The Heron and the Water Snake.
This is a reimagining of the story of Hannibal and Will, and how I think it the Silence of the Lambs should have started. M for graphic violence, murder, cannibalism and slash.
This is my own take on Hannibal and Will's story. Of how they lived, and how the events of the Silence of the Lambs begin. If you are curious as to where the title came from, it is from scene that takes place in Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck. I felt it fit Hannibal and Will's situation perfectly, and if you don't understand, PM me and I will tell you, but be warned, it would contain spoilers for the ending of this story. I warn you now, if you do not like slash, graphic descriptions of violence and murder, and just generally don't like Hannigram, then this is not the fanfiction for you. Please, heed my warning, and do not complain when it happens…Enjoy.
Also I apologise if you speak Serbian, I have attempted to make Mr Govedarica say 'Go to Hell' however if this is incorrect please tell me so that I can change it :) Now, my dear little Fannibals, Bon Appétit, and remember, nothing here is vegetarian…
Inchoation
The metallic sheen of a sword caught the light of the candle-flame as it was unsheathed from its hold on the man with the acid tongue's waist. For a moment, no time passed and all there was in the dim lit room was the man with the acid tongue and his victim. Knelt in front of the man his victim quivered, not from the icy air that flowed through the room, but from the fear that held him, trying to shake him awake from the dark nightmare that had walked defiantly into the room, sword on its waist. The acid tongue danced its way around the man's deceptively soft mouth, leaving a trail of sheen that mixed with the salt of the upper lip. The victim bowed his head, his own lips whispered frantic letters to his deity, letters that would not reach God as the victim wilted in a wooden coffin in the solid winter ground.
For the first time, the man spoke, his barbed lips and acid tongue forming foreign sentences, words of an unknown language.
"Mr Govedarica, it is my pleasure, to welcome you to my…retreat in the woods." The man's voice was harsh and hoarse with neglect, but cold with the practise of a thousand scenes just like the one playing out before Mr Govedarica's eyes. Yet Mr Govedarica could not understand the caustic words that came from the barbed lips and acid tongue. English was a language unknown to the Serbian, despite America being the base for his business. He instead relied on his employees speaking to the clients; Mr Govedarica was there for the money and the reputation.
"Ah, of course, you do not speak English do you?" The rasp of his voice was thick with accent, not of an English speaking country, and Mr Govedarica was sure that even if his attacker spoke in his mother tongue, he would not understand it.
"Despite this, I feel it necessary to relay to you the nature of your convictions. You are guilty, sir, of being in charge of a drugs ring. Tsk tsk, my fellow, it seems you have chosen the wrong career path. Nevertheless, your time is drawing to a close. But do not worry; you will not go to waste."
"Idi do djavola." Mr Govedarica spat on the ground where his attacker stood, making sure to aim for his well-polished shoes.
"That was very rude of you, Mr Govedarica." The attacker said simply, filling the words with the appropriate amount of venom for such a rude action.
The sword came down hard on Mr Govedarica's neck, the sharp blade carving through the flesh and bone, as if it were merely butter. The man with the acid tongue, barbed lips and caustic words had mordant hands, and clearly Mr Govedarica would not have had much hope. The man picked up the rolling Serbian head with gloved hands, and placed it in a box he had used many times to transport the heads of the rude. He left the headless corpse where it had fallen, and strode confidant and straight-backed out of the log cabin in the woods of California. But not before he removed handkerchief out of his breast-pocket, and cleaned the saliva Mr Govedarica had so rudely left on his shoes.
The man with the acid tongue, barbed lips, caustic words and mordant hands had a name. A name that would be respected, loved and feared. A name that soon would be mocked as he rots away in a cell in a mental hospital. And that name was Hannibal Lecter.
Dr Hannibal Lecter was sat at his desk, finishing off a pencil sketch of a faceless man when he looked at his watch. The time was 11 PM, far later than Hannibal had imagined, and so he began to pack away his things. Just as he shut his briefcase, a knock at the door sounded, causing Hannibal to let out a rare sigh as he made his way to the door to his office.
"Will," he said, rather too brightly for such a late hour, "please, come in and take a seat." Hannibal gestured to the chaise lounge in his office, and Will Graham dutifully obeyed, along with his customary mumbled greeting and avoidance of eye contact. He shuffled into the room with a slouch that made him appear much shorter than he actually was and made Hannibal look far taller than he actually was when the two of them were next to each other. Will took his seat, far slower than needed and began his habitual wringing of his hands.
"So Will, what brings you to my office at such a late hour? Are you aware that you have come here?" Hannibal asked his typical questions for Will.
"I, uh, I was aware- I mean, I am aware and consciously made the decision to come here. I'm sorry if it is too late; I can come back tomorrow…" Will stammered around his words, as if they were made of air and he was trying to catch them with his bare hands.
"Of course not, Will. As your therapist, I am supposed to see you whenever you require me, so please, continue." Hannibal gestured for Will to carry on with his explanation, and the motion comforted Will as he continued.
"It's just that, Jack needs me to look at a murder in Angeles National Forest, and I know I will probably need you whilst I am out there…Look, never mind, you have other patients, I can't just expect you to drop everything and come with me across the country." Will said, backtracking on his request.
As soon as Will had mentioned California, Hannibal knew exactly which murder he was talking about. He knew exactly where it had taken place, with which weapon and by whom. He had, in fact, been there two nights previously.
"It is not a problem, Will. I can delay my appointments for the next two days and move them to next week. If I am indeed to fulfil my duty as your therapist, it is the least I can do." Hannibal smiled briefly at the way Will's eyes lit up at the prospect. Indeed, accompanying Will would benefit his treatment, but it would benefit Hannibal in a better way. If he went with Will, it meant that he could manipulate and follow the investigation, and ensure his innocence.
"Y-You'll come? Thanks, Doctor. I just don't want to have another episode and for you to be miles away." Will stuttered with astonishment, and Hannibal felt a small sense of victory.