Disclaimer: All main characters belong to Thomas Harris. The setting belongs to Bryan Fuller, and the crew of NBC's Hannibal. All writing is for fun and creative purposes only.
Blood-covered hands.
Dark, empty space.
That same deer walking around him.
Soft, eerie ringing from a distance.
Every dream Will had was like this. Every case haunted him like a ghoul, whispering things into his head, tapping and rearranging his thoughts. Every now and again, he would lose himself in a dream; a dream within a dream. Despite praising his expansive imagination, he always hated it behind closed doors. One would think it wasn't the fault of the cases he worked on, the job he had, the people in his life. It was all in his head, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Waking up in a cold sweat, Will turned his head to look at his electric clock. The small, red LED lights were even unbearable to look at in the dark. He blinked a few times, rubbing at his eyes to help refocus his vision. The clock read 6:30AM. This was the fourth time he's woken up during the evening. Giving up on going back to sleep, he crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, throwing off sweat-drenched clothes to the floor. He felt around for the sink, not wanting to turn on the lights in fear of worsening the already pounding headache he had building. Feeling around for the sink dials, he turned on the cold water and splashed it onto his face and rubbed it on his arms and chest. One would think he was in the middle of a hot flash, but every morning had been like this for Will for quite a while. He bumped into a few things in his bathroom: the toilet, the trash bin, the counter; he eventually found his towel and patted himself dry. Walking back into the bedroom, he grabbed his glasses and tossed them on. It was still early but the sun has started peeking through his curtains. 7:30 would've been a better time to start the day, but he figured he could take his time in getting ready.
Sunday was commonly referred to as a "resting day", but Will would've been the last person to take that in. Walking out into the living room, he saw the dogs have already been awake and waiting for him to open the door so they could go about their business. Once doing so, Will kept the door open to let some air into the room and decided to raise up a few of the blinds in the room. The sun was barely rising, so the light didn't attack his waking eyes quite just yet. He waddled to the kitchen to get some coffee started up. He needed a really good kick to wake him up, so a stronger roast was necessary.
Once his morning routine was finished, he paced himself to his living room to rest on his couch, facing the front windows. He took a sip from his coffee, placed the mug on a side table, and stretched himself out. He was really hoping no one was going to call him today. Just for once, not today. He wanted a bit of peace, even if he wasn't going to get any by him being the way he is. His dogs were starting to come back inside, one by one, to keep him company. They were really the only things in his life that soothed him, calmed him down. Even if it was just for a fleeting moment, for the first time in a long while, Will felt like nothing could ruin his morning.
And then it hit him.
Bringing his tired and aching hands up to his face, he curled his fingers into fists and rubbed at his eyes before relaxing the digits to further rub his eyes. The action gradually rose to his forehead before resting against his temples. The rubbing became more and more aggressive as the feeling in his head grew from painful to irritating. Will slowly rose up from the couch and wobbled over to the nearest table that held up his medication. Grabbing the orange bottle, he struggled to get the cap open in his impatience but finally got it off and downed two tablets. He knew, deep down, that this medication would slowly stop working just as the other ones did. Drug after drug after drug, he was eventually prescribed something new, something stronger, and the dosage upped before repeating the cycle.
Will remained standing, arms stretched out against the table to hold him up. His blood pressure was rising, veins rising to accommodate the blood rush, and beads of sweat were appearing on his hair-line. Some of his dogs came to him, nuzzling against his leg while the others sat back and whimpered softly amongst themselves. He tried to pull himself together as he felt the drug gradually kick in. His muscles loosened up and his blood pressure was slowly lowering to a more stable rate. Once again, he brought his hands to his face, dragging them down with an exaggerated sigh.
He was in a near trance-like state until a knock woke him up from it. Turning around, Will's eyes were directed towards the doorway, the morning light causing the figure in front of him to look silhouetted. "Who.." he began but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Good morning to you as well, Will."
"Doctor Lecter? What are you.."
Hannibal took a few steps into the room, closing the door behind him. Will's dogs immediately ran up to the older man, recognizing their "friend" as Hannibal as fed them on more than one occasion. He gave a brief smile before ushering Will into the kitchen. "I decided to come over and check on you. You missed your appointment this week, although I was a bit busy with my own affairs.." Will waved his hand dismissively, indicating that it was fine.
"Sorry for not...coming in. I guess you and I were just both busy."
"I suppose Jack has been the cause of that? You just closed a case, did you not?"
Will gave a nod, running a hand through his hair.
Hannibal placed a cooler bag onto the small table that stood in the kitchen, opening the bag up, and taking out two glass containers. "You seem exhausted. Glad I decided to visit with breakfast. You're prone to skipping meals under stress." Will gave a snort, but he knew it was the truth. The morning had just started and he couldn't even go to noon without something happening to him. Despite taking the medication, he could slowly begin to hear faint noises in the background, but he knew it was all in his head. What bothered him was that it sounded all too real to him even with the knowledge that there was nothing there. His eyes wandered around, instinctively trying to find the "source" of the noises while the other man was setting the table up.
"I hope you've been at least trying to take care of yourself?" Hannibal's voice, again, interrupted Will's trance. He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes before sitting down at the table with Hannibal following suit and pushing one of the containers to Will. Will didn't reply, but it was almost a form of an answer. The two had spent much time together so they were getting to know and understand each other well enough to communicate without even speaking, which was the case now. They ate entirely in silence, gazes focused on their food, both men not minding the empty atmosphere between them. However, once they finished, the both made eye contact and held the gaze for a moment until Hannibal stood up and began clearing the table. Will stood up himself but sat back down immediately once his vision blurred. He felt a headache coming on but before he could try to do anything about it, it delivered a pulsating pain that was enough for Will to pass out. At first, he slumped in his chair but then slid right off and onto the floor, which was what finally drew Hannibal's attention. He had worry for his friend but his expression remained still and calm, used to the sight. Not of Will, but the situation in general. He heard the dogs in the other room, who were now hobbling over to "aide" their owner. The older man knelt to take the other in his arms and carry him to his bed.