[AN: The extended prologue of a hopefully two parter series, AU, following Hannibal and Will through intertwined lives. This is written by myself and iamtheletter13, who has the forced pleasure of reading most of my fandom related nonsensical drabbles, and is currently computerless. Though each chapter will he edited, Will is generally written by myself, Hannibal by her. Mild warning for dark subject matter, future gore and teen smut. And Moomin's.]
A stream of mid-afternoon sun flickered through the classroom, illuminating the rowdy, playing children scattered around the classroom, dust particles flicking through the air. And Will Graham, a mere six years old, took a moment to stare, drawn away from the whimsical comic book that he often had set on his lap, from his corner, which was his corner; the teacher's made quite sure. The child didn't like noise, too much excitement, overloading his oh-so frail mind.
Will stared, stared for quite a few moments, blinking softly at the streaky sun for a small eternity.. covered his mouth with his fleecy jacket, turning back to engross himself in the blobby, hippo-like characters inked on the page below, not sure what had pulled him away from his book. A sense of childish foreboding, almost. He felt it often.
Hannibal was in the back seat of his new father's car, blinking up at him as he was beckoned forward.
"Do you think he'll have trouble getting along? He... he hasn't said a word to us this entire time. Maybe he's mute." The woman at the stranger's side muttered worriedly.
"Oh, Darla, he's fine, he's just scared. C'mon, Hanni, it's time for class." He was too old to be a first grader, but he didn't seem to know any English, and his understanding of numbers was rudimentary at best. His father didn't like to think about the place Hannibal must have come from.
Slowly, the blond climbed from the vehicle, blinking at the building he was being sent to. He was worried his new parents would leave him there.
"I'll go get the teacher and explain things. You get him inside, dear." The man said, wandering away.
Hannibal was ushered inside the classroom, a teacher having expected his arrival for some time. They dealt with a lot of troubled children, had the facilities to handle them.
Darla followed Hannibal inside, watching the other children almost neurotically. Out of all the foster children she'd had the pleasure of caring for, Hannibal was the most damaged, the quietest child she'd ever had stay in her home. She was quite protective of him.
"Mrs Bates? You're early." The teacher exclaimed, approaching the two.
"The traffic wasn't nearly as bad as we expected it to be." She sounded nervous, hands on her foster son's shoulder.
Hannibal's eyes scanned the room, searching for someone he could spend some time with, at least until they shipped him away. He didn't tend to make bonds with people, he just liked being near them, was comforted by the safety of a crowd of children.
He spotted Will, alone in the corner, guessing he was lonely and shrugging his foster mother's hands from him to wander over. The blond stood over Will for a moment, watching the swirl of hair on top of his head. He couldn't remember ever seeing such clean, tidy curls, however aggressive they seemed to be. He wanted to touch them desperately, reaching but stopping because he knew it was impolite.
"Hannibal? Sweetheart..." Darla was overjoyed by Hannibal approaching Will of his own free will. The teacher she'd been engaged in conversation, however, did not share her tangible enthusim. Will was instantly on edge, his book held tightly to his chest, the child scrambling from the beanbag, that was his, at such a speed he was liable to injure himself.
"Will? I-its okay, he doesn't want to..." The teacher that usually consoled Will during an episode lingered nearby.
"Do you want to go to calm down somewhere?" Will looked utterly terrified, though he somehow achieved this without his facial expression changing in the slightest.
Hannibal seemed annoyed by the teacher's behavior. He took Will's hand in his own, letting their skin slowly slide together, and set it in his own hair as a silent apology.
Will was on his feet in a mere second, Hannibal pushed away from him, a claw-like hand pushing at his shoulder. His almost pristine hardback falling to the ground. He stood on the spine, accidentally, approaching the teacher, who was a safe person. Darla was horrified, holding Hannibal close.
"He doesn't mean it. W-Will, you know you can't hit. Or push. We've talked about this." The teacher chirruped in a mock-happy tone.
Darla frowned, turning to the teacher, who was still holding Will.
"He will be okay, won't he?" Darla asked. The teacher nodded.
"Yes. You should leave him to settle. I'll keep an eye in him." She smiled almost apologetically, leading Will back to his safe place, sitting him down. Will was acutely aware of the eyes boring into his head, the child uncomfortable beyond words.
"C'mon, Will. Your Daddy will be here to pick you up, soon." The teacher patted Will's cheek tenderly, chuckling. Will nodded, flicking back to the page he had been at previously, the male swallowing.
Hannibal shook his head so fervently the room spun. He didn't want to talk to any of the other children; Will was interesting. He was too fascinated to be offended, finding a seat and watching Will intently.
Will trembled, set uneasy by Hannibal's gaze, the way he was reading him. The woman stood next to him picked up his book from under his feet, placing the book carefully into his grasp, smiling far too chipperly at the boy.
"Why don't you tell Hannibal here about your book, Will?" She asked softly. Will stared intently at his feet, eyes wide, and Darla had almost instantly decided she did not want her foster son to fratinise in the slightest with such a child.
"I'm sure Hanni can find somebody else to play with. There's a lot of other boys and girls, here."
Hannibal was disappointed that Will seemed to be leaving soon, pulling his knees to his chest and sighing noisily. He wanted to touch Will's hair, his hand was aching to, but he had been refused, and it hurt. Hannibal was so rarely refused those days.
Hannibal's stare was beginning to visibly agitate Will. Though he didn't understand why, he stood, book still in his grasp, approaching the child, who was intimating more because of his age. Will was scared of most things, but Hannibal's face wss kind. He offered the older child his hand, almost demandingly. The teacher, who had retreated to split up an argument between two quarrelling children, caught sight of the exchange, gaping.
Hannibal shook Will's hand, patting the space next to him for the male. He curled one of his yellow locks around his finger, pointing to Will's hair.
Will tentatively sat himself next to Hannibal, touching his own hair.
"Why... Are you looking at my hair?" He asked, his voice soft, barely audible.
Hannibal nodded and reached forward, wrapping a curl around his finger before pulling away and grinning softly at Will. It was just as soft as he thought it would be.
Will frowned, smoothing down the curl that Hannibal had caused to bounce up with vigor. Almost immediately, he reached forward to touch Hannibal's hair, running his fingertips through the straw like texture before withdrawing.
"My hair is softer." He felt the need to announce, though only quietly.
Hannibal nodded meekly, touching his own hair to feel the difference. He scratched the back of his neck, pointing to Will's book and staring expectantly back at him.
Will pointed at the book, too. He turned his body, so that Hannibal could see the crude little cartoon strips.
"It's Moomin. My Granny bought it for my birthday last year. I like it." He explained somewhat stiffly.
"I see them at Thanksgiving. I always liked watching the cartoons that they have on tape."
Hannibal ran his fingers over the crisp, rather well-kept book, surprised that Will could apparently read. He read his native language, but just barely, and he was older than the brunette.
Hannibal leaned back to stare at Will again, waiting for more of a description of the book.
"Moomin... That's Moomintroll-" Will bent his finger over the small blobby creature in the book.
"-And he lives with his Moominmamma and Moominpappa. He's friends with Snufkin, t-that's Snufkin. Snufkin likes fishing. He plays the harmonica. Daddy says he's a hippie." He spoke with a subtle stammer, thoughts lacking any sort of order.
"And he's the Moomin's friend. He helps them. But mostly he smokes his pipe and fishes."
Hannibal nodded with understanding, pointing at Snufkin, then himself.
"You look like him." Will seemed to realize.
"You're too little to smoke a pipe. Though you're not that little." He hadn't caught on that Hannibal couldn't really understand him.
"Will?" His teacher, who had been watching the spectacle with almost glassy eyes, placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
"Your Daddy's here. Are you going to say goodbye to Hannibal?" She asked almost timidly, her heart aching for Will's gentle soul. Will stood, nodding, taking his book back. He almost looked upset, hesitating, setting the book next to the boy who was the only child to show an iota of interest in him for the longest time and turning to grab the teacher's hand, holding it as she lead him to get his coat, pack his schoolwork into his bookbag.
Will Graham's father took his son's hand, leading him to his car, which was filled to utter brimming with boxes of their very few belongings. The child was strapped into his car-seat, his hair ruffled, the door closed. He never did return to Doesmith Elementary. But, despite never telling anybody of Hannibal, he remained in the back of the child's mind, thought of fondly by him. As fondly as Will Graham was able to think about anything.
He settled into his new school just as well as he'd settled into his last, finding small amounts of solice in fishing with his father, silently, because they rarely did converse.
And when his father began to pack up their clothing for another move cross-country, an eight year old Will Graham found himself strangely optimistic.