Chapter Text
The boy stood like a statue; hard, unmoving, and with a stoic face that did not suit a child of six years. He stared at the shut door, the screams of his mother and the encouraging midwife’s words did nothing to break the stony exterior of the boy. The only sign that he was human at all was the rise and fall of a tiny chest and the slow blinking of emotionless eyes.
Robert Lecter didn’t fool himself, he knew something was… different about his nephew. Hannibal’s mother and nannies said that he was trying to emulate his father, the powerful Count Lecter, a figure that any son would be in awe over. His brother, the Count himself, simply believed that his son listened to his teachings on how Hannibal should act once he became the Count as well.
Robert wasn’t as blind. He’d done a fair bit of travelling ‒ how else would he have met his darling wife, Murasaki ‒ and he’d encountered people that heavily reminded him of his quiet, unreacting nephew.
He tried to ignore the fact that these people often became murderers.
As it was, the six year old gazed at the shut door, unflinching in his mother’s labour screams, waiting to be called in to meet his new sibling.
“Sūnėnas, are you excited to be a new brother?” Will you hurt your sibling?
Hannibal’s gaze slid from the door to his uncle, “Yes, dėdė. I will have to help take care of her.”
Power. Control. “We don’t know if it’s a girl or boy just yet, Hannibal,” he said, gently scolding.
Hannibal’s lips stretched into a smile, but the boy hadn’t yet learned how to fake emotions in his eyes, so the smile was eerie and even frightening on a child, “I know she is going to be my sister.”
Robert, unsettled but not allowing it to show on his face, resolved to teach Hannibal how to be human, or at least look human. No matter how unsettled or even scared of Hannibal he may be, the child was his nephew, family, and he loved the boy. Perhaps it was wrong to love a child that had such high potential of becoming a monster, of being splattered with blood, of tearing into a human and relishing each scream and each shudder.
He wonders if that makes him a monster too.
His thoughts are interrupted by the door opening to reveal a ruffled but satisfied midwife. “Sir Lector, young Viscount, the Countess is exhausted but well. The baby is healthy and currently sleeping,” she turned to address Hannibal with a soft smile, “Congratulations on being a big brother.”
Hannibal stared at her for a moment, visibly arranging his features to show a measure of gratitude before giving her a nod of thanks.
Robert decides to spare his nephew of more acting by striding past the midwife to go check on his sister-in-law. The room is rather empty and plain compared to the rest of the castle, dominated by a makeshift hospital bed and occupied by a tired mother, a bundle pressed against her chest. Her husband sits in a chair next to her bed, lovingly staring down at the bundle; a rare show of emotion from his brother.
Simonetta beckons Hannibal and him over, a warm yet tired smile on her face. She had just gone through 5 hours of labour, after all.
His nephew froze upon entering the room, eyes surveying and calculating. Trying to find how he should react. If there was one thing Hannibal was, it was intelligent. Robert watches as Hannibal’s gaze is all but magnetised to the swathe of blankets obscuring his new sibling. He’s surprised by the genuine curiosity and eagerness that sweeps across the child’s still rounded face, the boy experiences so few emotions let alone expresses them with such intensity.
He trails behind Hannibal as the boy tries to conceal his excitement by walking slower and not running to his mother’s bedside.
Simonetta gives her son a radiant smile ‒ and it is not hard to see why his brother married her ‒ and shifts her hold on her baby so its face is visible to her other child, “Hannibal, mieloji, I’d like you to meet your new sister.”
The new big brother stares down at the tiny red face with unrestrained fascination, gently lifting a hand to touch his sister’s cheek. He trails over the tuft of hair on her head and then moves to place his small hand on her chest, feeling the quick beating of her heart. Hannibal’s expression warms, Robert would say it was love if he didn’t know any better, and he glances to his mother in question.
“We haven’t named her yet, my heart,” Simonetta whispers, “What do you think her name should be?”
Hannibal looked up at his mother who was smiling tenderly at him, then to his father, a man of few words, who was patiently waiting for his son’s response.
“... Mischa,” he finally declares.
Robert’s brother smiles, “Mischa. What do you think, širdelė? A bit masculine but I think it suits her.”
“A strong name for a strong little girl,” he interjects.
Simonetta stares lovingly at all of them, “Mischa it is.”
Hannibal’s gaze gravitates back to the newly named Mischa. Only Robert can see the intense possessiveness surge to the surface in the child’s eyes.
“I’ll always protect you, mažoji sesuo. Forever.”
His sister-in-law coos and his brother looks on approvingly, but Robert can only feel a rising sense of dread.
He loves his nephew, but he fears for him as well. As his sister grows so will his obsession with her. She’ll idolize him, she’ll come to him for everything. He’ll put a wedge between his parents and their children, they’ll continue to love them, of course, but Hannibal will grow jealous of any time Mischa spends away from him and will make her more and more dependent on him. And God forbid if anyone hurts her…
Rage. Blood. Pain.
He stares at the happy family in front of him, his brother and his wife having no idea about the potential monstrosity of their son, or even that he does not, and cannot, love them.
He prays that Mischa will be the saviour of this family, to reign the monster in Hannibal. He looks at the newborn and silently begs, Please tame the heart of this monster.