Chapter Text
Chink-chink-chink. Hannibal awakens to the incessant rhythm of the metal chain lock. The smells of rotting wood, animal feces, fresh snow, and ...... potatoes make his nose wrinkle. The coarse fiber of the thin tilt scratches his skin and makes him itch. Lying in a stranger’s bed, he is not so sure about the reason why he is here. Fortunately, he still holds the hand of his treasure. The familiar steady breathing of his lover in sleep is his best comfort, and he hugs Will a little tighter by the shoulder, shielding him from the freezing cold. Being separated is a million times worse than waking up in some random shed, and home is where the family is. Judging by the temperature, they must be somewhere up north.
Sociopaths don’t panic. If being truly honest, he actually has some clues about the circumstances. They have already learned not to be surprised when people who look like him show up unexpectedly on their doorstep. World traveler is what they address themselves, while Will secretly calls them strays. Travels always come with an explanatory memorandum and it helps them gradually learn the basics of the world they inhabit.
To begin with, they are characters of a TV series, which has been put on halt for more than a decade. On the good side, it gives them more autonomy in deciding their own destinies; on the less desirable part, the lack of regular maintenance creates rifts that make it easier for travelers to smuggle. Will and he are the rare ones who can interact with smugglers as the foundation of their fictional world. His Will is too kind to see people with his face being homeless, and they eventually become friends. Some of them do share an astonishing amount of similarities with him, especially in being serial killers with a cannibalistic nature. They warned him of the danger of being transported to other unfamiliar worlds, which is probably why he and Will are here now.
Somewhere north, most likely in the middle century. Judging by the surroundings and the smell, he is not very positive about the well-being of his host. Quickly checking the hosts that he has heard of, he doubts if this is the age of King Arthur (which explains why Will comes with him), but has a gut feeling that they are probably the first ones to arrive. At least they have a place to stay, instead of being forced to travel with someone with a slave identity. Svend’s non-stoppable chatters of walking miles after miles in the wasteland still echo in his skull.
As the fuzz scrapes against his chin, Will moves upwards to search for his kisses. He loves to savor the watery drowsiness in Will’s glistering eyes, well, he just loves every side of this man.
“Where are we?” Slightly shaking his head, Will yawns in a slurred voice. Hannibal expertly kneads his trapezius, easing the ache caused by the stiff bed.
“To my best conjecture, we are in mid-century Denmark.” Hannibal leans on Will’s shoulder and softly answers.
“Quite a surprise for first-time travelers.” Will tips his chin and winks at Hannibal, “This is where our endeavor comes in.”
“Please take more rest. I will go to communicate with our host.” Gently pressing a kiss on Will’s forehead, Hannibal carefully puts his side of the tilt on Will and steps out of the shed. Accumulated clouds put a dark shade on the sparse straw stacks, making the temperature feel even lower on his exposed skin. The barren field shows no signs of cultivation, marking the scarcity of its owner. However, they have taken the initiative to attain basic knowledge of farming and other survival skills after assessment, therefore technically speaking they would have little trouble feeding themselves once the spring comes. It would be better if they lived by the approximation of towns, as doctors and surgeons are highly respected professions with considerable wages during this period.
On his way to the conjoined wooden house, comes a man who looks slightly older than he is, with a fully wrinkled face, and a pair of callused and thorn-scratched hands. The holster on his belt is popular in the age of the flintlock pistol, which puts the estimated time at least 100 years late, after the invention of steam sterilization by Denis Papin.
“Who the hell are you?” The man asks in heavily accented Danish, holding a thin piece of paper, presumably their letter of introduction to the host.
“As you may be informed, we are temporary travelers from another world. My partner and I would have to stay with you for a while, and we would prefer that we could have a peaceful and friendly time together.” The Danish lessons were a precaution that was finally put to good use, but it would be easier to communicate in languages with which he is more familiar. “May I ask if you could understand other languages?”
“What do you mean? English and German, yes.” The man seems quite bewildered about the idea of external travelers, as such ideas are unkownable to people of this time.
“We need to occupy a small portion of your property as a residence. In the meantime, we would offer you reasonable rent in exchange. Besides, we are both experienced doctors, hence our stay would certainly bring more benefits.” The property of their host is the only place they can stay without causing additional damage to this world, which is a key factor in their safe return.
“Take care of your own supplies, and help with defense and planting if necessary. We don’t have much to offer at this period of the year.” The man does not seem to care much about their sudden arrival, apparently having something more important on his mind. “Entering the barn is forbidden, or you’ll have to leave. And you can only use the kitchen after us.”
“We can accept that,” Hannibal holds out his hand with a grin, “then we have a deal?”
“Yes.” The man nods as he turns against Hannibal.
“I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” Staring at his back, Hannibal labels this peasant-looking man as ill-mannered, “We appreciate your kindness.”
“Captain Ludwig Kahlen.” Quickly walking away, Ludwig replies without so much as a wave, leaving Hannibal alone to digest his disregard for all formality.