Archive of Our Own

Will gasped, taking in a lungful of the cool night air. He clawed up from the hole he had just dug and lay sprawled on the grass there under the moon for a long moment. 

Dirt tasted differently than he had expected it to. There was a metallic element he hadn’t ever considered. It was like blood, but mixed strangely with the earth. Will didn’t like the grit of it, either. He hadn’t ever planned to eat dirt, as an adult, so all of this was a bit of a shock to his system. 

And his body felt numb, too. That was probably the shock.

Will sat up and looked around. He was in the middle of an unfamiliar field, and it was the middle of the night.

Hannibal.

The thought speared into his mind without warning, sticking like a barb and overriding all of his other trains of thought. 

He had to get to Hannibal.

Will heaved himself up off the grass and began walking. He didn’t know what direction he should go in, but his feet were carrying him and they seemed to have some idea. He let his mind take a backseat and his feet lead the way. 

Will found his mind drifting, and he wasn’t aware of anything else until he was standing on the front step of Hannibal’s home.

—

Hannibal measured his breaths as he walked to the door in his dressing gown. 

Whoever was choosing to interrupt his sleep by ringing his bell at four in the morning was going to regret it. Despite the early hour, he had to control his actions and go forth calmly. He brought a scalpel with him, anticipating a fight. Anyone about at this hour wasn’t likely to have good intentions.

Hannibal was stunned into silence for almost an entire minute when he opened the door to see Will Graham on his stoop.

It wasn’t Will’s presence alone that surprised him, Will had shown an increasing level of trust and dependence with Hannibal and had come to him before at odd hours for advice or help, but rather Will’s appearance.

Will was filthy, caked in dirt and clay, even in his hair and over his face. He looked like he had just been rolling in mud, but the state of his hands made Hannibal think more along the lines of digging in the earth. Under the mud was something much more concerning. Will’s clothes seemed to be soaked in blood. 

“Will,” Hannibal said when he managed to catch up to his own thoughts and realize he had been standing there, gaping at Will for far longer than could possibly be construed as polite, “come in.”

Perhaps he should have asked a question first, but he had been too shocked to consider that, and reactively invited Will into his house without any further thought. 

Will shook his head slightly, as if coming out of some kind of daze, and stepped inside. He didn’t venture further than the foyer, possibly because he recognized how filthy he was and was too polite to presume Hannibal would be alright with him doing so.

Hannibal shut the door behind Will and finally turned toward his companion with an inquisitive gaze.

“What on earth happened, Will?” he asked, “You are covered in blood and dirt. Is it your blood? Are you injured?”

Hannibal wouldn’t have normally asked such a rapid succession of questions. It would have been rude. But he must have been shocked out of his usual tendencies. 

Will looked down at himself and frowned. He seemed as bewildered as Hannibal felt.

“I don’t know,” he said, and there was something strange about his voice, like he didn’t have quite enough air to say anything, but he didn’t know or realize, “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t feel anything. I can’t say where the blood came from.”

That was very concerning. Especially paired with the vacant way Will’s face appeared. It was as if the layers of his thoughts had been peeled away, so only a facsimile of his cognition was still operating. Something was very wrong.

Hannibal made a decision and reached out. He nearly drew back when he felt how chilled Will’s skin was underneath all the grime. Will must have walked here from somewhere far away, and he wasn’t wearing a coat or even a jacket. 

“I need to look for injuries, Will,” Hannibal said calmly, pulling Will further into his home, “You must get cleaned, and warmed if we can manage it. Are you hungry?”

At that, Will’s face almost filled with his usual conscious presence, as if becoming more alive.

“Starved,” he said. 

That, at least, was a relief. If Will was hungry, that meant he was conscious of himself. If shock was the problem here, Will was coming back to himself.

Hannibal smiled.

“I’ll fix you something to eat the moment I can,” he promised, leading Will into the ground level bathroom, “but first I must be sure you are not injured.”

Hannibal sat Will down on a chair in the bathroom and retrieved his medical supplies. If Will had an injury, all this movement and prodding Hannibal expected might irritate it and make it bleed again. If all the blood was Will’s, that could be dangerous. 

“First and foremost, you will need to remove your shirt so I may inspect your torso for any cuts or scrapes.”

Hannibal turned around in time to see Will yank on his shirt so hard all the buttons popped off and scattered across the floor. Will didn’t seem to notice what he had done, just slipping the flannel off his shoulders so he was in only his white T-shirt. It was also quite dirty, but had been protected from whatever had caused the filth enough that Hannibal could see a hole in the center of the bloodstain that was concerning.

Hannibal put his hands out and stopped Will before he could take this shirt off, his heart nearly stopping in his chest at the thought that Will would further injure himself in this strangely unaware state. 

“Don’t move,” he said, and Will immediately stilled, his expression vacant in a frightening way.

Hannibal took the scissors from the medical bag and carefully cut the shirt off of Will, afraid to move him any more and risk tearing an injury open.

Hannibal’s breath whooshed out of him all at once when he saw Will’s abdomen, caked in blood and dirt, with what could only be a large stab wound into his stomach. This was the kind of wound most people didn’t survive, and if they did it ended up festering and causing them pain and illness later on. It was painful and dangerous. It was no wonder Will was in such a severe state of shock.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” Hannibal asked, trying not to sound so breathless and frightened as he felt. He was glad his hands were still steady as he began cleaning the area to get a better look at the wound.

Will looked down at himself and frowned. If Hannibal had to guess, he would have said Will had no more idea how this had happened than he did.

Will furrowed his brows, thoughtful.

“That looks bad,” he said, “I should remember what happened.”

Will closed his eyes, possibly to think more deeply about what had happened to him in the past day.

Hannibal had only seen Will twelve hours ago. Something had gone very wrong in the time since.

Hannibal was concerned about the way Will was acting, and the way his flesh was not reacting to his touch at all. Most people would twitch and pull away from an intrusive touch, and with an injury like this they would also be in pain as his touch agitated it. Will did nothing, still as the grave.

Hannibal took one of Will’s hands in his, deciding to take his pulse. He really should have done so already, but he had been startled enough to forget the order of operations in this case.

Will’s pulse was slow, nearly sluggish, making Hannibal even more concerned. 

“I was walking in the woods,” Will said, his eyes still closed and his brow creased harshly as he concentrated, “I think I was following someone. I don’t remember how I found them, or who they were. But they tricked me by doubling back and catching me from behind. I fought, but he had a knife. The kind hunters carry.”

Will’s fingers twitched, as if wanting to stray to his abdomen to feel the wound. Hannibal was glad Will held back, because it wouldn’t be good for him to be poking around in the injury.

“I woke up in a grave,” Will continued, opening his eyes and catching Hannibal in his icy blue gaze, “he must have thought I was dead, and he buried me. That’s why I’m covered in dirt. I clawed my way up to the surface.”

Hannibal’s heart was pounding harshly in his chest, unable to not think of how close Will had been to death. And he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He was still in danger of complications if Hannibal was not careful. 

“Realistically, you should be dead,” he offered honestly, unable to give anything other than honesty in this situation, “how far away were you when you woke up? Did you walk here?”

Will shrugged a bit, and Hannibal didn’t see a bit of a wince or sign of pain in his face despite the way the movement would have been pulling at the wound. He really was divorced from all the pain, and Hannibal was worried.

“A lot of things don’t go the way they are supposed to,” he said casually, “and I bet this guy is going to regret not making sure of it first. Especially because it’s me.”

Hannibal would tend to agree with that. Anyone would be likely to regret getting Will’s attention in a legal capacity, because he wasn’t likely to fail when he was on the trail. Will really was like a bloodhound.

“Do you remember who it was?” Hannibal asked.

Will’s eyes darkened. Literally, they darkened. The irises, which were usually a bright and clear blue, became a charcoal grey that nearly seemed black. It scared Hannibal, but he didn’t jump. He just stilled.

“I remember what he looks like, and I know what he’s done,” Will said, and there was a deadly serious aspect to his tone that gave Hannibal a strange thrill, “I am going to find him, and he is going to regret being born.”

Hannibal was in love.

He had been harboring some growing affection for Will before tonight, but when Will said that he felt it all crash down and he was obsessively infatuated. There was no going back from here.

Hannibal wasn’t sure what to do, which was unusual for him. Under different circumstances, he would confidently pursue the object of his desire, unashamed and confident. But Will was in very poor shape at the moment, and it would be in poor taste to do anything that might make him uncomfortable.

Really, what Will needed was a hospital. This injury was more than Hannibal was equipped to deal with in his home. Despite knowing that, Hannibal wanted to keep Will away from a hospital for as long as possible. Hospitals were dangerous for this kind of time, because an injury like this would require an explanation and the involvement of the police in the likelihood of the doctors thinking foul play was involved regardless of whether or not they lied about what had happened. 

As far as Hannibal could tell, Will was not in any immediate danger. The wound was no longer bleeding, and Will was fully conscious and aware. The slight lapse in memory was something he could concern himself with later. He thought he might be able to take care of this without a hospital. If he was very careful, and very lucky.

Will had walked here, from who knows how far away, after all.

So Hannibal drew a bath for Will. It might not have been the best course of action, all things considered, but he wouldn’t be able to really see everything that was wrong until Will was clean, and it would help to warm him up as well. 

Everything would have to be trial and error.

Hannibal left Will to bathe himself while he went to the basement for a few surgical supplies he didn’t keep in the above ground portion of his house. He hoped Will wouldn’t question why he had them, or what he might use them for other than this unlikely scenario. At the moment, they had other things to discuss, so he thought it possible to avoid that conversation for now.

When Hannibal returned, Will had dressed in his boxer shorts, but nothing else. He looked dazed and distant, and Hannibal was concerned all over again.

“How are you feeling, Will?” Hannibal asked, setting a few things out on the bathroom counter. The wound in Will’s abdomen didn’t look as frightening without the blood caked around it, but it was still very obviously an injury to be taken seriously. Hannibal didn’t understand how Will had survived it and didn’t seem to be in any pain. Even someone in shock should have started to recognize the terrible damage done to their body by this time. And it should still be bleeding, honestly. 

Will’s attention snapped to Hannibal and he smiled wryly.

“Not feeling all that much of anything,” he said, “I guess it could be shock, but that’s not what it feels like. It’s more like everything is muted. Like I’m under water.”

Hannibal nodded, rolling up his sleeves and reaching forward to turn Will by the torso so he could inspect his back. Will’s skin was still alarmingly chilled, and he thought he would have to treat Will for hypothermia as well as the stab wound. 

“Allow me to search you for other injuries, Will,” he said gently, and Will moved easily with his soft prodding, “I want to be sure I am not overlooking anything more serious than the wound we have already identified.”

Will nodded, and Hannibal carefully skated his hand down Will’s spine. 

It was strange, really, the way Will failed to react to Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal had come to learn Will reacted strongly to even the smallest instances of physical contact, whether intentional or not. Will was touch starved and open to gentle manipulations through such means. 

But Will’s body didn’t react at all to Hannibal’s hands. Not today.

There were a few deep cuts in Will’s flesh, though none nearly as serious as the stab in his gut. They would need stitches, but Hannibal was perfectly capable of taking care of those. After making note of each of them, Hannibal put Will back to his original position. Will still had that slightly dazed expression on his face, and Hannibal was more concerned about that than anything else. If Will had hit his head, damaged his brain, this could be devastating. 

It would be a tragedy if Will’s mind were damaged in any way.

“I must check you for a concussion,” Hannibal said softly, and Will only hummed his assent. He was complacent and malleable, in a way that was entirely unlike him.

Hannibal carefully felt over Will’s head for any bumps or tender places, but found none. Will’s eyes were reacting to light, and the pupils were the same size. He didn’t think Will had a head injury, one small mercy of this nightmarish night. 

Hannibal carefully checked Will’s arms and hands, finding Will’s knuckles had been shredded like he had been punching someone viciously. The thought brought a small thrill to Hannibal’s spine, but he continued his inspection without commenting. Will’s legs were largely unhurt, even his feet seeming uninjured. That was good, especially considering how far Will might have walked without being able to feel his injuries. He could have done real damage to himself.

Hannibal cleaned and wrapped Will’s hands, all the while Will watched with a distant, uninterested gaze. It was starting to unnerve Hannibal, who was rarely fazed by anything. It was as if some vital part of Will was not present. 

“What is your name?” Hannibal asked, knowing it would be important to make sure Will was thinking clearly.

A ghost of a smile flicked across Will’s face.

“Checking my state of mind, Doctor?” he asked, “My name is Will Graham, I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. It’s five fifteen in the morning, and I’m with Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled, pleased and satisfied. Will was himself, and perhaps it was only the shock of what had happened that made him seem strange.

“Very good. I must see what I can do for this stab wound, now.”

—

Hannibal bundled Will up in layers of warm clothes and gave him a hot cup of coffee while he cooked. Will had again expressed that he was starving, and his eyes had changed to that darker color as he said it. Hannibal was fascinated by the changes he seemed to see in Will, and wanted to see where this would take them. 

When Hannibal took the meat from the refrigerator and began to cut it, Will leaned forward and watched him intently. His eyes darkened again, and he breathed in deeply through his nose. It was only raw meat, but Will seemed to be having a strong reaction to the sight and smell of it.

Of course, it wasn’t really just any regular meat, but Will had no way of knowing that.

The darkened eyes fascinated Hannibal the most, because he honestly couldn’t explain it. Eyes could appear to be different shades based on lighting, but this was not that. This was an actual, physical change in the color of Will’s irises. Hannibal didn’t know of anything that could cause a change like that, especially because it didn’t remain. It seemed to be linked to Will’s thoughts, and came and went as they changed. The first had been when he was angry, thinking about the man who had hurt him so badly, and now it was somehow triggered by the presence of the meat.

Long pig.

Hannibal wondered if Will did know, somehow, and the kind of meat is what had triggered the reaction. 

“Do you intend to tell the authorities what has happened to you?” Hannibal asked.

Will snapped his head up, and his eyes cleared to their regular blue. His mouth turned down in a moue of distaste. 

“I am the authorities,” he said, almost petulantly. 

Hannibal smiled inwardly. He had phrased it that way intentionally, to allow Will to take that stance. He could not technically be accused of encouraging Will to conceal this, but he was certainly doing what he could to guide him in that direction.

He didn’t want anyone to get in the way of Will’s righteous anger.

“What will be your next step, then?” Hannibal asked, wanting Will to keep talking.

Will smiled at that, at least, and Hannibal was struck by how pale he looked. And the dark hollows under his eyes were more prominent than usual. It might have only been exhaustion, as he apparently hadn’t slept yet and had gone through quite the ordeal. But Will wasn’t behaving like he was tired. He was alert and clear headed, despite the occasional lapse in attention.

“I know where to find him,” Will said, and there was that dangerous hint in his tone again, making Hannibal bite his tongue against the urge to seize him immediately, “He won’t kill anyone else.”

Hannibal was pleased. He was partially grateful for this night’s events, because they seemed to have accelerated his hopes for Will to fulfill his potential. 

Hannibal set a bowl of food down in front of Will, and Will didn’t hesitate a moment before he began to eat. He seemed to really have been starving, eating so quickly it bordered on impolite. Will was usually a very mindful dinner guest.

Will’s eyes were dark again, and the entirety of his attention was on the food. He seemed almost animal as he ate, and Hannibal couldn’t have looked away if he had wanted to. Will finished his bowl quickly, and the expression on his face told Hannibal he had not yet been sated.

Without a word, Hannibal passed his own bowl, as of yet untouched, to Will. Will paused long enough to offer a grateful smile to Hannibal before eating this food with the same energy.

Something had happened to Will. Possibly something Hannibal would have a hard time believing or understanding. There was a fundamental difference to him, a change that Hannibal could not put down to trauma or shock no matter how much he might want to. 

Soon, Will was finished with Hannibal’s portion as well, and Hannibal briefly thought he might have to make more food to satisfy Will’s strange new appetite.

But Will grinned, and Hannibal realized he was pleased.

“Thank you, Doctor Lecter,” Will said, and there seemed to be some more color to his face. His lips were pink instead of the pale blue Hannibal had been concerned by before. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took that first bite.”

Hannibal smiled and began to tidy up. The morning was growing lighter, though they still had some time before the sun would rise. Hannibal planned to insist Will sleep in this guest room, and he would monitor Will’s condition all day. He had no patients today, so he wouldn’t have to cancel or leave Will on his own. He saw this as an opportunity to further ingratiate himself to Will, and hopefully learn more about what had happened to him.

He had no way to predict the turn the day would take.

—

Hannibal had checked Will’s temperature again, and found he had warmed considerably. That pleased him, and he told Will he should stay and sleep in the house today.

“What about my dogs?” Will asked, though he didn’t look all that concerned about it, really. That was one more strange thing Hannibal made note of.

Hannibal smiled.

“I will drive out to take care of them in an hour or so,” he said, “or I can ask Alana to check on them if you would prefer.”

Will considered it for a moment, studying Hannibal in a way that made him feel warm anticipation.

“You should go,” Will said with a sigh, “Alana will ask questions if you ask her to check on them for me.”

Then, Will smiled mischievously.

“You could always take me home and observe my condition from there,” he said.

Hannibal tipped his head, curious.

Was Will flirting with him?

As far as he had been able to tell, Will had never flirted with him before. Regardless of who he was talking to, Will made the occasional witty remark that could be taken as flirtatious, but he never followed through. This was more overt than those, and it gave Hannibal pause.

“If you are uncomfortable here, I can certainly do that,” he agreed, “but I have the resources to take care of you best here. I would prefer you stay.”

Hannibal internally chided himself for not finding a way to make his response match Will’s tone while still getting his point across. Will was less likely to flirt with him again if he didn’t reciprocate this first time.

Will kept his smile, giving Hannibal some hope in that respect.

“I’m perfectly comfortable here, Doctor Lecter,” he said, a remaining note of mischief in his voice that gave Hannibal a thrill, “and I wouldn’t want to take you out of your own comfort zone.”

Hannibal smiled. He could work with that.

“I think you’ll find my comfort zone is more flexible than you expect,” he said.

He hoped that had been the right level of forwardness. Will was the only person who had ever made him question himself in these things. It was one of the things that fascinated Hannibal so desperately.

—

Will listened as Hannibal left the house. He could hear him moving around downstairs, and heard the door close behind him. Hannibal’s house was almost entirely silent, which Will wasn’t used to. He always had his dogs and the sounds of the country outside. 

Will had slept a bit, but he had been awake for a while by the time Hannibal left. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, really. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t tired. He just felt hungry again. He didn’t think he needed more food, though. This hunger was different. He felt like it had something to do with his hyper-aware tracking of Hannibal’s movements down below him.

Will swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He began wandering around the room he was being allowed to sleep in. 

Something was definitely different. He could feel it. For one, he wasn’t in any pain. It had been long enough that any level of shock should have worn off by now. He should have been experiencing every bit of his pain and exhaustion now, after the night he had endured. 

But he wasn’t. He only felt one thing.

Hunger.

Finally, Will left the room and began wandering the house.

He normally wouldn’t have been so bold or rude. But he reasoned Hannibal wouldn’t have left him here alone, asleep or not, if he had anything to hide. Hannibal wouldn’t consider it rude.

Will found his way to the study and sat on the couch there. It was comfortable. Will took in a deep breath, and his eyes widened. 

He could smell Hannibal on the couch. Not just Hannibal, though. He could smell several people, possibly Hannibal’s most recent guests.

Will didn’t understand. He knew Hannibal had a very sensitive nose, and maybe he could have smelled these kinds of things. Will had never been able to, himself, but now he did.

There had been a woman wearing too much perfume, and a man in need of a shower but not too badly, a woman who had gone without perfume at all and only deodorant, a man wearing something expensive and spicy. And of course Hannibal, who smelled the best of all.

Will breathed in again, his eyes closed, and remembered Hannibal. Specifically, his eyes. How they had looked at him when he had said he would find and punish the man who had hurt and buried him. Hannibal had looked up at him from where he had been stitching up a long scratch in Will’s side, and he had looked hungry. That same hunger Will felt now. That’s what he had seen in Hannibal’s eyes. 

And Will realized what he had been feeling. That hunger.

He wanted Hannibal.

Will had been harboring some feeling for Hannibal for a while. That might have been why Will had come here that morning. After he had almost died, that had been his first thought.

Will had gone to Hannibal. And Hannibal had taken care of him. Hannibal had stitched him up and fed him. Had let Will eat his portion as well, when Will’s hunger had proved greater than either of them had expected. Hannibal had wrapped him up in warm clothes and put Will into a warm, soft bed. Hannibal at this very moment was at Will’s little house in Wolf Trap, feeding his dogs and walking them so Will could rest.

Hannibal hadn’t insisted on telling Jack or the police. In some ways, that was the most important thing.

Because Will felt all kinds of hunger. They seemed to rotate in and out of priority, like gears switching on a bike chain. The strongest one at the moment, the one that had woken him up, was hunger for Hannibal. The one that mattered about this guy he was chasing was different.

Will wanted to kill him. He wanted to sink his teeth into the flesh of the man’s neck, and taste the blood as it poured into his mouth. That was the other hunger that concerned him. And why Hannibal letting this be a secret was so important. Why it made Will’s hunger for him all that stronger.

On an impulse so strong Will couldn’t have refused if he wanted to, Will headed back upstairs. He walked past the guest room, sniffing the air like a bloodhound on a trail. He was looking for Hannibal’s room.

Will stopped in front of a door and took a long, deep breath in.

This was it.

The door was closed. A clear message for curious parties to keep out.

Will opened the door. It wasn’t locked, which meant that polite bid for privacy was possibly more for appearances than to actually keep anyone out. If he was right in his conclusions about Hannibal’s thought processes, at least. He thought he was. 

Will briefly hoped Hannibal wouldn’t be angry with him for the intrusion. If he was right about that hungry look in Hannibal’s eyes, he didn’t think it would be a problem.

Will stepped in, taking another deep breath. He smiled as his lungs filled with the smell of Hannibal. It was strong here, as he would expect. Not because he thought Hannibal used this room more than others, but because there were few other people who entered it to dilute Hannibal’s smell with their own.

Will walked over to the bed and lifted one of the pillows. The one that had a few light hairs on it. He pressed it to his face and breathed in. 

Filling his lungs with Hannibal’s scent wasn’t working. It was only making his hunger more desperate, and he felt his mouth fill with saliva. 

How long had Hannibal been gone? How long until Will could expect him to be back?

Will groaned into the pillow, upset with himself for being so pathetic.

Will snapped his head up when he heard the door open downstairs. He ran to the door of the bedroom as quietly as he could. While he had an idea Hannibal wouldn’t mind, he didn’t want to broadcast what he had been doing the moment he walked in.

Will forced himself to walk calmly down the stairs and found Hannibal in the kitchen. Where else.

Hannibal turned when he heard Will enter. There were a couple brown paper bags on the counter, and Will realized Hannibal had stopped for groceries.

“Will,” Hannibal said with a smile, dazzling Will with his bright pleasantness, “I hadn’t expected you to be awake yet, given the night you’ve had.”

Will forced himself to stay where he was. He thought letting himself move would end with him jumping the man.

“Guess I’m not really all that tired,” he said, and saw how Hannibal frowned at that, “And I have a lot to think about.”

Hannibal nodded and began taking items out of the bags to put them away.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

Hungry again. Starving. But this time the answer is more difficult to get, and takes more delicacy.

Instead of saying any of that, Will smiled.

“Right as rain,” he said, “Or,” he paused, deciding to be honest, “Actually, I’ve been feeling strange. I’m not in any pain at all, but I can tell I should be. I feel like I should be tired, too, but I can’t sleep. I only slept for a bit. I have this…” another pause as he wondered how honest he was going to be. “Hunger that won’t seem to go away.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows at Will.

“Are you hungry again?” he asked, not having to add the ‘already’.

Will shook his head.

“Not that kind of hunger,” he explained, though he felt as if it wasn’t an explanation at all. 

Hannibal put the last thing away and shut his fridge, then turned to face Will completely.

“Is there anything I might do to help?” 

Yes. Oh, everything. God, that’s the only thing in the world that matters right now.

–

Hannibal could see that Will was having a tense internal debate. It made him even more curious. What did Will need that he hesitated to ask for from Hannibal?

It could be almost anything. Will hated to ask for anything from anyone. He was better at accepting things if they were freely offered, but it still often made him uncomfortable.

If Hannibal had an idea of what Will wanted, he would have offered immediately. At least, he was pretty sure there wasn’t anything Will could ask for that Hannibal wouldn’t be willing to give.

The more intense Will’s expression became, the darker his eyes grew. Hannibal thought strong emotion must be the cause of the change, and he hoped he would be able to continue to observe Will’s new nature and behaviors.

Eventually, Will took one step towards Hannibal, into the kitchen. His entire body was tense, as if fighting against some strong, invisible force.

Will met Hannibal’s eyes for the first time since he had arrived home, and they immediately turned entirely black.

“Yes,” Will said, his voice low and dangerous in a uniquely thrilling way, “please.”

Before Hannibal had the chance to react, he found himself pressed up against the front of the refrigerator, caught in a devouring kiss.

Initially stunned by both the turn and Will’s speed, Hannibal quickly recovered and pulled Will closer. Hungry.

Hannibal understood why Will had said he felt hunger, but hadn’t wanted to eat again. He thought this was a hunger they shared. And how fortunate it was that they did. Hannibal had been concerned his patience would run out before he could have Will in this way. Now it seemed Will had been the first to run out of patience, and Hannibal couldn’t be more pleased.

—

“Help me kill Clark Ingram.”

Will watched as Hannibal considered that. If he was concerned by Will’s sudden willingness, near eagerness, to kill someone, he did a good job of hiding it.

Will didn’t feel any of his own concern about it, though he logically knew it was strange. He had always rejected his violent thoughts and urges, horrified by his own darkness. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. All he felt was hunger.

“This is the man who tried to kill you?” Hannibal asked. 

Will nodded.

“He’s been killing girls. He’s a social worker. One of the victims recently turned up inside a horse.”

Hannibal was silent  for a moment. He was devastatingly handsome against the smooth pillows in the bed.

“You don’t believe he placed the girl in the horse?” He asked.

He was avoiding the question Will had asked. Will knew it, but he was going to allow it for the time being. 

“I know he didn’t. One of his charges found out what he had done. He had killed a girl the charge knew. The charge put her there, because he was sad. He had nothing to do with her murder. Clark is the monster.”

Hannibal nodded, a lock of hair falling over his brow. He was soft and gorgeous, and Will couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Then I will help you. What would you have me do?”

Will smiled.

“First, I’d like you to drive me somewhere. You probably noticed I didn’t bring my car with me.”

Hannibal smiled again.

“As you wish.”

—

Hannibal was beginning to believe something truly strange had happened to Will. Beyond surviving an ordeal that would surely have killed eighty percent of people if they were to go through it. There were too many things that were different about him now, and Hannibal couldn’t ignore them. One of them being his newly evaluated morals.

Will had always been frightened by his propensity for violence. Part of his very character had been fear of his own desires. Something had changed that over night. Whatever it was had to have been not only large, but powerful. Will was not weak willed. 

They pulled up to the stables, and Will’s eyes were dark as he looked at the structure. The black circles seemed to grow the closer they came to facing the man will was determined to kill. They had nearly overcome the whites of his eyes as well. 

Will had become something else. 

“You can stay here if you want,” Will said, unfastening his seatbelt, his eyes fixed on the door of the stable, which was slightly ajar, “or you can leave. I’m sure I’ll find my way.”

Hannibal shut off the engine, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Will,” he said, “I intend to see this through with you.”

Will smiled and stepped out of the car. Hannibal followed. 

Will led the way through the stable, eventually finding a young man in a room with many animals. 

“Hello, Peter,” Will said gently, as if the man was an animal easily spooked.

The man glanced up quickly before looking down and to the side again. 

“Officer Graham,” he said, “who did-did-did you bring with you?”

Will was smiling warmly, and Hannibal realized Will liked this young man. He was not just a means to an end for Will, in any capacity. 

“This is Doctor Lecter. He’s my friend. Is mister Ingram here?”

Peter jerkily nodded, sneaking another glance at Hannibal in curiosity. 

“He-he-he’s in the back. Please don’t make him angry. He’s not-not-not a nice man.”

Will nodded, and gestured for Hannibal to follow him again.

“Thank you, Peter. I promise he won’t be a problem anymore.”

Peter glanced up at Will and smiled. 

Once they were out of earshot of the young man, Hannibal spoke.

“He has a brain injury?” he asked.

Will nodded.

“Kicked in the head by a horse. But he still loves animals. Clark Ingram is his caseworker. He’s the one who found out, and who put her into the horse. Clark has been threatening him, by threatening the animals.”

As Will said this last part, his eyes darkened for a moment. 

Hannibal found this new indicator of Will’s thoughts oddly charming. He couldn’t explain it in any practical way, but that darkness seemed to have its own gravity. Like a black hole, Hannibal was drawn by the pull of Will’s darkened eyes.

They were blue again at once, and Will lifted his chin to inhale. Hannibal thought he was sniffing the air, and he wondered what he smelled. He wondered what other changes Will had undergone. He would like to find out.

The sound of a nervous horse met them, and Will sped up.

They rounded a corner to see a man casually approaching the skittish animal, a hammer in hand. Hannibal felt an instant dislike for the man, possibly only because he had tried to kill Will. 

“Clark Ingram,” Will said, his voice strong and confident in a way Hannibal had seldom heard. 

The man turned, smiling as if it was entirely natural for him to be where he was, doing what he was doing. He had the dead eyes of a man who truly did not care for anything beside himself. When he saw Will, doubt and fear flickered across his face. He didn’t understand how Will could be alive. He glanced at Hannibal, perhaps calculating what kind of fight to expect. He adjusted his grip on the hammer to appear less threatening, possibly thinking he could deescalate this.

“Officer Graham,” Ingram said, “how are you feeling today?”

Will bared his teeth.

“Considering I just caught you getting ready to kill that horse to punish Peter, I’m feeling particularly lucky,” he said.

Ingram smiled and shook his head, spreading his hands as if to placate the predator on his tail.

“I was doing no such thing,” he said, “Peter’s confused.”

Will’s eyes darkened, and Ingram froze in place.

“I’m not,” he said.

In a flash, Will was on Ingram. Hannibal had hardly seen him move, and Clark apparently hadn’t at all. There was only a short shout of surprise before it was cut off as Will tore the man’s throat out with his teeth.

Blood gushed out, soaking into Will’s clothes and covering his skin. He paid it no mind, tearing Clark Ingram apart like a starving animal. Hannibal thought he might even be growling savagely.

After a moment, Will looked up from his ravaged prey, his eyes blue and shining. He locked his gaze with Hannibal’s and licked some blood off his lips.

“You’ve been feeding me people,” Will said frankly.

Hannibal could do nothing but nod his head in confirmation. Will was glorious and ethereal, and Hannibal was rendered speechless by his wild beauty.

Will nodded along with him, humming in consideration.

“You’re the Chesapeake Ripper,” he continued, “I guess that makes things easier for me.”

Will stood and brushed his hair back, leaving it streaked with blood.

“Care to help me clean this up?” he asked.

Hannibal had supplies in his car for this kind of thing, so it was no great difficulty to remove the remains of the man and leave the scene relatively clean. He doubted anyone would have cause to test the dusty dirt floor for traces of blood, regardless.

There was no reason to worry.

—

Will’s other hunger had reawakened after killing Clark, and it seemed to burn hotter after he realized exactly who Hannibal was. He managed to control himself until they were back at Hannibal’s house, and it was time to shower the viscera off.

Will pulled his shirt off and looked at his abdomen. The stitches were still there, dark and pin-neat against his pale flesh, but there was no longer a gash to betray the fact he had been killed. Only a thin pale scar.

Will accepted that he had actually died. He couldn’t deny that he clearly wasn’t exactly human anymore. He was some kind of undead something or other. Apparently that came with rapid healing, at least when he satisfied his hungers.

He was not inclined to eat Hannibal, at least not in the literal sense. He had felt that hunger in his teeth when he had thought of Clark, and even a bit when he spoke to Peter. But the hunger he felt involving Hannibal was of an entirely different nature.

“Come help me wash up,” Will said to the man, “and maybe you can remove these stitches while we’re at it.”

Hannibal lowered his eyes to the place he had stitched Will back together the night before. He prowled forward, his gaze darkening with his own hunger. Not quite the same as Will’s but close enough for government work.

Maybe that was the reason for all this.

“What a remarkable change you have gone through,” Hannibal murmured softly, tracing a finger over the row of stitches.

Will pulled Hannibal toward the bathroom, smiling.

“And what do you think I have become, Doctor Lecter?” he asked, loving the way Hannibal’s hands felt on his skin.

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, pressing his nose into the crook of Will’s neck and inhaling.

“While it may have some derogatory connotations, I think the most accurate term would be Ghoul,” Hannibal said softly, “a creature of gluttony and greed, often depicted as a grave robber.”

Hannibal managed to not make that sound entirely gross, and Will wanted him all the more.

“How does that make you feel?” Will asked, honestly curious.

Hannibal pulled back to meet his eyes. Will could still see that hunger there, and he knew what Hannibal would say before he spoke. 

“You have never been more beautiful to me,” he said. 

That was good, because undead monster or not, Will had no intention of letting Hannibal escape him.