Drowning

by lunathefrog

One Shot- A creative retelling of the final scene in Mizumono between Will and Hannibal. Here I'm implying that Abigail is dead, and Will dies at the end of the scene. *For confused readers about my perspective* The paragraphs alternate POV's, from Will's to Hannibal's to Will's again... etc. First fanfic! Let me know about mistakes and review!

No coherent sound fell from his trembling lips. How could any sound escape from the weight of water pushing down on him? There was nothing else besides the water rushing past him. He was suffocating, his mind screaming. He needed help, he needed air. He needed to focus on the trim man standing before him. Speaking words that held less and less meaning. He felt his concern trickle away like the blood weeping to the floor.

The other man watched with bright eyes as his former friend sweat and shook, his eyes rolling and swaying where he stood. He had feigned caring before, but now he stood quietly with a curious tilt to his head as the man in front of him slowly sank into his own mind.

Is that stream water splashing Hannibal's face? Is he in the river as well?

Tears slid slowly from the older man's eyes as Will staggered to the floor, shaking, but still no words coming out with the stuttering breaths he took.

He fell, lurching to the floor against the broken remnants of a cupboard in front of the stoic, silent man, but it didn't matter. The dichotomy was still prevalent. He- on the floor, covered in cold sweat and warm blood, soaking through his dark plaid shirt, the picture of delirium; While the other man, with his coat covering his impeccable suit, was in control, an observer to this epic disintegration. His mind was still swirling and foaming with the ocean he was trapped in. Water rushed in his ears and covered his eyes. Everything became a wash of blue and black and his mind fought, struggled to accept the gaping wound in his torso. He was dying, he felt the life in him draining out with the blood flowing onto the floor. He would soon be with Abigail, who the man looming above, no, the monster, had taken away from him. The thought of her calmed him like a balm as he slowly sank into the stream, no longer fighting the current pulling him down. He smiled.

The man on the floor was gasping now. This has to be done. This will be done. His breaths slowed, lessened in intensity. His blank tortured face suddenly transformed into a smile. It was a horrible smile, both beautiful in its purity and acceptance, and terrible in its sorrow. Then a dry whisper floated up from the dying man.

"I forgive you."