Chapter Text
He knew that it was immature. He was angry. Hurt. Afraid. He felt betrayed by the only person he was sure he could trust. Abigail was always destined to die at his or Will's hands. Will would argue that they were supposed to protect her. But Hannibal knew that she should have died in her kitchen. He simply finished the job that Hobbs hadn't. Yes, he loved Abigail. She did remind him of Mischa. But she wasn't Mischa. Not really.
Hannibal walked the streets, the small lamps lighting the way like stars showing the way for sailors on the sea. He thought of Will. He tried not to. He knew that he was still alive, because he had planned it that way. Maybe Will would come looking for him. Who could tell? But nonetheless, Hannibal walked on until he got tired. He was no easily stopped by the night or the exhaustion it brought with it. But he was getting on a bit. As fit as he was, middle-aged is still middle-aged. He knew that, and he never denied it. Will probably wouldn't be tired, although if he was, he'd deny it. Always the people pleaser. Never able to take care of himself, always someone else's tool. It always boiled Hannibal's blood when Jack would force Will, guilt trip him into cases. One day he would kill Jack Crawford. But not on this fine night. No, now he walked along the pavement, counting the constellations as he neared his villa suite. Bedelia was probably already in bed. He opened and closed the front door quietly, and headed towards his lavish bedroom. Hannibal enjoyed esthetics. He loved to live lavishly, a privilege he was denied when his family was taken from him.
He hung up his coat jacket and his trousers, his shoes placed in a small box. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, flossing as well. His bed was exquisite, like everything else he owned. He would have prefered it if Will was laying next to him, like he did in Baltimore after a hard case, but his own actions denied him that privilege along with all others that were just out of reach as Will most likely slept in a recovery room of a hospital in Baltimore, recovering from the smile Hannibal had left him. He grimaced at that. He felt no guilt. But over the past month, hannibal had begun to hope that perhaps, though it was entirely unlikely, he would wake up and be in bed with Will in his mansion. But of course, that was impossible.
He flicked a switch on his bedside lamp and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would go to the art museum, perhaps prey on a rude curator. Only god knew what the day would bring.
The loud and irritating noise of a digital alarm clock woke Hannibal. He was confused by this. He rolled over to see why he so suddenly had been woken up by the dreadful thing, but instead of rolling over to the left edge of the bed, Hannibal fell off entirely and onto a hard, rough carpet floor. He pushed himself off the ground and found the source of the awful noise he pushed a button to shut it off. Then he looked around him to assess the situation he was in. He was in a very small room with two bunk beds, both a dark gray and made wood. There were desks in each corner of the room . There was hardly any room to do anything other than sleep and work. Have i been kidnapped? He thought has he rubbed his neck. The mattress had done nothing but give him leg cramps. But his back didn't hurt. Not like it did the night before. He saw a name on the bed he was sleeping in.
Cal Rainer.
He assumed that was the name of who slept there normally. But that didn't explain why he had woken up there. He saw a pair of jeans and put those on over his boxers, which brought more confusion. He went to bed wearing silk pants and a white T-shirt and now he was wearing a black Nirvana shirt with checkered boxers. The jeans fit him well enough, and he went to investigate more. The room exited out into a long hallway. It appeared to be an apartment complex, but the rooms, if all of them looked similar to the one he was just in, were all too small. If someone had kidnapped him, they were about be very sorry. He walked down the hallway and saw a man walking towards him. Hannibal froze, unsure what to do. The man waved, and kept walking. So Hannibal did as well. The man acted like they knew each other. But Hannibal had never seen him before.
Finally, after a few minutes of walking, he found a men's bathroom. He went inside and put out a sign that said closed for maintenance. He locked the door and started to pace. Hannibal was a very calculated man. He planned for everything. Every outcome. But not this. This was unexpected. He jumped as he saw a reflection in the mirror. He thought he would turn and see some one behind him, simply wanting to use the sink. But no. There was no one there. But the reflection was. And it moved when he did. It was face he hadn't seen in a very long time. The man was him, but when he was younger. He was probably 27, 28 maybe. But that was impossible. He looked at his hands and saw that they were young and un-calloused. He touched his face and felt his years absent. And his hair showed no hints of gray or blonde, as he had chosen to dye it to cover the signs of old age. His natural dark hair was returned to him, just as his youth had been. It was all impossible, yet there it was. Quite literally staring him right in the face.
He was startled out of his stupor when he heard the door handle jiggle. "What? I was just in here!" He heard muffled voices outside.
"Ha! Thats what you get for cheating on your essay. Guess you'll have to explain to teach why you don't have your project to present," said a different voice.
"Its not funny! I need to get in here! Give me your hair pin," said the first voice.
Fuck, hannibal thought.
Thats new, he thought again, as he was not prone to vulgar language. He hid in one of the stalls and noticed a red backpack on the ground just outside it. He closed the door and was as quiet as he could be, which was very quiet. The lock clicked, and the voice cheered. The door opened and hannibal saw a pair of black converse walk over to the stalls and a boy with a curly head of hair crouched down to make sure that all of its contents were still inside. Then hannibal heard his voice and all rules about reality were abandoned.
"You better be lucky that I can still pick a lock with a pin or you'd be dead, Mikey. Now c'mon we're gonna be late!" He rushed out, his converse squeaking on the floor. It couldn't be. But it was no doubt his voice. The voice that Hannibal heard in his head, that calmed him down when he was about to do something impulsive. The voice that allowed him pleasure when he was alone.
It was Will Graham. He still had his Louisiana accent, his letters drawn out, with a slight French crispness. He still smelled of the earth, a smell that Hannibal would recognize anywhere. It was him. But younger. Still...
Guess you'll have to explain to teach why you don't have your project to present...
Will was in school. A dormitory. He had woken in a dormitory.
Quite childishly, Hannibal pinched himself. This was real.
But how?
Hannibal looked at the desk that seemingly belonged to one of the roommates. There were no pictures, no decorations. Only a clipboard, a few binders labeled with different subjects like calculus and biology. There was a small metal cup with pens in it, an electric pencil sharpener, and a postcard with a picture of a golden retriever on it. This must be Will's desk. The door opened a d Hannibal tensed again. He shouldn't be this timid and jumpy, but this was entirely new to him.
"Eyyy! Rainer, Kyle and I were wondering if you could help us convince Graham to come out drinking with us this weekend," said the man who walked in. Hannibal was the only other person in the room, so he was obviously talking to him.
"Right... how old is Will--," he paused. "How old is Graham again?"
"20, but c'mon! The kid is gonna be 21 soon and why can't we give him a little taste of what being an adult really is? I know you are from outta town, but here we like to do this littlw thing called get shit faced drunk so we can forget how awful school is!" He said enthusiastically. "Think about it, will ya? And talk to Graham. Someone's gotta get that stick out of his ass." And with that, he left, a bear in his hand and a binder under his arm. So hannibal had learned two things; one, Will was 20 years old. Two, he had friends but didn't like going out with them.
He really didn't change, he thought. Still the Will he knew. And it was a given, just from that conversation, that Will knew this fake younger version of Hannibal. He knew this had to be fake because Hannibal hadn't been to America yet. He was still enrolled at a medical school in Europe. All the more reason this was impossible. He had to be dreaming.
The door opened again and a girl walked in. She was pretty, but not entirely. She had blonde hair that was pulled up into a very high bun. She wore a cheerleaders uniform, and she had a satchel across her chest. "Hey Cal, have you seen Will? He was supposed to meet me this morning but he never showed up. He told me he was gonna watch me practice," she looked away and blushed. Hannibal felt a possessiveness grab hold of his heart, but he was calm.
"No, I haven't. I think he's presenting a project right now." He replied. She looked disappointed.
"Oh... well, if you see him can you tell him that I'll be in the library right of campus? The one with the mud house. M'kay?" She asked.
"I will," and she left as well. So now he knew four things. Will was 20. He didn't like his friends. He had a girlfriend. And he didn't love her as much as she loved him. His empathy was probably the only reason he dated her. Oh Hannibal could just imagine the look of heartbreak on her face when he tells her that he never loved her. Much like Will's face when Hannibal--
No. He betrayed him. It was fitting. He didn't need to think about that right now. What he needed was... food. He was hungry. One of the roommates mentioned a store nearby. He would need to live off of granola bars and water bottles until he figured this out.
Oh what a joy this will be. Hannibal quite enjoyed his days at university. But he doubted he would enjoy this experience.