Work Text:
The rain pounds mercilessly on the dark, deserted street as Will Graham, his eyes sharp and devoid of emotion, arrives at the place he once considered a sanctuary: Hannibal Lecter's home. The scent of blood and death hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic taste of rain. As he steps closer, he spots a familiar figure lying in a pool of mud and rainwater, her once elegant form now broken and lifeless. It is Alana Bloom, her eyes wide open, staring blankly at the night sky. Will's breath catches, not in surprise but in a cold calculation. He feels a fleeting moment of regret, not for Alana's fate but for the inconvenience of her survival this long. She is just another piece in this intricate game, and now, she is a loose end that needs trimming.
Will kneels beside her, his expression unreadable. "Alana," he whispers, his voice devoid of emotion. "Where's Jack?"
Alana's lips quiver, and she manages a weak gesture towards the house. "Inside... with him..." she rasps, her voice trailing off as she struggles to breathe.
Will's gaze hardens. He knows what needs to be done. With a swift and practiced motion, he draws his hunting knife, the one he had taken as a memento from Wolf Trap, its serrated edge glinting under the dim streetlight. In a single fluid motion, he slits Alana's throat, silencing her forever. A small part of him acknowledges the irony of using a tool from his old life to end the life of someone who had once been his mentor. As Alana's life slips away, Will's mind drifts to the man he's come here for — Hannibal. He feels a surge of jealousy as he recalls the intimate moments Alana had shared with Hannibal. But it's fleeting, overshadowed by the overwhelming realization that has been building within him.
He loves Hannibal.
Not the twisted, manipulative monster the world sees, but the complex, dark enigma that has somehow woven itself into the very fabric of his being. Will would do anything, cross any line, for the man who had shown him the depths of his darkness.
With a final glance at Alana's lifeless body, Will pockets his knife, the rain washing away the evidence of his deed. He approaches the grand entrance of Hannibal's home, his heart pounding with anticipation. The door creaks open, inviting him into a world of shadows and secrets. Will steps inside, his senses on high alert, but he keeps his gun holstered. He is here for Hannibal, and nothing, not even his survival instincts, will deter him.
His heart skips a beat as he hears a faint whimper, and then, there she is—Abigail Hobbs, his surrogate daughter, standing before him, a mere shadow of the vibrant girl he once knew. Her once long hair is now shorn, and a tight scarf conceals the gruesome absence of her ear. Tears stream down her face, mingling with the rain that clings to her pale skin.
"Abigail?" Will's voice echoes through the eerie silence of the house.
"Will... I... I had to," she stammers, her voice breaking. "He asked me to, and I couldn't refuse. I'm so sorry."
Will's heart aches at the sight of her, but he remains composed. "It's alright, Abigail. I understand." His words are gentle, but his mind races with questions. Why is she alive? Had Hannibal spared her?
As if summoned by Will's thoughts, Hannibal emerges from the shadows, his presence filling the room with an unspoken power. Will's eyes lock with Hannibal's, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.
"You didn't leave," Will says, his voice cracking with emotion. "I called to warn you. I didn't want Jack to take you away from me."
Hannibal's expression softens, a rare glimpse of vulnerability flashing across his features. "We couldn't leave without you, Will. You are the very heart of this symphony." With those words, he lunges, a linoleum knife glinting in his hand. Will feels the sting as the blade pierces his side, but he stands firm, his eyes never leaving Hannibal's. "You rejected the gift I offered, Will," Hannibal whispers, his breath hot against Will's ear. "I gave you the chance to truly know me, and you turned away."
Will winces, not from the physical pain but from the sting of Hannibal's words. "I never wanted to turn away from you," he replies, his voice steady. "I love you, Hannibal. I would do anything for you."
Hannibal's grip tightens on the knife, his eyes narrowing. "Would you deny me my life, Will? Would you take that from me as well?"
Will's hand finds Hannibal's, their fingers intertwining around the knife's handle. "Never," he says, his voice unwavering. "I want to be with you, always. I want to run away with you, as a family."
Hannibal's gaze intensifies, his eyes searching Will's for any sign of deception. "You want to change me, Will. To mold me into something you can understand, something less... monstrous."
Will smiles, a sad, knowing smile. "No more than you want to change me, Hannibal. We are reflections of each other, two sides of the same coin."
With a swift motion, he pulls the knife free from his side, revealing the Aramid fiber vest he had donned beneath his flannel shirt, showing his preparation. Hannibal's eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face. He is at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for the master manipulator. He takes a step back, his eyes darting to Abigail, who stands frozen, witnessing this intimate exchange. Will sees the intent in Hannibal's eyes, the unspoken command to Abigail to finish what he had started.
In a blur of motion, Will tightens his hold on the linoleum knife and, with precision, stabs Hannibal's wrist, drawing blood. "Don't take her from us, Hannibal. Not again."
An involuntary cry of pain escapes Hannibal's lips, but his eyes remain fixed on Will's, a silent battle of wills.
The sound of a faint groan from the pantry catches Will's attention. "Jack?" he questions the cannibal without breaking eye contact.
Hannibal, clutching his wounded wrist, responds with a cryptic question, "Would you turn me in, Will? After everything we've shared?"
Without hesitation, Will draws his gun, his aim steady. He fires three shots in quick succession, the sound deafening in the confined space. The pantry door swings open, revealing the lifeless body of Jack Crawford, his eyes forever closed.
"To turn you in would be to turn me in," Will says, his voice steady as he holsters his gun. "We're not running from anything anymore. The three of us. We are going to my sister's office to pick up Winston, and then we're leaving. Starting a new life, together."
Hannibal, his wrist still bleeding, smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Then let us begin, mylimasis. Let us write our own symphony, one that the world will never forget."
As the rain continues to fall, Will, Hannibal, and Abigail leave behind a trail of blood, secrets, and broken lives.