"W-what are you, doing?" Will looked up at the steel, cold eyes that looked down into his own. Will repeated himself.
"I, what, what have you /done/?" He looked down at, what used to be, his arm. Nothing remained.
"I simply modified you Will. Don't worry, you'll be fine. I didn't sever anything that would harm you immensely, and I took good care to methodically stitch you back up. So-"
The doctors speech was cut short by a frightful scream from the patient.
"YOU RIPPED MY ARM OFF! YOU-" Hannibal's hand caught his mouth and he fell silent.
"Calm, calm Will. Settle down, you're fine." His soothing voice sounded like dread. Will was not calm.
The next time he awoke Hannibal was not in the room, he wasn't wearing that godawful surgical mask hushing him into oblivion, and he most certainly was not going to let Will Graham go.
But Hannibal most certainly had let will's left leg go.
He couldn't scream anymore, his lungs were heavy and his throat dry. All he could do was sob quietly as he stared at the spaces where his limbs should be.
He never slept that night, Hannibal did not come in, the only terror was time.
Just as his eyelids flickered shut he heard a buzz saw flick on. He lurched against the cruel, belted binds and wailed.
No one was there, he was alone, the buzz saw was imagined. But the loss of his other leg was not.
Teeth marks littered the closest binds his jaws could reach and the rest were more than a bit worn from his struggles.
His eyes, hysterically flitting from one side of the room to the next, always aware, he had to be when he knew that if he slumbered his only other arm would be gone and he would be disabled forever. Not that he already wasn't.
He didn't exactly know how many days had passed but he guessed two. He hadn't slept or ate or drank and he was tiring.
He felt lead cover his eyelids and he screamed to keep himself awake.
He sobbed to keep his eyes busy.
He wrestled the belt binds until his only arm muscle was sore and his body was aching just to keep himself alive.
But he eventually closed his eyes, as all of us do, at the very end.
"Good morning Will." Hannibal's voice was judgment and peace. As if he were a Christian god. And Will knew he was a martyr.
"Up, up, I made you breakfast." His voice was the sun, masked into comfort by dull watchers.
Will looked up in a daze, tired and in pain he let his mouth fall open a bit. He was hungry. He wasn't okay.
"Good boy. Here." Hannibal slowly lifted Will's head up and moved a fork into his mouth. Will tried to pick the fork out of Hannibal's hand so he could eat by himself, but he had no more.
"There, there Will. You're better now." Hannibal cooed as he let Will eat the meat from the silverware.
"I'm eating me. Aren't I?" Will asked in a quiet voice.
Hannibal said nothing. He just continued to feed Will until he stopped.
"You're Welcome." Hannibal said as he gathered up the empty plate and fork.
Will said nothing.
"I said 'you're welcome'."
"Thank you?" Will answered, though in an asking tone.
"Good, work on your manners Will." He said before getting up and leaving him alone again.