Chapter Text
In the aftermath of surviving Tobias’ attack, Hannibal worried over Will’s recovery almost as much as Will was unconcerned and blasé about it all. There was dizziness and nausea, which to Will was more inconvenient than concerning considering he had been stabbed, shot, brain toasted and incarcerated with various amounts of drugs in him. Once, he had daintily fainted in the shower, twice in a row, falling on his ass and only stopping himself from cracking his head on the tiles by catching himself on the walls as he fell. The incident added to Hannibal’s anxiety and mother-henning, who insisted on waiting for Will outside the shower and helps him everywhere with eyes like a hawk on Will’s every move. Hannibal would have preferred to bathe Will in the large tub, but he was not allowed – for obvious reasons. Will did allow Hannibal to help him to the bed. They had stopped once, when Will felt dizzy enough to black out momentarily in Hannibal’s arms. But it was enough to get Hannibal overprotective over Will and confining him to bed.
“Will, please, I must ask you to call for me if you need anything beyond this bed.” Hannibal remarks sternly; the emotion expressed in the tilt in his head and the piercing stare he gives him while he pats down Will’s covers with him under it.
“I’m not handicapped, Hannibal. I’m just a little lightheaded. I haven’t lost any limbs...” Will retorted grouchily. His mind snaps to Miriam Lass and her arm and wonders if Will lost a leg, would it excite Hannibal’s need for nurturing and exerting his power. For a second, he pictures his left arm gone at the elbow and the emptiness of the phantom limb. He shakes his head out of Miriam’s and flicks that morbid thought away to observe Hannibal tidying up and arranging Will’s tray obsessively.
“I only ask, because I know that your stubbornness will only hinder you. You suffered a concussion and survived an attack. Hardly incidents to which anyone, let alone a trained individual such as yourself, would walk away from unscathed.” Hannibal reminded him. Will sighed but let Hannibal have the last word. Truthfully, he was just reacting rather than acting. He was so accustomed to a certain set of behaviours – to be resistant to anything Hannibal did – that it was hard to do anything else. Not even acknowledging who and what Hannibal was, Will felt he had been reduced back down to behaviourism. Growl at the hand of the abuser. Conditioned to Stockholm Syndrome. But slowly, it seems that Will feels slightly more inclined to trust in that hand that feeds him. So long as it doesn’t feed him lies, he reminds himself.
After that, it was a lot of Hannibal hovering over Will, and a lot of Will ignoring or humouring Hannibal’s orders. After all, he was not going to start listening to Hannibal now, not even after a dangerous spell of attempted kidnapping. A few days of being pampered by Hannibal, it was sufficient time, quiet and rest for Will to wool gather in his thoughts when he was left alone to rest.
About Hannibal. And about this change between them.
Will ponders over his softening attitude towards Hannibal, and he remembers distinctly when he was under Tobias’ brief yolk. He remembers that Hannibal was preferable to him. Not only that, but that Hannibal felt right. Tobias felt sinister and wrong. He felt weak under Tobias while he felt strong beside Hannibal. He remembered crying out for Hannibal, whether consciously or subconsciously – he had sought Hannibal for refuge.
Because Hannibal was sanctuary.
Hannibal was an understanding and acceptance Will would find nowhere else. If Will desired to kill, Hannibal would see him kill, preparing him for his hunt and entreating him to a front seat. If Will desired a country life with a wife and child, Hannibal might sour but he would respect Will his choices, though he might have some words for it. If Will wanted to leave Hannibal, Hannibal would not give chase, knowing that Will had made a choice. Against Hannibal’s own desires and wishes, Hannibal would let him go. Though, Will suspects, he might have a thing or two to keep an eye on Will, for what can Hannibal be besides obsessive? If Will were in danger, Hannibal would kill and manipulate his way and protect Will. He had done, and would do. He might have in the past, sent Will to test his mettle against killers in an attempt to coax him out of his dark shell, but the Hannibal of today, who would rather give up his freedom than lose Will, would never do that. If Will needed counsel, Hannibal would listen, judgement-free, apart from culinary atrocities. Hannibal would care for him, obsessive over his nurturing, the way a young boy would his infant sister, lost and green and entirely well-meaning. Will would be safe from all harms, even himself.
Hannibal was....
Home.
The blindness he accused Hannibal of, the myopia of the self, the self-deception in seeing that he was a one-sided obsession... Will found that he was guilty of it too. He had refused to believe that Hannibal could even be capable of love. His doubt for the capacity of this man to feel even something remotely tender yet at the same time so all-consuming and selfish as ‘love’ was his blindness. Because, maybe Will was afraid it was true....
Yet, Will was not ignorant of the literature done on people like Hannibal. Like Will. ‘Love’ in the traditional sense was too superficial. Perhaps it was not entirely impossible. But nor was it true. What Hannibal felt was something akin to a loss of self. A betrayal of control. A man like Hannibal, closer to psychopath, but more a narcissist, was stripped of his entire world view and overtaken, invaded and overwhelmed by love. A feeling of being so consumed with someone outside themselves, they had lost all semblance of the one.
Perhaps it was too early to analyse, or conclude much without further examination. Will had only chosen to see the parts of Hannibal he had wanted to show after all. There was also the question of Will himself. What did he feel for Hannibal? It was not love too, not yet, not in the traditional. But nor was it affection either.
Will took a moment to gather himself, searching in his heart as he thought of Hannibal. His feelings for him. He paused as he settled in his bed, warm and comfortable. Safe in the knowledge that when he wakes, he will be safe.
It was an intimacy and comfort that both took in each other. Something Will realised when he saw Hannibal standing over him after Tobias had wounded him. He had felt safe. He had felt calm in ways that no one else, especially not Tobias and all that he had claimed to offer had made him. He took solace in the knowledge that no matter what monsters lived inside his head or came for him from the exterior – Hannibal would be there, lurking. A dark and hideous yet insidiously glamorous thing that would hunt, protect and kill for him. He felt safe – he felt understood, accepted and known. All the better for how lethal Hannibal was. That no matter how dangerous it was in his head or outside of it, Hannibal would be there and be better . A monster that loved.
No one could understand Hannibal the way he did. Perhaps even accept, for Will had forsaken societal concerns, for the most part, he would admit, in his adventures in self-loathing and self-deprecation. But he knew Hannibal, just as he knew Will. No one, not Jack, not even someone as tolerant as Alana could accept as he was. Both of them. They were alone without each other. But perhaps together, they could be a little less lonely.
Will realised that Hannibal had been seeking someone ‘worthy’ of his friendship. Like how Hannibal was unique for Will, Will was unique to him. He had been looking for a friend that could see him, accept and love him as he was. Just as anyone would. But was a particularly difficult prospect for people like them. They had both realised they were desperately alone and longed for someone to love and serve.
Of course, after his own revelations, Will took care to remind himself that Hannibal was reducing him to a set of influences. Hannibal was taking pride, albeit from the heart, in the act of caring for Will. Making him his meals, lavishing him with comforts that Will ordinarily deprived himself of. Doting on Winston because it would make Will happy. Will scoffed. Hannibal hoped as he had before, that Will would soften to him. Will was aware it was happening. But it did not mean it was not working.
Every day they spoke, Will found parts of Hannibal opening to him. Every instance he felt appreciative of the actions Hannibal took for him, Will felt Hannibal beaming with joy. Hannibal wanted to serve him. That sentiment had Will shivering. It interspersed with the image of Tobias Budge in a body bag, neck mangled, body broken. Every dish Hannibal lovingly presented; he saw the bodies the Ripper had gifted him as well as the bodies before. But disturbingly, and perhaps fittingly, they did not quite shock Will as before. It only troubled him that it did not. What did he feel about Hannibal’s crimes and guilt? What could he do even with what he knew? What would he do if he had evidence against him?
The heady rush of power that an apex predator was under your yolk. Will felt strong. Not just because Hannibal would do anything he wanted, but because he knew, he could do anything he wanted for himself. Be himself. Not to be outdone, but Will was also aware that if things had turned for the worst, Will would have done whatever it took to free himself from Tobias. And for that matter, if he was of mind; he could do whatever it took to free himself from Hannibal. If he had been in a different position, Will recalls, that he would have sent Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal. Might even have worked. He might have his ‘life' back. Life of Jack, life of loneliness and unrequited love. But now, he did not want to. The irony of it. To be willingly chained to a beast, that loved you.
Hannibal was infinitely better.
The love, absent from Matthew and Tobias. Hannibal was capable of great capacity to emotion. Filled his life with art of all kinds from the culinary to the gruesome. He feasted on decadence. And he loved with all his soul. He was capable and willing. He was just a picky eater.
And what did that leave Will?
Could he return his love? Could he ache for him, as Hannibal hungered for Will? What could he do in the face of it all? When he knew he wanted differently from Hannibal? The thought of being with him...it unsettled him slightly. Not in disgust but, that he still had lingering feelings of unease with Hannibal.
How far did Hannibal want to go? To kill? To fuck? Would he be satisfied being ‘friends’?
Did Will even forgive him for all he had done?
The thought of prison, Abigail... it still made Will scowl and shudder in anger. There was resentment there, he knew. Perhaps not forgiveness. But he at least did not want vengeance anymore. He could not forget. No, he should never forget what Hannibal was. He flipped through the victims of the Ripper laid out like a case file, reminding himself of the guilt he felt at all his crimes as his own, including the more personal ones. He must never forget the beast behind the man.
Something as great as forgiveness, was too great for just him. It took two. The betrayed and the betrayer. A loss of self, a deprivation of control. Something like falling in love .
He could not go back to the tattered ruins of a life Hannibal had forced him to see was ill suited and was killing him from the inside. Killing him the way Hannibal would never have done or do in the future.
No.
The only way forward was not to go back. It was to take that plunge, not knowing what was in the deep. But taking the chance anyway. It was terrifying and bracing as the cold winds of uncertain change whipped Will in the face.
And Will was absolutely certain that he was going to be the one steering his own course this time. He would not let anyone influence him. Not Jack and his hypocritical righteousness, not Hannibal and his debauchery and sentimentality. Not Alana Bloom and all the idea of a nuclear family and normalcy but ultimately would fail his expectations.
He would be the one to decide who and what he was. Monster or man. He would steer his own course. He would be dead certain he was in control.
After all, he was an excellent sailor.
