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The evening was quiet in the Lecter-Graham household, a soft hum of normalcy that belied the weight of what lingered beneath. Hannibal Lecter stirred a pot of sauce in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, every movement graceful and calculated. Across the room, Will Graham sat at the dining table, absently flipping through a stack of case files he’d brought home. The dogs lay scattered around him, basking in the warmth of the fire.
To anyone else, they were the picture of domesticity. But Will knew better. He always had.
He glanced up, watching Hannibal move with the ease of a man who carried no guilt, no fear. It was remarkable, really, the way Hannibal had hidden in plain sight for so long.
Will hadn’t confronted him about it. What would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything. Will had made his choice long ago—to love Hannibal despite the darkness he carried. But loving Hannibal also meant protecting him, no matter the cost.
It started with a simple conversation at the FBI office. Will had been passing through the bullpen when he overheard two agents talking in hushed tones.
“...Chesapeake Ripper. We’ve got something big.”
Will paused, his stomach twisting. He moved closer, pretending to glance at a report on the desk beside them.
“What kind of something?” one of the agents asked.
“DNA. Partial match from an old case. Found on a surgical tool. It's not enough for a warrant yet, but it narrows the list down. It’s the best lead we’ve had in years.”
Will’s mind raced. Hannibal. It had to be. A mistake, a rare slip in Hannibal’s otherwise immaculate design.
Will excused himself, his breath unsteady as he stepped into the corridor. He leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Hannibal had always been so careful, so methodical. He had always believed himself untouchable.
But he wasn’t.
That night, as Hannibal served their dinner, Will studied him in the flickering candlelight. Hannibal was as poised as ever, his dark eyes warm with affection as he poured Will a glass of wine.
“Are you feeling well, my love?” Hannibal asked, his tone laced with concern. “You seem… preoccupied.”
Will forced a small smile. “Just a long day. Nothing to worry about.”
Hannibal nodded, seemingly satisfied, but Will knew better. Hannibal was always watching, always analyzing.
Later, as they lay in bed, Hannibal’s breathing evened out, slipping into the rhythm of sleep. Will lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts racing.
He couldn’t let Hannibal get caught.
The idea of Hannibal behind bars, reduced to a number in a prison system, was unthinkable. Hannibal wasn’t meant for confinement. He was meant for the world, to move freely through it like the artist he was.
Will had made his choice.
The next morning, Will set his plan into motion. He deleted incriminating evidence from Hannibal’s files, burned the clothing Hannibal had worn the night of his last kill, and erased every trace that might lead the FBI back to their home.
But it wasn’t enough.
Will knew the FBI’s evidence would be damning. DNA, patterns, connections that only someone like Hannibal could leave behind without carelessness—because Hannibal never expected to be caught.
So, Will made the decision.
If someone had to take the fall, it would be him.
It happened three days later.
Will was in the kitchen, washing the morning’s dishes, when he heard the sound of tires crunching over gravel. He glanced out the window to see a line of black SUVs pulling into the driveway.
His heart sank.
Hannibal appeared in the doorway, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. “We have company,” he said, his voice low.
Will dried his hands, taking a steadying breath. “I’ll handle it.”
Hannibal’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Will opened it to find Jack Crawford standing there, flanked by a team of agents. Their expressions were grim, their body language tense.
“Will Graham,” Jack said, his voice heavy. “You’re under arrest.”
For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Hannibal stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock.
“What are you talking about?” Hannibal demanded, stepping forward. “What has he done?”
Jack ignored him, pulling Will’s hands behind his back as the cuffs clicked into place.
Hannibal’s voice rose, uncharacteristically frantic. “This is absurd! Will has done nothing wrong!”
Will turned his head, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “It’s okay.”
Hannibal stared at him, his face unreadable.
The first time Hannibal visited Will in prison, his composure was shattered. He sat across from Will in the stark visiting room, his hands clenched into fists.
“Are you listening to me?” Hannibal demanded, his voice tight with anger. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. Why would you—”
“I love you.”
The words silenced Hannibal, cutting through his anger like a blade. He stared at Will, his expression shifting from fury to something softer, more vulnerable.
Will leaned forward, his voice steady. “I knew what they would find. I knew they would come for you. So I made sure they came for me instead.”
Hannibal’s lips parted, his eyes searching Will’s face. “You knew?”
Will nodded. “I’ve always known. From the beginning. But it didn’t matter. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
Hannibal’s hands trembled, a rare crack in his usually unshakable facade. “You’ve destroyed yourself for me.”
“I saved you,” Will said simply.
Hannibal closed his eyes for a second, taking a quiet breath. "I'll fix this."
Hannibal quietly gets up from his seat and leaves. Before the door fully closed he took one last look at Will. A promise in his eyes. He would do anything to have his Will be free again.
For weeks, Hannibal worked tirelessly. He reached out to contacts in the legal system, manipulated evidence, and dismantled the FBI’s case piece by piece. He spun a new narrative, one that exonerated Will while implicating a carefully constructed phantom suspect.
The process was grueling, but Hannibal was relentless. He couldn’t allow Will to remain in a cage, not after what he had done.
Six months after his arrest, Will was released. Hannibal was waiting for him outside the prison gates, his car parked neatly by the curb.
Will approached him slowly, his expression unreadable.
“I told you I’d fix this,” Hannibal said, his voice low.
Will nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I knew you would.”
They drove home in silence, the tension between them thick but unspoken.
That night, as they lay in bed, Hannibal broke the silence. “I regret what you’ve done for me,” he said quietly.
Will turned his head, his eyes meeting Hannibal’s in the darkness. “I don’t.”
Hannibal reached out, his hand brushing against Will’s. “I would have done the same for you.”
Will smiled faintly. “I know.”