Will nodded, almost by reflex. “I used to be.” 

It was true - he had once believed in God, sure that she would look after him if he only behaved, followed her every word, never asking why, never thinking. Then he tested his limits. Showed what he could be. How much he could do. He did too much, and fell. Hell had rid him of any belief - it was dirty, priding itself on being sinful, but they, too, worshipped her.

Falling to Hell had helped him realise how much control God had, that the only escape was to forget morality altogether, only indulging in what made him feel good. Indulging in what felt right to him. 

Freddie nodded, considering his response, but Will knew there was something looming over his head. “What made you lose faith? I’m a christian myself.”

“The realisation that God does what God wants, and that God doesn’t care about anyone’s happiness, but what would interest her.” Will answered simply, unable to stop his mouth from running when he got angry. “Why would I worship someone that doesn’t care about me?” 

“You talk as if you’re on personal terms.” Freddie hummed nonchalantly, and Will realised what a thin line he was towing. Will wasn’t ashamed about anything, god, why couldn’t she have picked his sexuality out, rung that out to dry? He could defend that until he was blue in the face without risking his life.

“If you’re not, I don’t think you’re doing Christianity right.” Will answered back, staring her down. She was lucky he was against using his more manipulative powers. She was lucky he wasn’t ripping her throat out for Hannibal’s amusement. 

Freddie chuckled, “You’ve got some very interesting ideas about christianity, Will. And your husband? Does he also share a disconnect? Or, is he your retaliation to religion? Do you worship him, Graham, and does he care about you?”

Will raised an eyebrow, doing everything he could to remain calm when his teeth were begging to tear skin like tissue paper. “Hannibal and I are not married, but when and if it happens, it will not be in a church.”

“Well, I’ll hope to receive an invite.” Freddie left as quickly as she came, and Will’s murderous rage dissipated only slightly. He thought, for a second, that he was alone. Until, of course, Alana was in front of him. She was always there when he thought he might be alone at work - it was sweet, but it did make him feel as if he’d had a chip put in him.  

“Hey, Will! Why the face?” Alana asked, and instead of sitting across from him, she sat next to him, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “You and Hannibal busy saturday night?”

Will thought it was sweet that she thought he and Hannibal had plans away from the Verger Blooms. “I don’t think so, why?” 

What Will wasn’t expecting was to be invited out. ‘Out’ tended to mean with other people. “Well, Bev’s having a party, it’s her birthday. Wanna come? Bring Hannibal if you want, I know you feel better in social situations with him,”

It was a nice way of putting it, and Will appreciated that she hadn’t just straight up told him how inept he was, and how noticeable it was. “Yeah, I’ll ask him. Let me know the details?”

“Of course. Margot’ll probably stay home, though. Won’t wanna leave Eve alone.” Alana sighed, rubbing her forehead - Will handed her his aspirin bottle, she took one, and decided not to question why he kept a bottle of aspirin or why it was nearly empty.