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Cold, wet and scared, confused, stumbling through doors, over pavements, slipping on carpet in the rain, or.. concrete? He can hardly see, and what he can see his brain can’t process.
Will doesn’t recall when this started, when his mind started to unravel and he lost touch with reality. But it happened tonight, and for no apparent reason.
He has been hallucinating for.. an amount of time. It’s probably been hours.
Voices, screams, flashes of images he has tried burying for a long time, the face of the man he killed and the faint feeling of the thrill he found while doing it sits in the front seat of his mind.
He is terrified.
And something is wrong.
These awful symptoms have been building inside Will since he left Hannibal's office earlier that day.
All Will wants is to feel safe, secure.
And somehow, in Will's twisted mind the safest person he can think of right now is Hannibal. And somehow, without his car or any reminiscence of stability he has made it to Hannibal's home.
He stumbled through the doors, definitely breaking something on the way in.
He can hear a faint, jumbled voice just over the sporadic sounds of his hallucinations.
“Wllm? Wllm?”
“I.. can’t- i..i can’t.. understand you..”
The room swirls around him.
“Sllt...plsee..sllt dwn.”
His heartbeat thumps like a bass in his ears.
Will knows he is hearing a voice, but his entire nervous system is on fire, he can hardly hear over the high pitched ringing in his ears. He feels a hand on his shoulder, then another on his other shoulder, he’s being moved, then lowered to sit on something. He feels dizzy, he doesn’t want to be awake. He needs this to stop. He needs to stop experiencing this. He needs to stop the sounds and images assaulting him with every breath.
As however many minutes go by, Will comes to realize, or rather.. hope, that the person here with him is Hannibal. It feels like an effortless truth in his mind that Hannibal is capable, and will take care of him.
Will is fed something on a spoon, a cold, bitter liquid. There isn’t a choice in him taking it, he can hardly control his own limbs right now let alone his willpower. There was something hard on the spoon, smooth. A pill? He's being fed medicine like a child with a cold. Over all these different feelings induced by his hallucinations, he can still feel demeaned.
“Wllm…i ndde you ti lkko at me.”
“..what..?”
The medication seems to work quickly.
“I ndde you to look at me, can you do that?”
The voice is recognizable now, completely recognizable.
Will looks up, however he squints his eyes immediately, covering them with his hands. The lights are far too bright for him right now. Hannibal stands up, moving to dim the lights.
He moves back to Will after the lights are dimmed, putting his hand back onto Will's shoulder. He begins to speak, his voice is steady.
“Your name is Will Graham, it is 8pm, you are in my home and you have just suffered an intense mental episode. Can you repeat any of that for me?” He asks,
Will doesn’t respond, he’s too busy thinking about how Hannibal's cadence is always the same, sometimes it pisses him off. As ironic as it is for Will himself to think this, he often thinks, “can’t that man ever display a sliver of humanity?” Maybe Will is just used to hearing other people act that way, with disingenuous inflections of regard or care, and so regardless of his distaste for it, that’s still what he comes to expect. Hannibal is never predictable.
“Will?”
He feels Hannibal grip his shoulder, like a hand pulling him out from the wild ocean of his mind.
“I’m…my name- my name is.. Will graham. And you’re Hannibal, It’s- .it’s 7..8PM.”
Hannibal looks at Will with a contemplating gaze.
“And where are you?”
“...your.. your house?”
“And what has happened to you?”
“...I don’t know. I don’t- I feel like- I’m..”
“Will, what has happened to you?”
“...I have suffered an intense.. mental episode..?”
He says, every sentence from Will has an overtone of confusion, he is aware of the facts Hannibal has told him, where he is, who he is, what time it is, and what has happened to him. But his mind is having a hard time accepting this as reality. He feels as if he still has a foot out of the door into utter madness.
Though, It’s only now that Will can feel the chatter of his teeth, the shivers flowing through his limbs. He’s soaked from the rain, it’s actually a little grounding. His nervous system can confirm that he was definitely outside.
“I’m going to get you a blanket, stay there.”
He says as he walks over to another room, coming back in a minute with a blanket and a towel. He comes back over to Will and kneels in front of him, he's a little above Will’s eye level. He begins to dry wills hair, moving the towel over his head quickly. Will feels like a dog being dried after playing outside in the rain. This is all so demeaning, he thinks. But there is nowhere else he would rather be right now for some godforsaken reason.
Hannibal wraps the thick, grey blanket around Will, it’s definitely helping. Will relaxes into the couch a little as he starts to warm up. The swarms of chaos in his mind are still present, just numbed so much by the medication Hannibal gave him that he can almost ignore it.
“Will, I need to ask some questions, do you think you can answer them for me?”
“I don’t know.” Will replies honestly.
“A simple one then, how are you feeling?”
That isn’t a simple question at all.
“I don’t know. I’m cold. And I’m tired.”
It’s always been easier for Will to describe his physical feelings rather than his emotional ones.
“Are you in any pain?”
“No.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“No.”
“Hungry?”
“No.”
“Would you like to sleep here tonight?”
“...yes.”
Will doesn’t want to be alone, he’s often lonely, often suffers in silence. But not tonight, he just.. can’t be alone tonight. And his condition probably should be supervised right now anyway. That’s a valid, non-emotional excuse, that’s what he’ll cling to. He’s sick, and Hannibal will take care of him whether or not he deserves it, he tells himself.
Will always needs an excuse when he does anything to take care of himself, he feels guilty when he combs his hair on the weekend when he's not going to work because who else is he doing this for but himself? It’s not that he feels selfish. It’s an indeterminable feeling of guilt he experiences whenever he takes “coddles” himself.
“Are you alright to sleep here?”
“yeah, ..thank you.”
“No need to thank me Will, it is my job to look out for you.”
Not really but, sure. That makes Will feel better regardless. Hannibal isn’t doing this out of pity or anything. He’s just doing it out of some.. moral…obligation.
He would do it for anyone. Will thinks.
As much as he knows that's all bullshit, that’s what he has to believe right now.
****
At some point during the night Will had fallen asleep, wrapped up in a blanket on Hannibal's couch.
He can’t remember when he fell asleep, and he doesn’t know for how long.
All he knows right now is that his eyes are open and he is awake. It doesn’t even feel like he slept, it feels more like he blinked and shifted from one hour to the next in a moment.
And Hannibal is no longer here.
He’s alone in his living room. The faint, irritating ticking of a clock somewhere in the room rattles Will's brain. He covers his ears and groans as he sits up, looking around and taking in his surroundings. Will has never been in Hannibal's home as a guest overnight before, at this point in time he’s only attended two of Hannibal's formal dinners.
Though he still feels like he knows Hannibal well.
He does see him almost everyday after all.
And you're bound to be familiar with someone you see everyday.
Will clutches the blanket as he stands up and he wraps it around himself, Hannibal's house is surprisingly cold.
Maybe he keeps it that way? Will doesn’t know.
He walks across the floor and towards the kitchen, he’s thirsty. He takes a glass from the cupboard and turns to the sink, he notices a note on the cabinet above it.
‘Will, help yourself to anything you would like, my home is yours for tonight, Hannibal.’
It’s a simple note, but it kind of unnerves Will. He hates that phrase, your home is my home. Do people even really mean it when they say that?
Will certainly doesn’t, so he never says it.
But he doesn’t exactly invite a lot of friends over.
He fills the glass with water and walks back over to the living room, curling up on the couch and sipping his drink. He won’t drink it quickly, that would be too easy of a fix.
As the clock ticks faintly, will looks up at the wall, squinting to read it without his glasses. It’s probably 4 or 5am. And he does feel tired. He always worries about nightmares, the fear, the sweat, the adrenaline. Though his one solace is that no one is there to see him when he wakes up from a nightmare, no partner around to judge him.
And his dogs don’t judge.
Would Hannibal judge him?
Will falls asleep thinking about that.
****
It's morning, the curtains in the large living room are still drawn, though little rays of sunlight from in between the curtains flow across the room. Will’s headache is hardly present, and he didn’t seem to have had any unsavory dreams last night, which would be a first. He sits up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He pushes the blanket off of him, too warm now.
Will never expects a peaceful day after he’s had a nightmare, or hallucinations, or lost time. But this morning, he feels… closer to alright than he has in a while. He doesn’t really know why.
But there is a blanket of contentment resting over him, it's nice.
Still, there is that clock, somewhere, still ticking. Reminding him that this moment will pass, and he may never feel this way again.
Will takes a couple minutes to appreciate the moment, he feels like he’s existing in a temporary pocket of peace somewhere in the universe that’s far away from his nightmares, his past, Jack Crawford, and the terrifyingly complicated world he wakes up in every morning.
He wishes he could stay here forever, but yet. He stands up. Choosing to leave the moment before it can be ripped from him by a headache or unpleasant memory.
Will checks the time on his watch, 7:23, he wonders when Hannibal gets up. It must be earlier than that. But it is a Sunday.. does he stick to a schedule on the weekends? He must do, Hannibal isn’t the type to sleep in. Though in Will's mind it’s hard to imagine Hannibal sleeping at all. Will often catches himself thinking about what Hannibal is like outside of work, maybe this is his chance to find out.
Will’s questions are answered when he hears a faint sound of a coffee machine running from the kitchen. He makes his way across the living room, and to the hallway, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen.
He watches Hannibal for a moment, his movements are always so graceful, yet rigid. Every move is calculated, but they flow so effortlessly out of him, like a dancer. And he’s just making coffee. But seeing him do something so domestic does humanize him a little to Will.
Will only ever see’s him when he’s in a session with him or consulting on graphic murder scenes.
It’s nice seeing him with hair laying over his face, dressed in a robe, with the soft smells of fancy soaps and coffee drifting through the air.
Will has been standing there silently for at least a minute, letting his thoughts wander.
Now he’s looking up, Hannibal's looking at him.
“Well, good morning, Will. Feeling like a silent entry this morning?” he comments.
“Oh I uh, Yeah, sorry. Tired.”
“I can imagine. You went through a very strenuous event last night, how are you?”
“I, I don’t really want to talk about last night, if that's alright with you.”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with for the meantime, Will. Though I do think it would be wise to speak about it with a doctor. A friend of mine has a private practice here in Baltimore. I could get you a visit, no one else would know but you and I.”
Will does not want to see any doctors. He can’t have another person tell him something is wrong with him, mental or physical.
“No- I mean I just don’t think it was that serious.” He says as he shifts uncomfortably, his hands moving to his pockets.
“Would you like to have a shower?” Hannibal says, changing the subject.
Will relaxes a little, he doesn’t want to think about anything that happened before this morning.
“Well I’d like to, but I don’t really have any clothes here and my house is almost three hours away, it’s probably best I just-”
“I have clothing you can borrow. You left a flannel in my office a couple nights ago, I washed it for you but I never got around to giving it back. And I'm sure I have some trousers that are your size.”
Will stands there for a second, a little surprised by how prepared Hannibal is for this situation. But.. grateful.
“Well in that case it would be rude of me to refuse.” He says with an awkward smile. He’s happy he has an excuse to stay here for a little longer. But he doesn’t know why he’s happy about it.
Why doesn’t he want to go home?
Hannibal smiles, when he smiles it’s usually to put other people at ease, to appear friendly or to hide how he's feeling about a situation. But this smile was genuine, warm, it was for himself.
“I’m glad you’ll be here for a little longer.”
“..me too.” says Will, he didn’t really think before he said it.
He watches Hannibal leave the room, presumably to get him the clothes. Will takes a moment to look around, usually when Will stands in this kitchen it’s after an exhausting drive, or to update Hannibal on a case while twitching and fidgeting, unable to take in his surroundings. Or to ask him for stability as his mind frays at the edges.
But now? There’s none of that.
This is a completely new feeling.
Hannibal is back in a moment with Will’s clothes, a nice soft green flannel he thought he had lost, and a pair of brown trousers that might be slightly too long. But he can make it work.
“Do you know where my bathroom is?”
“Oh uh- yeah. Thank you.”
“There are towels in the room, you'll see them when you walk inside. And I warmed the room for you.”
“Yeah.. Thanks- I appreciate it.” Will says as he takes the neatly folded clothes from Hannibal. He feels a bit uncomfortable with the idea of showering in someone else's house, but today he’s trying to do whatever makes him feel good without worrying about guilt or shame or embarrassment for doing so.
Will smiles awkwardly at Hannibal before turning to walk to the bathroom.
“And Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Enjoy.”
“.. okay.” he says. Making his way to the bathroom.
Hannibal is strange, but accommodating nonetheless.
The bathroom is warm, the floor must be heated as well. It’s very… comforting. There are two neatly folded white towels on a metal rack, everything in Hannibal's house is fancy, not overly so. But everything has Hannibal's taste written all over it
The towels are also very soft, which is nice.
Will certainly will enjoy this.
Around 20 minutes later Will comes out of the bathroom in clean clothes. Damp curls resting over his forehead. He feels clean. He very rarely feels clean.
He makes his way back into the kitchen there to see Hannibal has changed out of his robe and into a dark brown sweater and trousers. He looks casual, and again it’s nice to see him looking casual.
"Hello Will, do you feel any better?”
“I do, actually.” He says, a small smile appears on his face for a moment, before he speaks again.
"Are you going somewhere?”
He hopes not.
"I thought we’d go for a walk.” He says.
"Oh, alright.”
“It will be good for you to get some fresh air, and we can talk.”
"Talk?”
“We don’t have to discuss your feelings today, Will. This isn’t a session. We’re simply spending time together.“
"... yeah, I guess we are.”
Hannibal gets his coat from the door, pushing his arms through and readjusting it on his shoulders.
“Won’t you be cold without a jacket, Will?”
" Oh no I’m- yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
"I’m afraid I do worry for you Will. But if you say you’re alright, I’ll take your word for it.” Hannibal says as he nods at Will to come along.
Once the front door is opened Will can smell the crisp autumn air, he feels a cold breeze flow through his hair. It is a bit chilly. They walk down the steps together, their steps in sync with one another.
“I do love this time of year. The leaves in the trees, changing and wilting, reflecting the nature of everything else in the universe." Hannibal comments, gazing up at the yellowing leaves of the tree above them.
“Nature tends to do that.” Will replies
“It’s quite poetic.”
"It really is.” He smiles.
They make their way a couple minutes down the road, There is a lot of nature around.
Will looks up at the cloudy sky. He listens to the birds, watches them soar over fields. Hannibal stops and leans against a wooden fence, will joins him.
"I know I said I wouldn’t ask about your feelings, but I’d like to know if you’re enjoying this little walk we’re taking.”
“I’m finding it.. Grounding.” Hannibal takes a moment, trying not to respond with another question.
“I’d assume that’s a positive outcome.” Is what he settles on.
“It’s definitely not a bad one.”
“Good.” he smiles.