When the call had come in, stating that Tobias was in Hannibal's house, Will would have sworn his heart had stopped momentarily, only starting to beat again when Jack had told him that Hannibal was fine aside from minor injuries. For a few seconds (that had felt like a whole eternity pressed together) he had been certain that he had lost the only person he'd managed to open up to in a long time. The thought of what would have happened if the knife had sunk into a different part of Hannibal's flesh haunted him in his dreams. Now he was waking up, drenched in sweat, trembling from the lingering fear to the image of thrusting the weapon into Hannibal's chest and watching the life leave his eyes.
It had been his fault. Of course it had been, and he couldn't understand why Hannibal didn't blame him. He had been there in the music shop, could have prevented it if only he had noticed earlier that Tobias was the killer they had been looking for. But he had been too self-absorbed, worrying about his decreasing mental health. Why did he have to go out looking for the source of the noise he knew had arose from his imagination? It had only been a shallow hope that maybe, maybe he wasn't going insane. That he wasn't losing his mind.
Seeing Hannibal sitting in his chair, a trickle of blood at his mouth, angry red score across his nose and his hands pressing against the stab wound in his leg, Will had realized that he would have lost the last shred of sanity he'd managed to preserve so far if he'd had to look at a dead body instead.
How long until the next murderer would come into Hannibal's house? Will knew it would be far too easy for a killer to follow him. They just had to read to find the freak that could empathizes with the criminals.
It was difficult, but Will had managed to act like his usual self, holding lectures and avoiding talking to the students afterwards. At night, he would jolt awake with the image of a dying Hannibal before his eyes, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep again, he'd wander around the house, telephone in his hand and trying to come up with an excuse to call Hannibal. So he could hear his voice, hear that he was still breathing and alive.
Will never called.
Then there was a new case. There was a killer, a huge fan of medieval execution practices, who enjoyed testing them on his victims. Will had nightmares about those murders, saw the victims die gruesomely, their cries still ringing in his ears. As they came closer and closer to the killer, the nightmares grew worse, more intense. He could feel the killer's gleeful anticipation before the torture, his expectation of how long it would take to reach their breaking point and his furious disappointment when it didn't go as desired.
Only that there was a new victim among the others, someone he'd recognize anywhere. Will jolted awake, a scream on his lips, eyes widened as panic bubbled up and clenched around his heart.
When his thoughts had managed to get around the fear that was clouding his mind, he was in front of Hannibal's house, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel, matching the beating of his heart. The lights were already out and Will debated whether he should go and ring the bell. Maybe he should phone him or just drive back home. It was stupid, really. Hannibal didn't even match the profile of the other victims. He was neither mid-twenties nor female.
In the end, Will settled for the solution his fidgeting body seemed to be able to accept, spending the rest of the night in his car. It was cold and uncomfortable but when a light was turned on in the morning and he could see Hannibal's silhouette behind the window, it had been worth it. But he still wasn't wholly reassured. He needed to see Hannibal, look at his face in order to convince his mind completely that it hadn't been a hallucination.
So he politely waited another hour before stepping out of the car and walking to the front door, legs shaky and hands trembling ever so slightly as the images of the dream returned, crashing down of him in their full intensity. Will had to remind himself to breathe, just breathe and calm down.
The bell rang, mingling with the screams of the victims in his head, and Will didn't know where to put his hands. He wanted to press them on his ears to shut the cries out, but they were inside his head and they wouldn't stop and then Hannibal opened the door. Still breathing. Still alive. No limbs were missing because of course no one had drawn and quartered him.
"Good morning, Will, what a pleasant surprise," Hannibal greeted him with a smile. It turned quickly to a frown when he looked at Will's pale face. Will only nodded in response, not sure he wanted to open his mouth just yet, because he wasn't sure what would come out.
"Please come in. I was just making breakfast."
Will followed him inside, eyes focusing on Hannibal's dark suit.
"Have you eaten yet?" Hannibal asked.
Will swallowed, opening his mouth, closing it again before answering.
"No." The screams slowly die away as he watched Hannibal prepare tea and something he couldn't name.
"Chili over eggs in Sourdough bowls," Hannibal said in response to Will's unspoken question. Will managed a thankful smile when Hannibal gave him a glass with steaming tea, burning his tongue at the first sip.
"What brings you here so early in the morning?"
"Nightmares of the latest case I'm working on."
"What did you dream about?"
Will didn't want to talk about it, because then he'd need to remember when he wanted nothing more than to forget.
"The killer took women, all of them not older than twenty-eight, and then executed them using…medieval techniques." He took another sip of the still too hot liquid, and let it burn down his throat to distract himself from the images that tore themselves free from the back of his mind where he tried to bury them. Hannibal's gaze was dissecting him, making it impossible to hide anything.
"What was different about this dream?"
"You were one of the victims." Will looked up from his cup, getting caught by Hannibal's surprised gaze. He would have enjoyed the look of utter astonishment that was there for a split second before Hannibal composed himself in any other situation. It was a rare occurrence to catch him off guard like that, after all.
"I can assure you, my dear Will, that I'm very much alive."
Will laughed, and it sounded wrong and too high pitched even to his own ears.
"I can see that, but thanks." Will raised his tea, and added, "And thanks for this as well. I should really go now. I've stolen enough of your time already."
"Are you perhaps worried about my safety after last week's incident?" Hannibal inquired curiously, raising his eyebrow ever so slightly.
"I'm sure you already know the answer to that question, Doctor Lecter." Will stiffened under the scrutinizing gaze. If he could, he'd get Hannibal in the car and drive him to some place far away where he'd be safe. Where no one could harm him. Of course that was impossible for various reasons, and Will knew that such a place didn't even exist. Criminals were everywhere, they didn't just cease to exist because the place seemed to be free of them. In too many cases, the killer turned out to be the last person you'd have suspected.
"I should really go now," Will repeated.
Hannibal looked at him with what Will thought was slight amusement mingled with fondness, but he couldn't be sure because his gaze was fixed on the buttons of Hannibal's shirt. He didn't want to meet those brown eyes again, those eyes that seemed to suck every secret he wanted to keep right out of his soul. His body ached all over from sitting too long in the car, his limbs heavy from too little sleep, and he just wanted to curl up on Hannibal's couch and rest easy with the knowledge that his fears were unsubstantiated.
"Please, I must insist that you stay for breakfast. You must be hungry. I couldn't help but notice your car outside when I woke up and looked out the window. How long have you waited outside?"
Will could feel a blush creeping up his neck and ducked his head.
They caught the serial killer three days later, and Will slept more or less peacefully that night. The car was uncomfortable, but he couldn't get the picture of a mugger shooting Hannibal out of his mind. There had been a lot of those in the last few days not that far away from Hannibal's house, and after three hours of turning around in his bed, unable to find sleep, Will had started the engine of his car. When he saw the shadow of Hannibal at the window in the morning he drove straight to the campus, ignoring the nagging feeling at the back of his head that Hannibal had seen his car and must surely be creeped out. He knew he must look a bit stalkerish.
At their next session Hannibal mentioned it, and Will wished the ground would swallow him whole. Hannibal assured him that it just showed that Will seemed to think of him as someone dear to him. Hannibal also told Will that he should come over for breakfast next time.
Next time.
Will tried to convince himself that this was just a protective streak he had, and that it would pass. It was as if he were a mother who wanted to cradle a little child that stumbled and cried, although it isn't her own…and that reference was a bit disturbing, considering that Hannibal was a grown man who'd shown that he could take care of himself. More than Will could, comparatively. But his nightmares didn't consider that, continuing to torment him with images of a dying Hannibal in numerous ways, never getting tired of finding new ways to kill him.
More and more nights passed with Will spending the time in his car outside of Hannibal's house, because he can't sleep. What if one of his dreams turned into reality? What if something happened to Hannibal and he wasn't there, just like he wasn't there when Tobias attacked him? So he slept in the back of his car, fully aware of the fact that, if someone did break into the house, chances were high he wouldn't notice it, but it was better than lying awake in his bed. In the morning, he eats breakfast with Hannibal, and he can breathe normally again while listening to him talk.
Will had lost track of how long this had been going on, when, one night, Hannibal knocked at the window. Will shot up, banging his head on the roof of the car, hastily climbing out when he saw the doctor.
"You can sleep in the guestroom, Will. It must be terribly uncomfortable in the car."
Will blinked, unsure if he should accept the offer. He wouldn't want to ruin the surely over-expensive bed sheets by soaking them with his sweat, but maybe, just maybe, the nightmares would leave him alone. And the offer of a comfortable bed sounded too tempting to his aching body to pass up.
"Thanks for the invitation, Doctor Lecter."
Hannibal looked pleased, like Will had done something that required praise, but Will couldn't fathom what. He shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Hannibal to go inside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in someone else's house, the few times he'd slept in a bed that wasn't his own, it had made him feel misplaced and he'd avoided it ever since.
"Please, call me Hannibal. You're not my patient, Will, and the guestroom is only at disposal for my friends."
Will said nothing, not sure how to react to this properly, but Hannibal didn't seem to take offense by his silence as he ushered him inside, a firm hand placed at the small of his back.
The guestroom was as elegant as Will had imagined it to be, and the bed was a dream come true.
"There's a pair of pajamas on the pillow, I hope they fit."
Will looked up from where he was sitting on the bed, smiling gratefully at Hannibal as he grabbed them, the dark silk feeling smooth in his hands."Thanks, Hannibal."
The doctor leaned against the doorframe, a smile curling around the corners of his mouth at the use of his first name, and Will felt a flutter of something at the pit of his stomach…perhaps the fast food he had for dinner. "Sorry for imposing on you like this." Will fumbled with his shirt, debating whether or not to change with Hannibal still in the room before he decided that Hannibal would leave if it bothered him.
"If I thought of it as imposing, I wouldn't have offered to let you stay here."
Will felt even more exposed under Hannibal's watchful eyes, his gaze prickling on his skin. Hannibal waited patiently for him to finish putting on the pajamas. The fit was too perfect to be coincidental, better than the ones he had at home, and Will looked at Hannibal suspiciously, catching the look of satisfaction that flitted over his features before the calm mask settled back in place.
"Sleep well, my dear Will. And don't hesitate waking me if you require anything." Will called a 'good night' after Hannibal, who'd already turned around to leave, shutting the door quietly behind him.
The nightmares didn't vanish completely, but they eased up as the days passed. In proportion to that, though, Will felt more and more like he was intruding in Hannibal's life –at least he didn't camp in his car like a stalker anymore- but Hannibal assured him that he wasn't, and was on the contrary, welcom to stay as long as he wanted. The spacious wardrobe in the guestroom filled slowly with Will's clothes, though he tried to keep that at bay. Only his sleeping shirts had to stay at home at Hannibal's request, he insisted that Will uses the silk pajamas, since they fit him so well.
Will refrained from pointing out that it was obvious Hannibal had bought them for him.
It was only when he started sleepwalking, waking up right outside Hannibal's bedroom, that he decided to spend the nights in his own home again, before his body got the chance to walk into Hannibal's bedroom. He'd never survive that embarrassment, although he was certain Hannibal would be indulgent.
The nightmares came back, crushing down over him, leaving him breathless and gasping for air, and when Will drove to Hannibal's house in the morning, the breakfast table was set for two. Hannibal was already waiting for him with a steaming cup of tea. It's a compromise Will can live with, waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, then waiting for the sun to raise before stepping inside his car.
It was delusional to expect that he could keep this up for long, but Will still had the faint hope that the nightmares would return to their normal disturbing cruelty from before the Tobias incident.
Will wasn't sure if it was due to the lack of sleep or simply his messed up mind, but when Jack ordered him to a new, particularly gruesome crime scene, Will couldn't see the victim's face.
Not the real victim's, anyway.
He felt the blood drain from his face as his breath hitched, and he told himself that this wasn't true, just another hallucination.
But the picture of Hannibal lying there, cut open, intestines draped over various bits of furniture wouldn't go away. And what if it was real? No. No, this couldn't be real, please don't let it be real, he wouldn't survive this if it was.
Next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of Hannibal's room, feeling disoriented as he turned around, looking for Hannibal. But he was alone. Frowning, he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to remember and then wishing he didn't as they started trembling. His lungs suddenly had not enough air, but at the same time, too much, and he just wanted it to stop. Did he collapse at the crime scene? He wasn't sure, but he needed to find Hannibal.
Just as he was about to try moving his shaky legs, Hannibal walked in, carrying two mugs and walking to his desk where he set them down.
"When," Will cleared his throat, rapid breathing making it difficult to hold his voice steady, "When did I get here?"
"A few minutes ago. Don't you remember, Will?"
"No," Will breathed out, gaze roaming over Hannibal's body to look for any signs of an injury. Nothing.
"You're not a hallucination, are you?" Will had to ask, had to know, because he wasn't sure if this was real or if he'd wake up to see the dead body in front of him.
Hannibal raised a brow. "I can assure you that I'm very much real. But feel free to go ahead and verify it for yourself if you're not yet convinced."
Will was overcome by the urge to touch, needed to feel Hannibal's pulse underneath his fingers, feel that he was alive and not lying dead and gutted on a cold floor. Hannibal stood in front of his desk, unmoving, waiting for Will's reaction.
Will crossed the distance in a hurry, almost stumbling over his own feet in the process and then he stood in front of Hannibal, extending his hand with the intention of checking his pulse. Instead, he grabbed the hem of Hannibal's expensive shirt, yanking him down a few centimeters, mouths colliding. Will gasped in surprise against Hannibal's mouth, who looked less astonished by Will's actions than Will was. Before Will could retreat, a hand curled around his neck, pressing him more firmly against the doctor, tongue invading his mouth and moving with precision in all the right ways. Will's other hand clutched at Hannibal's back for balance, lungs desperately screaming for air.
Hannibal pulled back, hand playing with the curls of Will's hair, gazing into his hazy eyes. Will felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to look away.
"Convinced that I'm not a hallucination?" Hannibal's voice had dropped, sending a shiver down Will's spine.
"No," he stole another kiss that left him dizzy from the lack of oxygen, leaning heavily against Hannibal "You're real." He could feel the quiet chuckle vibrating in his chest.
Hannibal motioned them towards the couch, shedding the majority of Will's clothes along the way. His still trembling hands had trouble doing the same without ripping the buttons off Hannibal's shirt.
Afterwards, he was sprawled out on top of Hannibal, ear pressed against his upper body and listening to the heartbeat beneath. It was like a lullaby, coaxing him into sleep, eyes growing heavy. But the doubt came back, lashing out at his for once peaceful mind.
"Maybe we should get you one of these apps you can synchronize with a heart rate monitor watch."
Will mumbled something in response, unable to fight sleep any longer, Hannibal's hand stroking lazy circles over his back, soothing his fears.
"Sleep, my dear Will. I'm not going anywhere."