Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Miami? Really?" Will groaned, letting his head fall back. Hannibal chuckled, looking at his husband from the corner of his eye. "Oh, C'mon, dear, you'll like it."

"Yeah, sure. I spent nearly all of my life trying to get away from people just to move into the fucking Miami." he looked at his face, unimpressed.

Hannibal stretched his neck and grabbed a couple of his pants to stack them into his suitcase. "Will, you've been yearning for a change of scenery for months. And sure, it's not exactly Italy or Norway, but it still could be a nice vacation."

"It's not a vacation. We're going there on a case." The Profiler deadpanned. Hannibal walked behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and kissing his neck. "What's a vacation without a bit of murder? Hm?" 

And at that, both of them smiled. 

Meeting Matthews was exactly what they expected. The man was arrogant, believing in only his truth. He shook their hands with a firm and quick grasp and asked them about their safe travels. Only polite to save his face. Easily manipulated. 

They were briefly introduced to the team; the more important to remember were Detective Quinn, Captain Batista, and the lab rat Masuka. And of course, the most intriguing of them all, Dexter Morgan, the blood analyst. 

After signing off some paperwork, they found themselves on a morning meeting, standing behind Thomas Matthews. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is a pleasure to introduce our newest esteemed guests. This is Will Graham, a Special Agent and Criminal Profiler, and this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who is officially his psychologist but also assists the FBI with certain cases. Jack Crawford, a dear friend of mine, has sent them here to help us with the Bay Harbor Butcher case. I expect all of you to act with respect and cooperate as we work to solve this matter."

Hannibal looked around at the team, they weren't anything special. His eyes stuck to a middle-aged man sitting in the back. He was trying so hard to be invisible and stay focused. Hannibal smiled as he was reminded of Will when they first met. But this one was different. He was putting on a fake smile, trying to look social. He was failing horribly, at least to the trained eyes of Will and Hannibal.

Will's eye found the same target only a moment later, his breath getting stuck in his throat. The man was strange. He felt subdued. So many emotions, so much pain and terror, were rooted deep in his bones, but it's like they didn't get past the muscle. They were locked just below the surface like the man didn't even realize he had them. He was interesting.

Matthews called out every member of his team to explain to them what they knew about the case. In the midst of it all, they lost the mystery man. The main man then sent all of the others to continue their jobs and started telling them more about the case. After a moment both of them stopped listening, Hannibal because he noticed that the information he was saying was already written in the file, Will because his mind traveled back to the man with brown hair and cute hiding so much more than any of them could possibly understand.

Both of them were brought back by a clap of hands and they turned to his overbearing, too flashy smile. "Well, I'll tell our best lab tech to show you the newest bodies. I'll see you later. Gentlemen."

They were led into a colder room; it was big and filled with tables, on them, black human-sized bags. Plastic. The vents were running, to make sure they wouldn't suffocate and the bodies didn't start rotting. 

Will stepped closer to the bags, looking around. The taller man stood close behind him; his presence was calming, in contrast to the scary shadow he was throwing over the curly-haired man. 

A man, the same height as Will, stepped into the room. The one that caught both of their eyes. He was dressed casually, a short-sleeved red button-up t-shirt with simple jeans. It wrapped around his body like a silk blanket, showing off the muscles hiding underneath. He had brown hair, longer than what could be described as short but not long enough to say long. His face had clear, sharp features. Bold eyebrows in the same color as his hair. Empty eyes full of color Will couldn't recognize, pieces of blue, hazel, and brown, maybe even green, swam around lazily. Sharp nose and full lips that begged to be kissed, framed by visible cheekbones and a strong jaw. Cute. 

He gestured towards the body pieces with a shrug. "So here they are, some divers found them in trash bags at the bottom of the ocean."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, snickering under his breath. He didn't even introduce himself. The husbands shared a side glance, both thinking the same thing; rude. 

Will shook his head to clear it, he needed to focus. He stepped closer, gripping the table. "These are not the first ones you've found, right?"

The lab tech looked away. He was hiding something, definitely. "...No. A few years back, there were more, back when there was a hunt after Detective Doakes, but there was a technical malfunction; they were destroyed."

While Will was mostly focused on the bodies, Hannibal's eyes were burning through Dexter's back.  "A technical malfunction? Why's that?"

The profiler tilted his face, curious. He trusted his husband to know what he was doing, he fixed his glasses so him watching them wouldn't be as obvious. 

Dexter turned, shrugging. "Who knows. Could've been anything."

"Or anyone."

"..." He shrugged again, smiling softly. Fake. "Sure. Well, if you have any questions, you know where to find me." he chirped and turned to quickly leave.

"Actually, I do have a question." Hannibal hummed, looking at him face-to-face. He stepped closer, getting into his personal space and looking down at him. He could smell his cologne, cheap but strong enough to hide the stench of blood. Or at least before anyone who wasn't Hannibal Lecter. He was pleased to see that the younger man didn't step back, simply staring back, unmoving. Putting on a brave face so hard, and yet so little would take for him to fall apart. 

"Yes?"

"From the files, the previous bodies had a cut on their cheeks; the killer's way of getting trophies, isn't it? Yet... All of the trophies are gone. And the newer bodies no longer have any cuts either."

Oh, Will's eyes widened in understanding. The man before them, that was the man they were looking for. The Bay Harbor Butcher. He wasn't even hiding it, not really. He was so inexperienced and internally confused. 

"Well, Mr Lecter-"

"Please, do call me Doctor." Will fought the urge to laugh, always with the titles. So pretentious. 

"Right. Well, Doctor-" The way Dexter said it made it sound like a slur. Yes, Will really started to like him. "The 'trophies', as you called them, have been found at Detective Doakes's place, and since then, there haven't been any mentions of them."

"But these victims were not his work." he phrased it like a question, but all of them knew he wasn't asking.

"Detective Doakes died during a fire. The police suspected it was a suicide."

"Just like they suspected that he was the Bay Harbor Butcher?"

Dexter gritted his teeth. He wasn't in control of his own emotions, Will noted. "I'm sorry, but I'm just a lab geek. If you have any questions about the bodies, feel free to ask."

Hannibal, yet again, opened his mouth to speak before Dexter cut him off. "But I'm sure a good doctor like you will manage."

They watched the blood analyst leave, amused and intrigued. He wasn't boring, no, not boring at all. Hannibal draped himself across his husband's back. "Well, my dear, I think we should talk to our new colleague."

Will snickered and kissed the tip of his nose. "First, let's look at the bodies. Let's see what we're working with."

Will left to look for the ingredients that they could use for their dinner. Miami was big, and people weren't as cautious as the ones they normally came into contact with. The hunt was fairly easy.

Meanwhile, Hannibal knocked at the door of Thomas Matthews, for the second time that day. "Good evening."

The other man looked tired but quickly tried to smolder himself down, setting on a small smile. "Ah, Dr Lecter, what can I help you with?"

Hannibal was sure to put on a worried expression and looked down. "Mr Matthews, I do not wish to be rude but I noticed something today."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Mr Morgan. He had a very bad reaction to the bodies." he lied smoothly and was surprised when the other man only sighed, unsurprised.

"Yes, Dexter... I swear that boy is like a son to me. He had a rough time lately. So much bad luck and pain. For some reason, the serial killers always seem to target him."

*Oh, if you only knew...*

"He lost his father, his brother, sister. Then wife and son. His friends... There's nothing but death around him." he sighed, looking at the man from behind his blinds.

Hannibal smirked internally. "Sir, I would like to offer him my services as of therapist. I feel like it would be highly conventional for all of us."

"Therapy, huh? The Morgans were never big on that..."

"But it would help him."

"Yes... Of course, you're right, Dr Lecter. Please, let me talk to him and I'll let you know the details."

"But of course. Have a lovely day, Mr Matthews." with that, he turned on his heel and, with a last glance towards the closed room, he left to find his husband.

Chapter Text

"I'm still surprised he actually agreed to it." Will hummed. Hannibal smiled and adjusted the phone at his ear. He had come into his temporary office early and prepared everything; he was currently sitting in a chair with his legs crossed and a file on his knees. He still had some time to spare so he was more than happy to pick up a call from his husband when he called.

"I'm not fully sure if he did it out of his own choice; I think he was given an ultimatum," he answered and sipped at his coffee.

"Well, either way, it's intriguing!" he purred, and Hannibal could hear the smirk in his voice. He rolled his eyes with a soft smile. "Should I feel worried that you're so invested in a local serial killer?" he chuckled lightly.

"Oh please! You're doing as if you didn't already go through countless scenarios of yours that involved him in a not so compromising positions."

"If it makes you feel better, oh lovely husband of mine, you're always a voluntary participant in those too." Hannibal's reward for this comment was a hearty laugh; it made him smile, too.

"When is he supposed to come in anyway?"

"The time for this sitting is 9 am. But I predict that he'll come in late as a way to test me." he looked at the clock, 8:59. Hannibal himself preferred when people came in a minute early. Puntlich.

"Ah, well, I'll leave you to it then. Have fun, babe." Will snickered and before Hannibal had any chance to answer, the call ended.

He shook his head with a smile and put the phone away. He made himself comfortable and waited. Around ten minutes after 9, he heard someone open the door in the hall; he smirked, listening to the unmistakable steps of the blood analyst.

Hannibal gave him five more minutes, just enough to finish his cup of coffee and make himself a new one. He put it on the table, playing with the placing, turning the cup handle until it looked perfect.

He smiled to himself and opened the door, leaning into the hallway, seeing the smaller man standing there, his bag clutched tightly and eyes glancing all around. Nervous. Oh, poor boy...

He smiled at him and beckoned him inside with a tilt of his head. He then went back to his office, giving the other man more space to come in at his own pace but letting him know that the doors were open and he was welcomed inside.

Three minutes. The man walked inside, looking around like a lonely fawn upon entering a forest clearing. He let him walk inside, didn't talk to him, as if to not spook him.

He crossed his legs in the chair he was sitting in, one ankle across his knee, and leaned back. His posture was open, inviting. 'Come in, make yourself at home'. His clipboard was put against his bent knee. He grabbed his cup to drink from it and hide his smirk when Dexter's curious eyes met him. He mentioned towards the other chair in the room.

Dexter did as he was asked but seemed nervous, unsure, and untrusting. That was okay, Hannibal could build up his trust.

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Morgan," It was one of the things Hannibal first noticed; Dexter didn't like formality; he tried to play at feelings and be everyone's friend, and yet he himself was unable to trust any of them. Feeling so lonely and different in all companies. "but I must say, your punctuality leaves something to be desired."

"I was having trouble finding your door." the other man lied, baring his teeth.

Oh, you poor sweetheart...

Hannibal remembered when he first met Winston, the stray panicked and scared, barking and biting at everyone. Will always loved picking up strays. Hannibal smiled at him again, eyes warm.

He could see the wheels turning in the butcher's head, planning his scripts and working scenarios over in his head. So much like Winston. "Of course. Well, for the next time: it's the one with my name on it."

Dexter's lack of answer disappointed him but didn't surprise him. He clapped his hands and held back a snicker when the other man flinched. He stood up, grabbed another cup, and brought it to the table. "Oh! My apologies, I have forgotten to offer you a cup as well. Do you want coffee or tea?"

Of course, he didn't forget, but it was lovely seeing the younger man so bewildered, so lost. He already grabbed his cattle filled with coffee and poured it into the cup settled in front of his patient. He threw in the milk and sugar that he noticed earlier that the man liked.

"Thank you." the words were quiet, and if it wasn't for his full attention being on the man, he probably wouldn't hear them. But it warmed him up from the inside to know that the man had manners.

His breath became heavy when Dexter took a sip of his drink. He moaned a long, loud, open moan. Hannibal's eyes widened and lips parted. Dexter's face looked similar, brows slightly furrowed and eyes clutched, his body relaxed and open, face displaying a great pleasure. It had been only a few seconds, but for Hannibal, it felt like hours. He locked that image in his memory, noting to himself that he would have to draw it later.

He smirked and settled back into the chair. "No problem." he purred, reminding himself to make Dexter coffee more often. "Now, shall we start?"

The session ended too quickly for Hannibal's liking, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He didn't ask anything too personal, just simple first-meeting questions. It bore the other man, but it worked in Hannibal's favor, the other man letting out his emotions and speaking more openly and truthfully.

Dexter bolted out of his office as soon as he was dismissed, not even bothering with goodbyes. But that wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed.

For now, he would have to put a pin on that; after all, he had other patients to take care of.

Will had been at the station since 8 am; he wanted to see the rooms and spaces himself. Around 9 am, when he knew that the analyst was busy with his husband, he entered the man's office and sat down in his chair. He opened his laptop and quickly got into it, the password easily bypassed.

He learned many things, for one, Dexter erased all of his usage history. Still, he was able to see the most used apps. The news app, old library newspaper savings, and the police apps. Nothing out of the ordinary, for someone who worked as a blood analyst. But also not unusual for someone who was looking for potential victims.

He heard Dexter entering before he saw him. "Mr. Graham? Can I help you?"

He had to sniffle a snicker and turned around slowly, eyes dull but fully entertained. "Yes. I wanted to talk to you about the BHB case."

The younger man tilted his head, a confused expression falling onto his face. It made Will bite his lip; how could such a man look so innocent? He could never know. "A what?"

"The Bay Harbor Butcher," he explained softly.

"Right."

He glanced back to the laptop. "The killer is someone from the force, right?"

"Supposedly."

C'mon, sweetie, don't hide behind public opinion. Be proud of what you've accomplished... 

"What was the profile of the killer?"

"Shouldn't you know as a Profiler?"

Oh, such a feisty soul. "Oh, I do." he purred, softly. "I just want to compare. Get a second opinion, if you will."

The man smiled at him, but it was fake, pure acting. Will's eye twitched but he didn't let it show. Dexter turned around, prepared to leave. "Of course. Let me get the file for you."

He caught his wrist, just for a second to stop him from leaving and immediately letting go. "Oh no, no need. I want to hear it from you."

The analyst stopped and looked at Will, really looked at him. He looked so lost and confused. "With all due respect, Mr Graham," the man fidgeted, fixing up his t-shirt. "I am not a detective, nor a profiler-"

Will interrupted him with a hum. "I've heard something else from your colleagues." he teased him with a head tilt, his eyes shining. "I'm sure you understand that while everyone here is a suspect, I would like to engage with as little people as I could. Lean on people who can actually finish their jobs. Am I right?" 

Dexter's small nod was everything he needed to confirm that the smaller man was exactly what he wanted. That man needed guidance; he thrived for someone to tell him what to do, to protect him. Even if he didn't know it yet. Will knocked on the chair next to him twice and was pleased when Dexter took the seat and wheeled closer.

He fidgeted with his shirt, and licked his lips, all of it unconsciously but it was as if he was tempting the profiler. "Ehm, so... The killer... Is..."

Will leaned back, giving him his full attention. He waited patiently. "Close your eyes if you need to. Just image the bodies, the blood that was poured, the way they kill. What does that tell us?"

He watched the analyst close his eyes, trust him enough to do it in the empty room with only the two of them. Will could feel his heart swell.

"... They... Only kill the ones who escape punishment. One stab wound, straight to the heart. The death is quick, painless. They leave no clue behind, no mistakes. No fingerprints, blood, footprints. It's clean."

Is that what Dexter told himself? That he was some kind of a vigelante? How cute. But there was only a tint of pride showing in his tone. Something to build upon. He hummed to encourage him to continue.

"The cuts on the bodies are made post-mortum. Medically, they know what they're doing. They are cut in pieces for easier disposal."

Do you? Do you know what you're doing?

The look that he had given Will would put many others to their knees. He looked like a puppy who brought the stick back to its human for the first time waiting for a pet." Interesting," he mouthed, momentarily lost in his eyes.

"Good job, Mr Morgan." he cleared his throat and gave him a small smile. He left without another word, he needed to take a moment, breathe out.

He couldn't risk being in the same room as him for any longer. He wasn't sure if he would be able to control himself.

For now, he and Hannibal needed to talk. See if they feel the same about their newest obsession.

As he walked away, he didn't notice the blush that covered Dexter's cheeks and the long look as his eyes followed him until he left the main predict.

Chapter Text

It took only a few weeks for Dexter to become less anxious around them.

He started to be friendly with them, even seemed to quite like Will. Of course, it took some courting. Will acted carefully around him, just like he would with a new stray. Those types of people need time to build trust. You have to remember to look away when they feed, but bring food close enough for them to see that you could provide it.

He resisted to urge to touch him, however nervous the other one seemed, let him take their relationship at his own pace. He would come on his own, the two were sure of it.

Hannibal started noticing signs in his behavior when the itch started to bother Dexter. He was slightly fidgeting, getting lost in his head more often, staring at blood, and slowing down his thought process on crime scenes.

Will made sure to leave him alone when that started to happen. He needed to take his time. The two had to remind themselves that Dexter had been a lone wolf all his life, it would take a lot of trust until he would come to them. Show them what he ought to be proud of. The poor boy was so repressed.

That seemed to help a lot. The knowledge that Will enjoyed his presence, but would still let him his own space. It made him ease into it. And maybe without even realizing it, he started to seek the Profiler on his own. Like a frog in the slowly boiling water. When he came into work in the morning, he already expected him to be in his office and when he wasn't, he wouldn't sit down until his eyes found him.

When he first started working with him, he noticed how many people often told him off, or just disrespected him. For what? For doing something that they couldn't? Calling him mean names. No, that wouldn't do.

Dexter deserved better. He deserved so much more. And Will let him know all of that. He let him know how good of a job he was doing. He praised him for coming to him about a clue he found. For noticing a blood splatter that no one else could. For not forgetting to eat. Anything.

And he could see that the boy needed it. The way his pupils widened at the words of a simple 'good job' or 'I'm proud of you'. How his breathing hitched. It truly made them realize how lonely the man would be without them. It was obvious. He needed them.

He never forgot to compliment him after such a task; how could he when the other looked at him with such an expecting expression? Waiting to be told what a good boy he was.

He would love to tangle his hands in his hair, bring him closer, and kiss his forehead. Promise him to always take care of him. Pull him close. But he couldn't. Not yet. Physical contact had to be earned, and they weren't that far yet.

He also noticed that, when he kept his distance, the younger man would come to him on his own. Showing clues from the cases, even the BHB one. He explained to him how he cut the bodies and why the people needed to die, and then turned to him with those shining eyes. Waiting to be either praised or called a psycho. Did the man even know how much emotion his eyes held? How much did it say about him? Did he realize how much he was trying to please Will?

He and Hannibal had a long conversation after they were told that Dexter had been taken down from the civil. But came to an agreement that although that was a minor setback, it wouldn't truly hurt their plans. So they let it go. Because even though 'Masuka' had been very annoying, he wasn't nearly as good as their boy was. So it was acceptable. After all, they couldn't someone destroying all that the man had lived for.

That wasn't to say that Dexter didn't miss the outside work. And it was such a great pleasure when he even told this to Hannibal. Out of his own decision. No strings attached. He trusted him enough to allow him to look into an issue that was bothering him.

Hannibal did not take such a gift lightly. "Tell me, Mr. Morgan, is that why you decided to be a blood analyst?"

Because so many people lied to you and betrayed you. And you trusted them. Oh, you poor soul. The blood would never lie to you, it cannot lie. It's the one thing that stays true. One thing that'll always stay the same.

It had become a routine. An expectation of some sort. To make a cup of hot coffee every time he came to therapy. It paid off, buying a specific coffee grounds just for him. Just to see that small twitch in the side of his mouth, an indication of a smile.

He seemed calmer nowadays, more relaxed. "I understand blood," he explained openly. "Blood is..."

Everything you know. The one thing that is always by your side. The one thing that never lies to you. One that never changes. Your strong core. Your stability in the world of variables. I understand you. "Your life?"

Dexter looked so caught off guard. It made the psychologist's heart ache. How ignorant other people must have been to not see. How blind must have they been to ignore you...

"I-I was about to say my work," he mumbled. Hannibal smiled at him, liar. He wrote it down, to discuss it with Will later. "Of course..." he let him have it, just this once.

He watched the analyst pack his stuff, feeling warmth spreading through his body when he noted that the man trusted him enough to turn his back on him. A detail, some would say, but animal instincts in humans were always strong. And such a sign is as good as any other.

He waited until the man was turned back to him, standing up. He didn't want to spook the man, after all. He made sure Dexter's eyes followed him, his moves slow and controlled. He stretched his hand, palm up, inviting. Offering but not ordering. Leaving him a choice.

Dexter took it, grasping his hand in a loose handshake. Hannibal asked him, just like every week. "Mr Morgan, I would like to invite you for dinner. Would you have time to come this evening?"

He declined, yet again. He trusted him subconsciously, but his brain still didn't catch up with the rest. No, not yet. He led him to the front door and said his goodbyes, watching the smaller man leave.

He took out his phone and smiled at the text messages he shared with his husband. He sent one right away. "It went well."
...
A month went by, in which they only strengthened the new-made routine; Will going to the different crime scenes and working on the cases. Hannibal taking in new patients. The two of them looking out for new victims that he could use as the ingredients for their meals. It was almost peaceful.

Then, a new body was found.

On a day that seemed calm, like the one before the storm, all of them were sitting in the office at the police station. Each of them had their own work, but Hannibal and Will both kept their eyes on the scientist. Furtively.

Angel pushed his head into the room, face grim, and a small wrinkle shoved between his eyebrows. Something was wrong. "Morgan! Graham! Lecter! I want you on a scene! We've got another body from the Butcher."

Will and Hannibal shared a glance, an excitement shining through both of their eyes. They started to pack up their bags to prepare to leave. They didn't look at the analyst, even when they started to argue loudly for the whole predict to hear. They ignored it, they were just happy they would get more time with him. They knew that the captain would make sure of it.

"-The three of you, head to the beach and check what you can say about it." they heard him address all of them. That made Will turn his head with curiosity. "The beach?"

The captain looked at him with a gloomy expression, his face tired. He had visible dark circles under his eyes. Lips in a thin line. Not tired. No. Exhausted. "The waves washed it up, scared some tourists. I would be calmer if I knew that our people went there and cleaned it up."

It wasn't just the cases. There was something that happened. A tragedy. A death of a person held dear. It wasn't anything recent. Perhaps the Anniversary? A month? Two? Hannibal should look into it. But later. Right now, a rotting diver was waiting for them. "Consider it done, Captain."

He ushered the other two out, earning a deadly glare from his husband and an angry huff from the analyst, both of them pushing his hands away.

They drove together, luring Dexter in with the explanation that it was the lower price for the gas and that it would be quicker. He was still nervous, despite looking as collected as ever, there were some minor tell signs. His eyes moved too quickly, the muscles in his throat were tight, and he would have blaring cramps from it later in the day for sure.  He drove quickly and soon they made their way under the police tape.

Dexter had his camera in hand, squatting next to the body to take the pictures. He seemed unsure, jumpy. The moment his eyes fully looked at the corpse's face, Hannibal heard his breath stutter. He didn't see Dexter's face, but Will did. He was fascinated by the level of hatred displayed on it. If the man wasn't already dead, the glare would surely finish the job.

"You don't look very gloomy, Mr Morgan. Did you know this victim?" Hannibal asked, keeping his voice light. He raised an eyebrow, trying to remember if he had perhaps seen the man before somewhere.

"...Arthur Mitchell. A family man. Had a wife, daughter, and son. All of them, but the son, were murdered. He had been dead for months. Police were looking for him." he said, his voice monotone, like a learned rhyme. He was distancing himself.

Arthur Mitchell... Where did he hear the name before?

"The police? Did his family report him missing?"

"No. He was a serial killer. Just like all of the other butcher's victims. He's... He's the Trinity Killer."

Oh... The two of them exchanged eye contact, staying quiet for a moment, before Hannibal finally asked. "...The one who killed your wife and son?"

Dexter's grip on his camera tightened, his whole body shaking. He looked like a single touch would break him into dust. He gritted his teeth, "Yes."

Hannibal slowly lowered himself down to squat next to him. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked softly, keeping his distance.

The other man shook his head shwas arply, breathing shuddered. "No. He's dead. He got what he deserved."

Will looked at him, his eyes soft, but voice firm. "Do you really think that? One stab in the heart." Didn't he deserve so much more after what he had done to you? "Quick, painless..." That's what you said your killing is like. Didn't he deserve to suffer just like you are right now? "Did he?"

After that, Dexter seemed to space out, getting lost in his thoughts with a thousand-yard stare. His eyes were glossy, non-present.

Will stepped closer, his demeanor growing cold, glaring at the dead man. He wished that he could bring him back only to kill him again. And then repeat it. Again. And again. "Well, either way, one less monster in the world. This bastard should've been caught sooner."

Dexter nodded and stood up, taking a few steps away to breathe. Will and Hannibal looked at him with compassion. Will squatted down next to the psychiatrist, both of them studying the body.

"What a disgusting piece of shit." Will mumbled, holding himself back from spitting at the body. Hannibal took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "It's okay, dear Will, he's dead. He won't hurt him anymore. No one will. We'll take care of him." he whispered into his hand. Will nodded with determination.

The captain walked around them and they looked at him, watching as he walked to Dexter, who was now leaning against a wall with empty, broken expression. He put his hand on Dexter's shoulder, but the smaller man only looked away. They talked, but they were too far for the two to actually hear anything.

With a last squish of Will's hand, Hannibal stood up and silently walked closer. He heard the last sentence that the older man said. "Of course, take the rest of the day off, we'll take care of it."

And there it was, their perfect chance to protect their boy. To provide for him. To show him how much they care for him. "Captain Batista, if you don't mind, I don't think it's a... Good idea for Mr. Morgan to be alone right not."

The captain looked back at him, face laced with uncertainty. He didn't fully trust the new addiction to their crew with his closest friend, but he was also very worried about him. He didn't want anything to happen to him. It wouldn't take much to convince him.

Hannibal took his chance, taking another step closer to the shaken man. He made sure not to touch him, but still pushed into his personal space. He shrugged, smiling slightly. He leaned down to level with the younger worker. "Mr. Morgan, come join my family for dinner." You're my family. Please say yes. Join my family, Dexter. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

And after a moment where Hannibal forgot to breathe, the smaller man gave him a tiny nod. Hannibal hold back an excited squeel, feeling as if he would grab him and twirl him around, kissing him all over his face. Instead, he calmly asked a follow-up question. "May I ask if there is a dish you favor?"

And after a moment of silence, "...Steak."

And that was settled.

Chapter Text

They took him into their impromptu flat apartment. He had been distant and silent the whole way. Shaken, and lost in his head. A fairly obvious sign of PTSD, not surprising when all that happened was taken into consideration.

Will was driving, softly tapping his fingers against the wheel. Hannibal was sitting on the back seats, holding the smaller man close. Dexter probably didn't even realize that he was clutching onto his hands grasping the stylish clothes and head hid in the crook of his neck. Hannibal softly petted his head, trying to provide some sort of comfort. The conversation was pet swift, the husbands smiling at each other with soft smiles, happy that they were allowed the chance to take care of their boy.

He came back to himself only when he crossed the household of the apartment, looking around in surprise and panic before he remembered what actually happened. He shivered and curled on himself and Hannibal had to hold himself back from wrapping himself around him. No, not while he was lucid. At least, not yet.

Will and he exchanged a proud glance when the younger man gaped at the luxury of their place. See? We can provide for you. We can take care of you. This is all yours just like it's ours.

Hannibal didn't even feel offended when their guest seemed to prefer the presence of his husband in comparison to him. In all due time, he told himself.

With a silent understanding between the two, Will led him to the dining room, seating him down at the long wooden table. He smiled as their guest gently slid his fingertips against the wood, enchanted. It seemed to calm him, so Will only kept his eye on him while setting the table.

He sat down across from him, brushing his knee against the others while doing so on purpose. His fingers twitched to grab his hand and kiss the knuckles to show how much he appreciated him. Instead, he smiled again, softly and poured them all a glass of wine. He stood up and put on a song that he and Hannibal found in the file about Dexter's deceased sister. Something that would envelop the analyst with nostalgia and create a safe space in this apartment.  The security of the memories tied to this song would make Dexter unconsciously more trusting towards them.

After that, he came back and sat on the chair. He nonchalantly pointed at the music player. "The song's Everything I Wanted. Hannibal doesn't really listen to anything but classical music but sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy from the constant absence of lyrics. So this is our neutral ground." See? I'm like you. You need words. You need people to tell you what they mean. You need them to explain the emotions. Not just show them. I understand you.

Dexter nodded his head in a soft of aha! manner, and turned his gaze back to the table. Will watched the light dance across his skin. The way his eyebrows were constantly slightly furrowed in thought, his jawline sharpened when he grits his teeth every time someone made a wrong assumption during the cases. The eyes filled with hope and loss, begging to be loved, to be understood. His soft hair was unruled. His stubble was visible but kept. The man took care of himself, putting on the basic look as if he hadn't spent an hour putting his hair in place. He was trying so hard to be normal. So hard to find a place to belong. To fit in.

He turned his head when a shadow stood in place of the light on Dexter's cheek and bit his lip when his husband came out of the kitchen, proud with his head high. He always looked so good when presenting dinner. It was part of the charm. Their little ritual.

Hannibal cleared his throat and made sure the rest of the table was set perfectly. Aligned. He lovingly brushed his hand against Will's, a comforting gesture that everything was going well on both parts. From the corner of his eye, he could see a look of realization cross their guest's face.

Oh, did he not know? Hannibal carefully tilted his ringed hand until the right reflected the light to Dexter's place pulling the man's eyes to it.

Dexter leaned back, his expression dumbfounded. Oh, he truly didn't know. Will smirked up at him, eyes glinting. He leaned for a kiss and Hannibal happily reciprocated it. He then turned his head to the side, leaning down and keeping his voice soft. "Is there a problem, Mr Morgan?"

"No!" the answer was quick, dry and raspy. Panicked. But the husbands figured it was more from the surprise and realization that he hadn't noticed earlier. He coughed, his throat must have hurt from how long he had not hydrated. The psychiatrist handed him his glass of wine, their fingers brushing. "Thank you," he said gratefully and took a deep breath, grounding himself before he tried again. "No, no. Of course not."

He straightened, trying to look collected but really only looking cute. Like when a dog tries to help with a task that requires zero dogs. It doesn't make sense, doesn't work, but it's allowed because it looks so cute. "I just- wasn't expecting the two of you to be... Together."

Will chuckled, shaking his head. He entangled his fingers with the cooks and pulled it closer, twisting it, and kissing his palm. "Not many people know about us, aside from those at our jobs."

We trust you. We trust you with a secret. Do you trust us? You can trust us. We told you something personal. Why don't you?

Hannibal could smell the dinner being finished, turning on his heel to check on it. On his way, he brushed his hand against Dexter's shoulder. The other jumped, goosebumps appearing on his arm.

Will relaxed, feeling at peace in his own home. He was leaning back in the chair with his legs crossed one across the other. He hummed and quietly sang the words to the song playing. He was having a good time; the atmosphere in the room was pleasurable and content. They didn't talk, letting the comfortable silence spread over them. Slowly, the blood expert joined him, muscles unclenching from the cramp, melting into the chair.

Not long after, a strong smell of spices and meat filled the air. Will glanced at Dexter and knew that they had done the right thing when he saw that he swallowed twice as much as before, salivating.

Will laughed, pleased that the man was so excited. "Yeah. You haven't eaten until you tried Hannibal's cooking." he chuckled under his breath, imagining the man's reaction when he found out what the stake was made from.

Shortly enough, Hannibal came from the kitchen, three steaming plates balanced on his hands. His eyes were shining, and his face held a firm, satisfied smile. He was proud of his cooking. Today more than ever, he felt practically confident about the meal. Even more so, when he saw Dexter's reaction upon setting the dish in front of him. How his lips slightly parted and the tip of his tongue slid across his lower lip. Eyes widened, and the pupils grew larger. He heard a quiet rumble of the boy's stomach and noted the twitch in his fingers.

The cook finally takes a seat as well, sitting down at the head of the table between Will and Dexter. He raised his hands, palms up, and mentioned towards the three plates. "Behold. Thinly sliced skirt steak drizzled with a lightly smoky, tangy paprika butter and served over a sunchoke-kale hash to absorb the butter and steak juices."

"It does look delicious." The analyst breathed out with an undertone that betrayed him, showing just how much he truly wanted to dig in. Will and Hannibal shared a look, smirking at each other. The animalistic reactions to the food, although subdued, were a beautiful sight to behold.

"Thank you, Mr Morgan. I appreciate your praise very much." Hannibal chuckled, eyes shining with true happiness. He delicately grabbed his cutlery. "Go on then, gentlemen. Enjoy your meal."

He was amazed that the younger man was able to hold back so long, good manners keeping him from digging in. It made him feel warm and he had to hold Will's hand to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. If Dexter only knew what eating what Hannibal provided for him did to him.

Will wasn't far different. Watching the smaller man carefully maneuver the cutlery in a way a royal would, the lips wrapping around the meat that Will knew very well was a piece of one of the newest clients that was unnecessarily rude. The way the pink tongue swirled around the fork, unknowingly swallowing the last piece of evidence. His eyes closed, lost in the divine taste.

It was hypnotizing, watching him eat. It was weirdly erotic, without him even trying. His cutting was gentle, his hands steady with the knife, and he was knowledgeable of what he was doing. Almost working on autopilot. But the soft noises he made when the food touched his tongue, the small muscle twitches on his face as he fell apart under the taste. Eating like nobody was watching.

When he was finished, he fell back in the chair with a satisfied sigh. He looked up, his eyes now much more alive, the color full. His plate had been licked clean, which, in turn, made Hannibal pleased. He grinned like the Cheshire cat and drummed his fingers against the table softly. He was nearly vibrating from excitement.

Will tapped against his wrist to get his attention and twitched his head towards the kitchen. Hannibal quickly understood and grabbed the empty plates, leaving his husband with Dexter alone.

Will stretched like a cat waking up after a long nap and cracked his arms above his head. "You know, normally we have conversations during our dinners, but you seem so... Encaptured by the dinner, I wasn't even sure you could hear a word."

You were more interesting than any conversation we could have started.

The blood expert ducked his head, a pink blush creeping up to his cheeks. His hair fell into his face, unsuccessfully hiding it. "I... Apologize. I'm not normally like this." But you could be... Would you like to be? Free and happy? "Although, it was probably the best steak I've ever eaten."

There it is... Will's eyes sparkled and he winked at him. "Don't let Hannibal hear that."

Dexter took a taxi home, despite both of the husbands offering him a ride. They didn't mind much, they knew he would be safe, and that he would come back.

Much later, when they fell into the mattress, naked, sweaty and breathless just like when they were brought into this world, Will reached out his hand and wrapped it around the back of Hannibal's neck. "This one's the one, Hannibal."

Hannibal nodded, leaning to the side to give him a kiss on his temple. "You were right, my dear, just like you always are."

The profiler tightened his hand and brought Hannibal's face closer to deepen a kiss on the lips. "Of course I am. But we still have to be patient. He needs us to not lose our heads. He needs us to love him. Protect him."

He pulled the taller man away and looked him deep into his eyes, glaring slightly. "You do understand that, don't you? He's fragile. Don't. Fuck. It. Up."

Hannibal smiled, leaning into the painful grasp, nearly purring. "Don't worry, my dear Will, we'll show him the whole new world, he's going to love it."

Us. He's going to love us.

Chapter Text

"I had a dream."

That was the first full sentence that left Dexter's thin-lipped mouth. He was sitting in that chair for about three minutes before he brought himself to say it. He wasn't looking into the psychiatrist's eyes but his voice was firm, no nervosity shown at all.

Hannibal tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. He was trying to figure out why this was such important information that it forced the younger man to explain himself to him. "A nightmare?"

Did you dream about your wife again? About your son? The sister that would never be able to fully understand you?  The brother that gave you an ultimatum to choose him or your sister? Your father? The father who betrayed you? Who made you feel so many emotions? Who was it, Dexter?

He was surprised when his patient shook his head in a negative answer. "No... Well..." he hesitated, looking into dead space and unconsciously licking his bottom lip. "Not really."

He ducked his head, a light blush covering his cheeks. How adorable... "More like a wet dream."

Hannibal's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his hairline. "Oh?" he cleared his throat, eager. He fixed one of his sleeves to calm down his beating heart. Dexter trusted him. Trusted him with such intimate information. He didn't even need to ask him. "Is that... Usual for you? Does it happen often?"

"No. Not at all. That's the problem. I don't have dreams. I just fall asleep and then I get up." he explained, his voice laced with confusion. But it was so soft that it was so easily missible. Asking for help, for him to explain. Take him by his hand and lead him through all that he couldn't understand.

"No dreams?" he urged, trying to get him to spill more information, gently.

"No dreams." Plain answer, with barely any emotion. Any real emotion. Hannibal grabbed his notebook and a pen, tapping them against each other, thinking. He was closing off again, shining away from him. "Care to tell me what was it about?"

He could tell the moment that sentence left his lips that it was not the right thing to say as the patient's body went rigid. Dexter's eyes widened in surprise and disturbance. His words stumbled over his tongue, not quite stutter, but close." What? No! Why would I do that?!"

It may not have been the best way of approach but it was worth it for the reaction. The psychiatrist's mouth twitched in the resemblence of a smile. "Mr Morgan, please calm down. This is a safe space. Everything you say here will stay between us." he assured him, glancing at him through his eyelashes. "We're friends after all, no?"

He nearly laughed out loud at Dexter's open look of disgust. "Mr Morgan, it is important to talk about the things that make you uncomfortable. It is the tool that moves you forward."

He noticed how Dexter's fingers tightened on the cup, nearly crushing it. His neck muscles straining up, and his teeth grinding against each other. He's going to bring himself a migraine. He's thinking too much, stressing himself. Hannibal felt the need to wrap himself around him like a safety blanket and protect the smaller man from all of the dangers of the big scary world.

Dexter put the cup down; his hands were shaking, but he was very careful and slow while putting it on the table. Making sure it would not break. Broken cups can be fixed, did you know? But they will never be the same. The cracks will always be there. But isn't that what makes them so beautiful?

"It's not exactly... Uncomfortable. It's just..." Oh. Oh. Did you enjoy it, my sweet boy? Did it scare you? That you could be so... Human?

"Unusual?"

"New." Of course.

"Do you not deal well with new things?" It's not that, of course not. You like your routine. You need to know the rules and the system. Where everything is, how it all works. You need to know what to do to stay safe. To protect yourself. You don't know how to protect yourself from this. This is a new game and you weren't given the rules of it.

The analyst stretched his legs, trying to relax his aching muscles and a sigh left his mouth. "I don't particularly enjoy changes."

"Ah. So the deaths in your department must have shaken you a bit." he shot his shot, a dangerous one. This could either end in disaster or would break the boy's walls down more. He felt confident at the glance his patient shot him. He pushed further, specifying. "All of the people coming and going."

"...Yes. I don't... Like it." the younger man reluctantly agreed, scratching his neck. Oh, you sweetheart. You've been so lonely.

Hannibal rested his elbows on his knees. He considered his next words carefully. "Tell me, Dexter," he paused, looking for a reaction to using his first name. "Does it make you feel like they are leaving you specifically?"

The smaller man squirmed and looked away. He looked so small, pulling at the hem of his shirt and biting at his lip. A nervous habit that reminded Hannibal of his lovely husband. Trying to be seen so badly and yet falling apart at his gaze. So unused to the attention he truly deserved. He needed to push him just a little bit further. A little bit closer to the pit. "Does it feel like everyone you have in your life will leave you?"

He stayed quiet but he could tell he was listening.

"Like you do everything you can, but you'll never be good enough for them?" You're good enough for me.

Yet again, no answer.

"That you will never deserve anyone in your life?" You deserve me. You deserve Will. You're everything we ever wanted.

Dexter stood up abruptly, eyes clutched shut to stop tears from overflowing, arms raised high in unconscious surrender. "That's enough!" he screamed, his voice breaking at the end. He was breathing heavily, shaking all over. He breathed in, breathed out, and tried again. "That's enough..." he repeated, softer, his voice rough.

He looked like he would break down at any given second, breath stuttering, and legs weak. "I cannot continue today." his voice held raw emotions, pleading. Lost.

Hannibal leaned back, looking up at the smaller man. He saw his chest moving up and down with panicked breaths that didn't quite reach the right destination, the sharp jaws that were carefully shaved every morning. He admired the profile of the man before him, and stood up, towering over him. He wasn't the scary big wolf looking down on his fragile pure prey, no. He was offering him his shade, the wolf hunting down the prey to let the crows and ravens feed on it. Just as dangerous, but helpful. You don't have to hunt to survive anymore. Let me provide for you. Let me let you soar free. Cut the cord that ties you down.

"Farewell, I think we have made some advancement today. I'm proud of you, baby." he didn't even realize that the nickname escaped him before he said it out loud but the other man didn't react, didn't glare at him, didn't scream him to the hell and back. Hannibal's breath nearly choked him, as his heart sped up. He accepted him. Accepted his offering. He shook his head to bring himself back, he couldn't get lost inside his head. Not when his prince needed him. "Think about what I've told you today, we'll talk more about it next time."

He handed him a plastic container with food specially made for him, a blood steak with garlic sauce and Dumplings. His eyes shined when Dexter took it, holding it close. He smiled, watching him leave. Overall, this was looking like a great start for the day.

"He's so beautiful, Will." Hannibal mused when they were dining together that evening. It was Will's turn to bring the meat, which made the day even more special. The two had lightened up the candles at the table and brought out the wine glasses. It was lovely.

"That he is." Will agreed with a soft smile, not even surprised when yet another discussion of theirs spiraled back to the lonely, traumatized serial killer.

"But not like you, no... You're more of the... A tree that survived a hit of a thunder, bearing its marks proudly, growing with thunder in its roots despite being suited to die."

"Are you my thunder, husband dear?" Will chuckled, and took a sip of his wine, pleased.

"I'll be everything you want me to be, Will," Hannibal answered truthfully, looking him deep into his eyes. "But Dexter... Dexter is beautiful like..." he paused, thinking his words through.
"Like when you look at a black car after heavy rain. The way the rain dried but the lines stayed. Not anything unexpected, but people still look at you like you're not supposed to be that way. They don't see the beauty in the natural flow of the events. The consequences that an action has. As if that isn't what makes it real. What makes it perfect."

Will hummed and stuffed his mouth with another full bite. "So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens."

"William Carlos Williams," Hannibal hummed, approving of the connection. "And yet, in both cases, people do not realize the worth."

"That's why he has us, my dear," Will answered, winking at him and chuckling into his wine.

The next day, Will walked into Dexter's lab later than usual, due to him getting coffee for both of them on the way. Hannibal told him how he liked his. And he managed to put it on the analyst's table without the other noticing.

He internally celebrated when it was Dexter who started the conversation. It was rare, it was special even. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

A statement, or a question. An observation perhaps. Either way, it was a foot in the door. And Will decided to pry it open. He turned his head and pushed the glasses higher on his nose. "Yeah, sometimes. I'm nearsighted."

Dexter tilted his head, a tiny movement that was hard to notice but it was there. He raised one of his eyebrows. Intrigued but not accusing. "Why do you need the glasses now then?"
His hair fell into his face and he pushed them behind his ear with his point and middle finger. Will imagined combing his own hands through those soft curls, maybe weaving flowers into his hair. A pretty crown for a pretty princess.

Will chuckled and took the glasses off, putting them aside on the table. He pushed himself up from his chair and stepped closer. They were now face to face, noses breath away from each other. If he tilted his head just slightly, he could feel his plushy, torn lips against his. "Sometimes it's nice to have some sort of a shield or mask," he licked his lips, wetting them. "That thin line between you and the outside world. Isn't it?"

Dexter glanced down at his lips before looking away. Shying away, blush dusting his cheeks. He shuffled on his feet, unsure. "I guess."

Will tilted his head, leaning to the side to not kiss him. Instead, he moved closer to the man's neck, breathing and tickling the skin right below his ear. He whispered in deep rumble. "I feel like seeing who we truly are, all of ourselves, is an intimate privilege that should be given to those, who deserve it."

Do I deserve it, Dexter? Will you let me see all of you? I will give you all of me. I'll let you see everything. I'm an open book to you, as long as you tell me 'Open Sesame', I'll tell you everything you wish to know.

The moment between them was broken by the other detective who called Dexter to himself, back to the work.

Still, the unsaid question was lingering in the air.

Do you take it?

Chapter Text

Will and Hannibal were lying on a couch, watching a movie. Dracula from 1931, it was an inside joke more than anything. The phone rang and they knew immediately that their lazy day had been ruined. The work was calling.

They sighed, grabbed all of the stuff they needed, and made their way to the garage. Hannibal was driving, Will's hand rested on his thigh, caressing the fabric of his jeans with soft movements up and down his leg. Fingertips sometimes going too far, getting too close to his zipper to be considered comforting.

Hannibal gifted him side glares whenever that happened. A soft warning that he needed to focus on the driving. But he was rewarded with a nonconcerned face of his husband, innocent as if nothing was happening at all. Bastard.

They got to the scene in about an hour, the house further than they would expect and the traffic was horrible. They were surprised that Dexter wasn't there yet, since they expected him to be closest to the crime. But they understood why as soon as they saw the body. He was disrupted. Quickly left the place because he was running away from being caught.

...That would have never happened if Hannibal and Will had gotten the chance to protect him. They would make sure he would do what he wished. What he needed. What he enjoyed. Without the danger of someone attacking him. Taking him away from them.

Hannibal frowned as he noticed the unfinished plate of food on the table. There were two plates, one empty and one-half uneaten. But what truly offended the psychiatrist was that he recognized the food on the table. It was his food. The one he made especially for his boy. The one he made for Dexter. Dexter, who simply shared it with someone like Lewis Lester. Such an undeserving pig. That man didn't deserve to eat his special steaks. He deserved to be made into one.

He felt Will wrapping his arm around his own, leaning against him to calm him down. Hannibal took a deep breath, closing his eyes. A growl rumbled through his throat and he let the profiler pull him out of the house. Will pushed the questions of their colleagues to the side with a lie that Hannibal wasn't feeling well because of the body. 'Psychiatrists are not really trained for a real crime scene, you know'....Asshole.

Soon enough, a familiar car parked across the street, and a welcomed unruly nest of brown curls poked out. It momentarily disappeared when Dexter leaned back to grab his toolbag, but only for a short moment. They waited and were rewarded by the younger man turning to face them and smiling softly.

Time as if stopped. The man had recently taken a shower. His hair was still slightly wet, fluffing up in the warm air of Miami. His eyes shined in the sun, the dark brown color turning into the soft chocolate of an Easter bunny. His lips were stretched widely, white teeth poking out. The smile might not have been real, but it wasn't any less beautiful. His shirt was sticking to his body in some places where he didn't dry himself well enough. The buttons weren't even buttoned up correctly, and his collar was crooked.

Hannibal's hands itched to fix his appearance. But he had to remind himself that they were in public. And that it was not the right time yet. Instead, he grasped Will's hand, squeezing it twice. He got a squeeze in return and a reassuring smile. His husband always understood him.

Dexter cleared his throat and moved his chin up in greeting. "What do we have here?"

Why won't you tell us, Dex? "Lewis Lector. A 58-year-old male. He lived alone, but his mother visited him daily. She's the one who found the body." The one who deserves to be slaughtered as a cow for even coming close to touching something that was theirs. For scaring their baby.

Dexter hummed and walked around them into the house, straight into the 'murder room'. Careful, sweetheart, any more confident and they'll know that it isn't the first time you're walking through this crime scene.

The two followed him, unbothered by his behavior. Hannibal stepped closer behind him, breathing in his scent. Fresh, an interesting choice of shower gel. "It's sort of fascinating, isn't it?"

Dexter turned his head just enough to glance at him, his eyebrow raised. "What is?"

Do you wish me to praise you, my love? Wish me to spell out all the ways that you are better than what you believe? There is not enough oxygen in the world to use for me to say all of the great things that you are. "This whole crime scene, it's so... Detailed, planned to a single point. Like a script of a play. Sadly, our director did not plan for the little improv of our mother dear."

Dexter turned back to the body with a sigh. "Not much blood around here. The foil was able to keep everything under it and not make any mess. I guess you won't find any handprints, hair, or similar here either." Of course not. You're too careful for that, trying to make Daddy proud. But even you must realize that he would never love you the way we do.

Will walked to the side of the corpse, glaring at it with disgust. Not towards the body, but towards the man it once held inside. "Our Butcher left in a hurry, but he still managed to not leave anything behind." You've done so well. I'm so proud of you. "That is some level of professionalism."

Hannibal watched the slight twitch in Dexter's shoulders, a positive reaction to the praise. He stepped around him to join the profiler at the table. "However..."

He held back a smile, keeping his eyes glued to the dead man. Dexter's head shot up, looking at him with the pained expression of a Bambi dear after its mother no longer answered his painful pleas. The smaller man shuffled closer, standing shoulder-touching next to him. "He made a mistake. His hand slid up." he brushed his hand against the pierced foil lightly, pointing at the split up. "This is the first victim that didn't have their heart pierced. The weapon pierced his lung, but it didn't kill him. The death was much slower, painful." he turned to look the analyst in his eyes. "He choked on his blood."

The frown and full-body shudder told the husbands that their newest partner was not yet ready to fully fall into the pit. Not ready to see the truth. To understand that these people were irrepentable. Unfixable. All they deserved was death.

Will noted his reaction and decided to leave him to think the words through instead of turning to the captain. "The Butcher had a dinner with our victim; he must have put a drug in his food, and when Lewis fell unconscious, he prepared all of this."

Will flapped his wrist against Hannibal's knee, snapping his eyes towards the table. Hannibal gritted his teeth, not liking the direction that Will's plan had taken, but followed his lead nevertheless. "I would advise to take samples of the food they ate and see what kind of drugs he uses."

The captain nodded his head, mentioning his hand for his workers to do just that, while Dexter simply looked down at his hands, unsure about what he was doing there. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"...I'll take a look around, but otherwise, this is all we can get for now," Will answered, and Angel nodded, coaxing everyone else out of the room.

The younger man didn't need to be told twice. He simply bolted out of the door. The two left him. He needed time. It was really like a new stray. Feed it, show it that it has a place to stay where it would be loved. And let it leave until it comes on its own. And then don't let it go ever again.

They didn't need to wait to know what the lab rats would find in the meal. But they did anyway, enjoying the display of Dexter's work around them. It took approximately fifteen minutes before the other analyst that worked next to Dexter's office, Masuka, gasped in horror. Or was it fascination? It was hard to tell with him.

He stood up shakily and made his way to Angel's office. "Angel, we need to talk."
Angel sighed, surely thinking that the lab man was there to tell him about another prostitute or similar.

"It's about the Butcher."

Angel halted, suddenly noticing the serious note the smaller man held. This was important.

"You know how Lewis Lestor was the first body that wasn't destroyed we found."

"Of course."

"We took samples from his stomach and.."

"And?"

"We found meat."

"So?"

"Human. Meat."

"...Oh."

"The Bay Harbor Butcher is-"

"A cannibal."

Chapter Text

A straw that broke the camel's back.

That's what that message was. The husbands both knew it. Dexter knew what he put in his dishes. And he knew that they knew who he was.

And yet, Hannibal was slightly disappointed when, instead of running right into their arms, because he understood that they knew, he distanced himself. They saw him, and they still wanted every single piece of him. He was trying to hide. To run away from them. It didn't make any sense. He should be happy, he should see that they were meant to be.

But the boy was simply a little slow.

So Hannibal sent him a message. Not to his direct number, he didn't want to scare him. But he couldn't just write what he wanted if he was writing through someone from work. He needed to be careful with his words and hope that Dexter would understand the under-the-surface message.

Good evening,
Captain Batista, it had come to my attention that Mr Morgan did not take the latest case revelation well. It may be beneficial for him to come for a sitting earlier than usual. After all, we need all of our people to have, as they say, 'their head in the game'. Do relay this message to him, please.
Thank you,
All best wishes
Dr. Hannibal Lecter

He didn't expect much out of it. But it would have to do. Hannibal hoped that Dexter would understand. That he would come and smile at them, knowing look in his eyes as he giggles and wraps his arms around him, burying his head into his chest, and knows that nothing bad will ever happen to him as long as he's with them.

But Will was suspicious. Don't take him wrong, he wished for nothing less than having him in his arms too, teach him how to break down these walls, how to be confident in what he is. To hand his life and trust to him. But Dexter wasn't trusting, he wasn't optimistic.

He didn't see how much people loved and wanted him. He doubted that Dexter could simply ever understand with just words. His brain didn't allow him to relax. To believe. They needed to be ready for that, too.

Sure, if it'd turn out that Hannibal had been right, they would welcome him with warm embrace and food so delicious that others would compare it to the forbidden fruit. But if Will were right, they would have to act quickly. Make sure that they take him down safely. Don't hurt him. It was troublesome.

That's why, when the psychiatrist got the message from the analyst, the two agreed that Will would prepare for an attack, while the other would see if he could get him to relax instead. Carrot and a stick, Will chuckled to himself.

And then they waited.
...
Later in the evening, a heavy knock echoed through the silent house, its wooden door moving a tiny bit under the pressure.

Hannibal opened the door to see the expected guest behind them. He was standing there with his chin held high, proud. He looked confident, eyes cold and body steady for what felt like the first time since they met. He was beautiful. The doctor's breath hitched in his throat as his eyes roamed the younger man. Hannibal smiled at him and let out a soft gasp when he smiled back.

Dexter extended his hand for a handshake, his palm facing down, and his hand far away, so Hannibal would only be able to grasp some of his fingers. He immediately noticed the power play, The Dominator, and Queen's Fingertips. But he should never think that he could beat Hannibal at his own game.

He grasped his fingers, quickly pulling him closer and grasping him nearly at his wrist. Dexter stumbled slightly and fell into the psychiatrist's personal space. He crushed his hand in a deadly tight grip, looking Dexter into his eyes without blinking. He then stepped aside to let him in.

The analyst distanced himself, five steps away, and didn't say a word. The doctor led him through the house while he waited for him to take off his shoes. And then he pulled him deeper into his flat.

There was no doubt. Dexter was not there to have a friendly conversation. With deep regret, Hannibal had to give it to his husband, as always, he was right. They settled down in the kitchen, and Hannibal sighed. "Do you really wanna try me, Dexter?"

Seconds ticked by as Dexter's smile disappeared. "You're a murderer."

The disgust and betrayal in his voice nearly made the cannibal flinch, but he suppressed it. "So are you, my dear boy."

"That's different."

Hannibal chuckled, snickering with a mocking glint in his eyes, looking directly at his guest. He cooed. "Aw, baby, sweetheart... Even you don't believe that."

The analyst squirmed, scowl deepening. His eyes caught the sharp knife near him and Hannibal tensed. "I would think that through if I were you, Dexter."

He was answered with a deep and primal growl, coming from the back of the smaller man's throat. It was a warning, delivered in a low, controlled voice.

Time as if slowed down. Dexter slid to grab the knife, turning and straightening his hand at his elbow, slicing at Hannibal, aiming at his throat and collar bones. Hannibal quickly put his forearm up, countering the attack and pinning him to the kitchen aisle.

The man under him whined as the sharp edge of the wood dug into his lower back. Hannibal twisted his arm until the knife fell out of his hand and punched him in the face with his other hand, effectively breaking his nose. A yelp emerged as a result.

He punched him back, his palm up from the bottom of his bottom jaw, his teeth clacking together under the impact. It worked at creating a distance between them, giving the analyst enough space to raise his leg and kick him in the stomach. He stumbled back with a huff. But Dexter wasn't finished; he grasped the doctor's hair and brought his head into the counter.

Hannibal roared, his vision blurring, and scratched at the attacker's throat. He turned his head, risking a blow to his temple, and twisted his body until both of his hands clutched Dexter's throat, cutting off his airflow.

Dexter was forced to let go of him, instead focusing on trying to get the hands off of his throat, gasping for air. His eyes wide and hair, clothes ruffled. Pretty.

The doctor stepped forward, forcing the other to take a step back until they were flush against the cupboards. He tightened his grasp, focusing on the reddening tint of the boy's face.

That was, until suddenly a knife plunged right into his face, piercing his cheek and scraping his teeth, slicing his tongue. The dirty iron taste of the blood filled his mouth, overflowing out of the wound. And he stumbled back, spitting it out.

The knife was pulled out of his cheek, the blood only multiplying. He stumbled, falling down to his knees. He looked up at Dexter in surprise and pain in his heart, saddened.

His heart broke when he saw the man staring at him with hatred, holding the bloody knife as if it were supposed to protect him from Hannibal. But he shouldn't feel the need to be protected. Not from him. He should feel protected by him. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You're a monster, Lecter."

But you're like me. You were supposed to love me. You were supposed to love me. You were supposed to love me.

"One that I should have killed years ago. And now-" Dexter said walking to the fallen man. "Now, I'll do us all a favor."

Hannibal closed his eyes. To die by your hand is to live a thousand lives.

He didn't see the knife being brought high into the air, held above his head like a looming death, it was. He was tired. His own blood was choking him.

He heard the clutter of the knife against the floor and knew that his husband took care of it. He let himself relax against the cupboards.

He smiled up at him, opening his eyes just a tiny bit, his vision blurred through tears. He looked at Will, hugging Dexter from behind, one arm wrapped around his throat, the other around his waist. His throat was marked with handprints, red and purple. Beautiful. Theirs.

Will pushed the chemicals against his mouth and nose, forcing him to breathe it in. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart, we're not mad." he smiled, his voice soft. His eyes turned to his husband, assuring him he didn't mess up, that he did a good job. "It's okay, we'll fix it."

Hannibal closed his eyes, breathing. "You don't have to worry about it anymore. You don't have to worry about anything. Papa will take care of you..."

Hannibal pushed himself up, collecting himself and watching as Dexter's body slowly turned unconscious.

And when Will carefully settled the analyst's body into the car, they embraced each other. Soft kisses lingered in the air. And both of them knew. They would fix it.

And it would all be okay.

Chapter Text

Dear readers,

with that, the whole Last Call For Morals series has come to an end. 

I am so thankful for everyone who has joined and read through it. It makes me so happy to see all the comments and bookmarks, knowing that people enjoyed my writings. 

Right now, there's a pole on my Tumblr (sadly only 24-hour one because I had messed it up. But you can always just write your vote in comments and I'll count it too) that will decide on what longer multi-chapter series I'll write next. Please let me know what would be most interesting for you. 

Link here: https://www. /err404-aar-notfound/782967563338514432/what-series-are-you-interested-in-next?source=share

Yet again, thank you all for reading and interacting with this story and I hope I'll see you all on my other works.

All the love, 

Aar.