Author's Note: In light of a plot discovery for the NBC series, I have tweaked this chapter to fit a little better not only in general, but also in terms of the show.

Hannibal Lecter was boiling beneath his thin jacket, his rage heating him thoroughly despite the deathly cold of the small cabin. The wind whipped violently outside, but the young man could not hear a single thing outside of the incredulous thumping of his heart. The blood in his ears was deafening as his eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.

"Hannibal! Hannibal, help me!" Mischa's screams sounded impossibly distant with the quality of travelling through water; slow and heavy as if time were losing pace with itself.

The three men in the cabin with them were old farmhands from the Lecter household, fired when they caught stealing from the family manor. They had caught the children off guard and whisked them away in an attempt to get a hefty ransom for the return of the children. But the men had overestimated the price someone would be willing to pay for children orphaned by the Cold War, and now they were all hungry, angry, and trapped in close quarters by the malevolent winter storm outside.

Being the animals they were, it was only a matter of time before the men would want to claim the little innocence sweet, young Mischa Lecter had left in her tiny body. Hannibal had known this would happen from the start, but he did not know just how to handle the situation when it should arrive. Two of the men had begun to tear at his younger sister's clothing like dogs tearing through the wrappings on a fresh cut steak. The sight was horrific as the third radical watched hungrily, forcing Hannibal to do the same.

"NO! STOP, PLEASE!" Mischa screamed again as the top of her dress tore clean in two, and one of her assailants slapped her.

Years would pass and only nightmares of what might have happened would remain, but for now the world had become clear. The crack of the worker's hand against his sweet sister's gentle face seemed to echo in the room and Hannibal turned feral, his anger no longer capable of being contained.

The motions of the young man were fast and fluid as he wrenched himself free and attacked the man holding him viciously and without any hint of mercy. In the chaos of the moment, the other two were distracted enough for Mischa to squirm away and make it to the table where a long hunting knife sat. The child held it between her small hands and rushed the man who had slapped her.

As the knife sunk snuggly into the man's back, Hannibal was squeezing the last bit of life out of the man who had held him back. The sound that tore through Hannibal's throat was inhuman, a sound of pure rage and bloodlust, as his nails dug into already bruising flesh. The man's eyes were bulging out of their sockets and his face had gone a deep purple as the last glimmer of life painfully faded away.

Hannibal would have most certainly remained as he was to admire the death if he hadn't heard Mischa cry out in fear. He turned sharply to see the stabbed man on the ground and sole surviving farmhand backing Mischa into a corner. Hannibal rushed the man himself, both falling to the ground in a flurry of feet and fists. Hannibal grabbed the man's cheek between his teeth, and tore back flesh deep enough to expose muscle and bone beneath. The kidnapper screamed in pain as Hannibal gained the upper hand, pinning him to the ground.

"Mischa, get the knife," he snarled, doing his best to try and strangle the man beneath him.

The girl ran towards the stabbed body and shakily tried to pull out the knife lodged deep in the cold flesh.

Hannibal was losing the adrenaline fueling his body, and the man beneath him was far larger. He rolled with ease, pinning Hannibal against the cold wooden floor.

"Mischa, hurry!"

The man grabbed the matted hair on the young man's head and slammed it back, hard. Hannibal saw spots instantly but kept struggling to regain power.

"Entitled brat! You think you can win against a real man?!" The farmhand yelled like an angry drunk, blood and spit falling down onto Hannibal face. The man continued to slam his victim's head into the floor and he was starting to grow dizzy with the early symptoms of a concussion. He tasted his own blood filling his mouth now, and the black spots clouding his vision were growing larger by the second...

"Real men are not like you."

Hannibal barely heard Mischa's whispered curse, but her tone was ferocious and piercing none the less. Hannibal didn't even see her move as he was blinded by red.

The warmth of the blood hit Hannibal first and then the smell filled him as it all poured out in a torrential downpour from the large slit across the man's throat. Realizing what had just happened, Hannibal pushed the limp body from on top of him and sat up. Catching a glimpse of his half-naked, blood drenched sister with a knife in her hand, the young man fell back again and laughed.

It was a hysterical laugh of shock and relief. His head was pounding, and the wetness of his own blood soaked clothes was beginning to chill him through, but he was alive enough to feel it. Mischa rushed to her darling brother's side, pushing his hair from his face, worry covering her own more so than the blood.

"Brother, why are you laughing?"

Hannibal smiled as he listened to the intact innocence in the child's voice, "Because, sweet sister, we are alive and we are together."

"We killed three men... Three men who we knew."

Slowly, Hannibal sat up again and pulled his sister close. "We protected one another from wild animals. Pigs in men's clothing. We simply put them to slaughter. A fate far more than generous for the likes of them."

Mischa said nothing as her brother smiled down at her. She shook from the cold and Hannibal held her closer to warm her. They sat shivering on the hardwood floor for quite some time, glad to be alive while fighting through the shock of what they both had done.

"I will deal with them in the morning, saldüs vienas. For now we need to rest. To dream of our future away from this hell."

Mischa nodded, burying her face in Hannibal's chest. "Promise you'll stay with me forever."

Hannibal gently pushed his sister from her place in his chest and kissed her forehead. He did his best to wipe blood and tears alike from her face while admiring how beautiful she was. Her crystal grey eyes were so unlike his own mahogany ones. They made her appear forever wide-eyed and curious, always so innocent and pure like the colour of the sky during the first snowfall. In the privacy of his mind, Hannibal swore his life to protect that innocence.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes?"

"I said promise you'll stay with me."

"Forever and always, my love."

Hannibal kissed her cheek as Mischa hugged him tightly. Carefully, he stood and carried her to the cot by the small wood stove. He placed the girl on the grimy sheets and wrapped her tightly in the moth-eaten blanket. Hannibal covered the holes by placing his jacket overtop as an extra layer before returning to the bodies across the room. Carefully, he removed the jacket from the strangled man and wrapped himself in it. In the short time it took for him to cross back to the cot, his sweet Mischa was fast asleep.