Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He knew from the day he met Will that the man would one day know everything about him.

One day, his truth would be told and this very man would be the one to discover it. The realization had thrilled him in a way he never imagined. Will possessed the darkness to comprehend his own, he wanted to see if Will had it in him to understand a man such as himself.

He hadn't been prepared for the discovery to come so soon, but as soon as Will barged into his office; sweating, gun drawn, and that look in his eye- Hannibal knew he'd made the fatal error of underestimating Will Graham.

Out smarted by a lesser.

Maybe Will Graham wasn't a lesser.

His eyes flickered to his blade on his desk, and Will had laughed harshly, "Don't think I won't shoot you. It won't be a fatal shot, and believe me; being shot hurts. I know you can feel physical pain." The usually unsteady man's voice hardly wavered. The threat was very real, and truthfully; he didn't want to die.

His death wasn't something he'd given much thought to, but this moment wasn't the moment he wanted to die. Instead, he leveled his calm gaze into Will Graham's eyes, expecting him to look away.

Blue eyes pierced his own without doubt, and the cold, calculated look in them was one he'd only believed existed in his own eyes.

"Put these on," the cuffs were tossed to him and he caught them, snapping one on his wrist, "Behind the back." He followed instructions. He was interested in where this would lead, what Will Graham was planning.

Will was his friend, he...liked him. In the strangest way, he was intrigued by the madness that the man possessed.

A madness he sensed wasn't far from his own.

He briefly thought Will was going to merely arrest him and end this- that would be a pity, it would be boring after all the work and effort he put into everything he did.

Instead, Will swallowed roughly, "I like you, Hannibal." A curious statement, loaded. "I like you enough to take care of you myself. You wanted to wind me up and watch me go, didn't you?" Will circled behind him, and he imagined his heart would beat faster if his body knew how to react to danger. Instead he inhales deeply, smelling this change that has taken over Will.

He comes up behind him, and something comes around his face and covers his mouth; something meant to be a gag. He doesn't struggle or lash out, he wants to play. He loves playing games. "This is our design," Will's voice is in his ear; dark enough to make his knees slightly weaker as the man pushes him forward and towards the door.

-

Will had led him to his car, a hand tightly on the cuffs behind his back. Night had fallen outside, and Hannibal allows Will to seatbelt him into the car. "You're being surprisingly obedient," he comments when he gets in the driver seat, leaning over to pull the gag down around his neck.

"I'm curious."

The haunting smile he gets in return should scare him, "Curiosity killed the cannibal."

-

Will's house has a small cellar, and that's where he's taken and secured. He watches with fascination as Will's new alter ego confidently straps him to a chair before ripping the buttons of his white shirt.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me," the mocking in his voice makes Hannibal's lips twitch with a smile.

"I'm intrigued by this side of you, Will," he admits, watching as the other man takes off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"This is what you wanted me to be, this is your design. I'm your design. I finally understand the Ripper, I can feel him. I'm reflecting him at you, do you see? see?" Will's voice breaks slightly, and Hannibal sees the struggle inside the man before him. Torn between himself and a killer. His identity splitting right before his eyes, and he wishes his hands were free so he could reach out and touch him.

"You kept me sane, by making me think someone understood," defeated words spill out, "But it was all a lie. Only one thing is understood here, that's you. I understand you, Hannibal. I finally understand you." Hannibal's body quivers slightly at the words, his body reacting with the need to hear more, "And what's worst about all of this is, I feel bad for you. Your soul was taken from you, and now you're an empty shell looking for a way to be full. It must be frustrating, not being able to feel. Looking at everything with detachment and calculation."

Will gathers a knife from the table in the corner and stands just in front of him, his fingers playing against the blade, "I do feel."

Blue eyes snap up to his, "No, you mirror feelings. You said when we first met about us becoming friendly. Was that true, did you want us to become friends?"

"Yes, I wished for you to understand."

Will smiles at him again, bringing the blade up to rest against his cheek, "I do understand." He closes his eyes as the blade pinches his skin- he feels warm blood dip down his cheek, and Will's fingers cut off it's path at his jaw.

His bloody fingers wiggle in front of his face, "I understand you're very, very sick. Too sick to ever be rehabilitated. The darkness inside you has become your whole being, because you've let it take you over." The words go through him, and he inhales the sharp smell of the blood on Will's fingers and he groans slightly.

"You're enjoying this, that alone makes you a very sick man. You're a sick man who doesn't want to get better, therefor you should suffer at the hands of your own design."

The wheels turn and come to a stop right as Hannibal realizes why Will brought him here. His mouth drops open slightly, and he looks up at Will Graham and realizes that he underestimated him so much that it may have costed him more than just his freedom.

He should be afraid, he tries to make himself afraid- instead he feels excited. It excites him, watching the madman in Will's eyes twinkle with excitement when he brings the blade down to his chest and cut a fleshy chuck of skin from his abdominal. It's pain like he never felt before, yet he's too hypnotized to protest; hypnotized by the way Will picks up his flesh and raises it to Hannibal's lips.

He lets it sit on his tongue for a minute, his eyes locked with Will's. His flesh tastes like everyone else's, only after he swallows his mouth feels stale and dry.

-

After seven more cuts from his upper body, the chunks getting larger and larger- the pain is substantial enough that he whines slightly as the blade slices through him. "Like butter," Will whispers in his ear as the knife finds his left nipple. The soft flesh finds it's way into his mouth and he swallows it quickly, and Will whispers it again; "Like butter."

He's figured out what Will's doing- he's breaking him down. His body is torn between pleasure and pain, he's half hard from everything Will whispers in his ear; and his body burns and twitches with pain as he feels blood flow down his torso and pool at the waist of his pants.

"You're my design," Will whispers as the blade makes another cut right above his hip just as Will's free hand finds his hardness through his pants. "Eat it," and he feels it pressed against his lips and he opens his mouth without a second thought.

-

"If I had your surgical knowledge or cooking knowledge this game would be far more fun," Will tells him. He's been moved from the chair and is now laying flat on the table. "I'd go for the organs, kidney first," the knife scratches along his side, drawing a line of blood.

Will looks down at Hannibal's bloodied body, his eyes are blown wide, sweat covers him in a thin sheet. He looks detached, and Will brings the knife up to his newly exposed erection to regain his attention.

It works, and Hannibal whimpers at the touch of the blade, his dark eyes rolling back in his head slightly, "Hey, stay with me Hannibal," Will insists, watching Lecter struggle to focus his eyes again.

"What are you feeling?"

"Lightheaded, dizzy, pained," the knife pushes a bit harder and Hannibal flinches, his body tense.

"Are you afraid?"

Silence follows the question, and Will reaches a hand up to touch it to Lecter's throat. The pulse flutters against his fingers like the wings of a butterfly. "Your heart is racing."

"My body is under stress."

"Is your mind?"

"Yes."

Will smiles down at him, the blade cutting into his thigh without breaking the eye contact. Hannibal gasps, not protesting as Will passes the hunk of flesh into the back of his throat. "You're afraid, that's supposed to happen."

"If I ask you to stop, will you?"

Will chuckles, "Did you stop when your victims asked?"

Hannibal licks his dry lips, "Is that what I am, Will? Your victim?"

"It seems appropriate that your body is my victim, since my mind was one of yours."

Chapter Text

Will circles the table, his eyes calculating the man that lays upon it. His face is flushed; his body glistening with sweat from a fever.

It's only been 48 hours, Will was sure he'd be able to keep the man relatively healthy through this...plan he'd had.

He didn't have it, it was someone else's. He didn't remember deciding to do this.

He only remembered the sickening feeling of betrayal when the realization had dawned on him; it crushed him to the core. He recalled himself picking up the knife he gutted fish with, and contemplating sliding it along the insides of his wrists before realizing it was impulsive and rash. His insides had broken then and he'd smashed his fists down on the nearest surface, a frustrated cry of...something ripping from his throat.

Then next thing he knew he had Hannibal Lecter in his cellar, bloodied and sick with infection. Will put his face in his hands and sunk to the floor, a moan of mental anguish gurgling from his throat.

His head pounded, What have I done?

Lecter twitched on the table, strings of half words in a different language fell from his lips in a confused string. Will sobbed into his hands, willing the man to be quiet; hoping that silence would help stifle the crushing guilt from the situation.

There would be no silence. Hannibal shivered against the restraints and whimpered in pain; Will dug his fingers into his scalp and pulled at his hair.

Hannibal Lecter had tortured people just like he was suffering right now, Will shouldn't feel the smothering guilt over it. He did though, he felt every small sound of pain rip through him like he'd been shredded apart himself.

He'd started it, and now he'd have to find a way to end it. He stood shakily, his stomach lurching when his eyes took in the battered body. He was missing nearly two dozen chunks of flesh; leaving behind holes that were nearly deep enough to see the muscle underneath.

Some of them did go deep enough for him to see clear into the other man's body, and now one of them not only seeped blood, but seeped puss as well. Will stared at the wound on Hannibal's side; it was bigger than the others, and red with irritation and seeping with an infection.

Will raised his arm to his mouth and bit down in an attempt to quell the urge to scream in self-hatred and agony. His mind had been too broken to consider anything past the punishment, never considering the fact that he'd either have to kill the man himself, let him die, or get him medical help.

The split in Will's personality reared it's head again, Who says you were done here?

"Shut the fuck up."

Hannibal peeked up at Will's blurry face, watching the terror and confusion cross his features. He attempted to formulate an understanding of the situation, knowing somewhere in his mind that Will was suffering from a disassociated psychotic break, yet was unable to connect the words to the thought and translate them from his mouth.

He felt the blade pierce his skin again and he lurched against the restraints as another slice was removed from his hip. The noise he made reminded Will of the sound a dog made when you stepped on it's paw, the noise made him jump. Warm tears rolled down his face, his breaths coming in pants as he raised the chunk of flesh to Lecter's dry lips.

The man's eyes rolled back slightly, his breathing harsh through his nose, "Shh, just eat, it will be over soon." His voice broke with a choked sob as the man obeyed, his trembling lips parting just enough for Will to press the flesh into his mouth. Will's fingers pressed against his throat to feel the muscles beneath swallow, and Will smiled down at him slightly, "Good boy."

Hannibal's eyes closed, and Will reached down to touch the cheek he hadn't cut into yet, "I wish," he sobbed, "I'm sorry, God I'm sorry. I didn't think this through I should've..."

Will holds the knife tightly, ready to accept that he'll go down for the murder of this murderer.

The murder of his friend.

"I won't leave you alone," the promise sounds so empty, and he smiles slightly when Hannibal's eyes force their way open to look up at him. He tries to keep a steady look on his face when he brings the knife down to Hannibal's limp arm and digs the tip into his wrist and drags it up to his elbow. Lecter's lips part in a gasp and his body goes tense as his heart pumps the blood out of his body.

"It's over now, it's okay," he reassures quietly as he walks around to repeat the process with Hannibal's other arm. There's more weak struggling, and Will lets the knife drop from his hand and clatter to the floor. "Don't struggle, just lay still and close your eyes."

Will watches his face closely, the dark eyes flickering around the room before landing on Will's face.
Will swears he sees a brief flash of panic there before his body becomes to heavy and his eyes droop. He forces himself to raise his hand and touch his cheek again just as Hannibal's body goes limp on the table.

Will stares down at him, a cold numbness soaking into his bones and chilling him into detachment from what's just happened. In death, Hannibal's facial features are softened, calm. Will suspects they looked similar when the man slept. If it hadn't been for all the blood, Lecter would have almost looked boyish. His muscles are relaxed and slacked, his eyes merely closed; lids resting over the piercing eyes.

If it weren't for all the blood, Will would enjoy seeing him like this so much more. It was proof that Hannibal Lecter was a person behind all the acts he committed.

Behind all the lies, Hannibal had a truth; a story, and a calm face while his body rested. Monsters didn't look like angels while they slept.

On autopilot he steps back away from the table and digs his phone out of his pocket with a bloody hand and phones Jack.