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He’s smaller than Hannibal remembers, and Hannibal’s memory is nothing to doubt. He has memories from his first breath all the way up to now, the image in front of him burning into his mind as the weary figure takes a shaky step closer. Gray when they should be blue, he’s never seen them reflect light this way, usually they stay a greenish-blue or change completely to green but now they’re a cold dimmed porpoise.
“Dr. Lecter.” Raspy, Will’s tongue dry against the top of his mouth as his lips purse, jaw clenching the closer he gets. “Are you…?”
“Real? Very.” Hannibal’s hands are careful on Will’s cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that creeps out of his eye. “Though you’re on the brink of being imaginary.”
Will had lost his sense of reality the moment Hannibal sliced open his stomach, waking up in a hospital bed with an ache in his head and heart. He thought he’d come back, he always seemed to, but instead Hannibal disappeared and left him to busy himself with bars scattered around the city and in the dirty bathrooms he found himself constantly losing his stomach in. Why fill something that refuses to stay full? Will stopped eating, food stopped having flavor- it wasn’t Hannibal’s cooking, the meals his taste buds had adapted for. The meals they’d share, candles lighting his kitchen as he’d feed Will little bits of whatever he was making. There were times Will would rub his thumb against his bottom lip the way Hannibal did, pretending it was his touch only to be disappointed when it was nowhere near as soothing. It was then, in a drunken rage of sorts, Will decided to find him and make him pay.
He had hallucinations of him, he wasn’t sure if this was one of those now or if he was really frozen in his embrace, face buried in the nape of his neck as sobs shook his being. This isn’t how he planned on greeting him, no, he was supposed to smile or…he’s not sure. Usually the Hannibal he imagined was ghostly, not warm like the one cradling his head with his hand. He can’t really think, he hasn’t slept in a few days after all. He’s been so hyper-focused on hunting Hannibal down that his needs were nowhere in sight, not that he could really see since his glasses were cracked. He had recognized Hannibal by his silhouette alone, tall and stoic but always standing with the pride of a parent. Now he was being carried by him, legs locked around the man’s waist as if he were a toddler and arms under his, hands on his shoulders and both squeezing and locking them together.
He’d make sure Hannibal never left him again.
And Hannibal had no intentions on doing so, after all, Will is clearly incapable of taking care of himself now. Someone had to do it, Hannibal is the most qualified to. Scooping him up was the right thing to do, and so was locking him in a room in his home. Bedelia wasn’t thrilled but frankly her opinion didn’t matter right now, Hannibal had bigger fish to fry.
Literally.
“Thinly sliced roasted branzino with caper butter, braised lightly with a lemon and rosemary glaze and rested on a small mound of mashed Japanese sweet potato.” Hannibal presents the dish to Will with a big smile that fades a bit when he sees him staring off, eyes blank like his heavily bearded face. “Will?”
“You lied to me.” He backs away as Hannibal moves closer, stopped by the bedrame one of his hands is tied to. “You’re not real, none of this is real.”
“Now, now, you should eat before devouring the hope I’ve given you.” Hannibal sits with a small huff, holding a fork up to Will’s mouth. “It’s unlike you to be so difficult, you’re usually quite obedient.”
“Being obedient got a smile carved into my stomach,” Will hisses through gritted teeth. He turns his head away, knowing whatever is about to go into his mouth will only fuel his delusions.
“It seems I still have some forgiveness to earn.” He leans down slowly, watching Will’s eyes widen as their noses touch. “Would you like me to plead? Or perhaps you’d like something more affectionate.”
“What are you doing?” His breath hitches as Hannibal’s thumb parts his lips, tracing them slowly to pull a gasp out of him. “Dr. Lecter-”
“How disappointing, I thought we were past formalities.” Slowly, he sneaks the fork into Will’s mouth and closes it by pushing up his jaw with a single finger. “Eat, or I’ll have to force you to.”
His bites are small, nibbles of what Hannibal prepared and he only manages to get a quarter of the plate down before he pushes it away. What a shame, Hannibal had spent so long preparing it just for him but Will’s appetite seemed vacant, just like his interest in Hannibal now that they were side by side. Was he still fearing this was fake? A deluded illusion? He monitors Will a little longer before leaving him to his quiet ramblings, deciding to calm him with a cup of tea and a small dose of trazodone to help him relax.
“You’ve brought home a stray.” Bedelia says from behind a thick book, sitting legs crossed at the kitchen counter. “Or maybe pet is a better word, I've seen you feed it enough for it to qualify as a companion.”
“Envy doesn't suit you.” Hannibal sets a heavy kettle on the stove, listening to it's whistle while taking steady steps closer to her. “No, not at all, in fact it's making you a bit green.”
“is that the color my body will be when you leave it to rot?” She sets her book down enough to look him in the eyes, “It's only natural to worry about what you'll do when you tire of playing house.”
“So pessimistic.” He gives her shoulder a small pat that turns into a stern squeeze, “If I wanted to rid myself of you, I would.”
“Oh, I don't doubt that.”
Hannibal brings Will his tea on a small china plate, peeking into the room with soft eyes when he hears his snoring. Good, he took himself to bed, now all Hannibal has to do is tuck him in. Careful not to wake him, he sits on the edge of the bed as if he wouldn't prefer the spot next to him. This timidity is unnerving had he really forgotten the feelings Will caused so soon? Had it really been that long? Will was practically a skeleton, pale skin and bone, shivering no matter how many blankets were laid over him. He even smells different, the edge in his scent now dimmed into a poignant despair.
And it's all Hannibal’s doing.
He had broken him down, taken parts and moved them to places they were unfit for, and then he had left Will without the glue to place them again. How cruel of him, how inhumane. He usually wasn’t one to repent, he didn’t fear consequences, but he couldn’t help but feel obliged to stroke Will’s dirty curls away from his eyes and gently wash the grime off of his sharp features. Even his face had slimmed down, what a shame, Hannibal much preferred it cherubic and not as bony as it is now. His voice had changed as well, a defeated round of grunts spilling from his chapped lips as he stirred. Hannibal held the tea cup up to his lips, propping his heavy head up with pillows and helping him take slow sips.
“You’re right Will, I did lie to you.” He smiles at him softly, wiping his mouth with a small corner of the blanket. “I told you we’d leave together and I left you behind in a fit of rage and hurt. Now look at what you’ve become.”
Silence, Will’s eyes shift to the clock on the bedside table. It’s been four hours, the numbers have changed, so this must be real- right? Usually in his delusions time stays the same, he’s stuck frozen, but the room has been moved around and the time is different. He perks up a little with what little he has left, sitting up in one huff and tea slipping from his lips as he does so. His head jerks left, then right, then left again and he takes a long draw of air before out comes a sob. Hannibal holds him as he buries his face in the man’s chest, humming softly while rubbing circles on his back.
“You could’ve left a note,” his voice is barely above a whisper.
“Would you have read it?”