The world was on fire; flames licked at his bed and burned bright ghosts into his vision. Will raised a hand to his face, blinking hard against the heavy smoke that curled over him like a dark tide. He was so hot. Shaking his head slowly, still muddled from sleep, he coughed hoarsely into his fist.
The dogs.
Fear stuck prongs of ice into Will, and he struggled out from under the sheets. The house was on fire. Where were the dogs? In dismay he saw that the flames were all around him, his bed a temporary raft on a sea of fire. Breath rasping in his chest, Will pulled the collar of his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth. What had happened?
"Will?"
He turned his head towards the hall, towards the voice, a surge of hope washing over him.
"In here! The floor is on fire!" Will yelled, his voice rough. It was a wonder he was still alive. The flames soared higher, reaching for him. Retreating against the wall, Will held up a sweat and soot grimed arm, hand out.
"Please! Who is there? Please, help the dogs!" he rasped. Will's heart slammed against his ribcage. The fire was so close. Where were the dogs? Smoke stung his eyes, and he wiped at them with a shaking hand. "Hello? Please? Where are you?" His voice, sharp with panic, broke through the thick smoke in his lungs.
"Will?"
The man was so close. Will's eyes burned, tears streaming from his face. Where were the dogs?
"Please? I can't see you! Please! Please help my dogs! Please find my dogs. Hello? Please!" he cried, watching as the fire finally climb up onto the coverlet, a living creature of blistering, flickering heat devouring his bed and stretching out to touch his flesh. The pain was intense. Where were the dogs? They would die. He wouldn't be able to save them.
"Will?" said the voice, closer now. "Will... wake up."
The fire finally stroked his skin, bright tendrils of flame curling over his arms; he closed his eyes tight and saw will-o'-the-wisps dancing in darkness.
A cool darkness. The touch on his arms gentle and warm. Not hot.
Will opened his eyes slowly, his mouth dry and heart pounding. Confused, he rubbed his face and groaned. Where was he? Where were the dogs? Will turned his head and exhaled slowly in relief as he recognized the dark shape kneeling next to the bed.
"Hannibal?" he asked, reaching out a hand. When his fingers made contact with the shoulder of Hannibal's dressing gown, the last fragments of the dream dissolved. "Where am I?"
Hannibal's lips curved up in a fond smile, and he patted Will's hand lightly.
"In my guest room, Will," said the older man, his voice quiet. "You were sleepwalking, sleep-driving too it seems, but you're safe and sound. You had a nightmare." Hannibal sat back on his heels, dark eyes shadowed in his face as he looked at Will. The younger man nodded and licked his lips, pushing himself up to sit on the bed.
"My house was on fire... I couldn't see the dogs. It was awful. All I could think about was saving them. I could hear your voice, but I didn't know it was you," said Will and reached for the glass of water Hannibal held out to him.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Will took a small sip and shook his head. "I have to stop this, Hannibal. Somehow. Christ I could have killed someone driving here. And... I'm sorry I came to you." He looked up quickly. "Uh, not sorry it was you, just sorry I barged in on you in the middle of the night."
"Don't worry, Will," said Hannibal with a wry smile. "I'd rather you get me up in the middle of the night than wind up on some stranger's doorstep. I'm actually rather flattered that you came to me." The older man chuckled and stood slowly. "Go back to sleep, Will. I will see you in the morning."
Will ran a hand through his hair and nodded, a tight smile creasing his face. He watched as the older man turned to leave the room.
"It's because I trust you," Will said, his voice low. Hannibal turned his head back to the man on the guest bed and smiled, dipping his chin slightly.
"I know, Will."
Back in his own bedroom Hannibal looked down at the gasoline-stained leather gloves in his hand and smiled.