Water. Pulling at his limbs. Tossing him around. A light, above him. Below him? He opened his mouth. It filled his lungs. His wounds. Stung his eyes. Black. Insidious. He turned, curled into himself, then felt his limbs forced backwards. His lungs screamed. The burning in his chest not dulled at all by the frigidity against his skin.

Blackness. He faded out, frantic. Clutching at nothing.

His shoulder scraped against something, hard. He thrashed. Twisted his body around. His palm connected with the something. Small, smooth rocks. He pushed off of them. Head breaking the surface. Plummeting back into the world. The water seared his throat coming up, as did the air coming in. Choking. His hand slipped, and again, he fell into the water. He scrambled forward, hands grabbing at rocks, sending them swirling behind him as he pulled himself forward. Head out of the water, again. Gasping.

A sudden swell and he was pushed several feet forward. Chest scraping against the ground, water rushing up past his feet and towards his head, then retreating. He tried to rise to his knees to crawl, but fell. Clawed forward even still. The water rushed in again, up to his waist. Back out. Then up to his calves. His ankles.

Will Graham lie on jagged rocks, panting. Freezing.

Alive.

Soaking hair clinging to his forehead and water in his eyes. He rolled over onto his back and felt the sting of dirt and water in his wounds. Chest moving up and down, stretching stab wounds open, then closed, sucking in salt water and spitting out blood. Shaking hands felt the wound on his cheek. Dolarhyde's knife had sliced his gums as well. He rolled again, onto his side, chest screaming, and spit out the iron taste, the dirt. His ears popped and he heard, magnified, the water rushing out of him. His head rushed as well. Spinning and static. He tried to focus on his breathing. Tried to slow it. Adrenaline lit his body aflame, pain shooting into every limb.

It was dark still. The only light came from the moon. The sky, near the horizon, was a deep navy. Morning was just hours away.

Will opened and closed his eyes several times. Rubbing at them with dirty palms. Pushing his hair to the side. He crawled further up onto the shore, every movement agonizing. The water against his ankles felt as if it would drag him back at any moment. He sat up, slowly, grimacing as his body protested. The blood that had been washed away by the water oozed back onto his clothes. His arms covered in large disgusting bruises. He blinked. Pupils dilating. Adjusting. He glanced around and saw that he was on an incredibly small and rocky beach, carved out of the bluff by the erosion, adorned here and there by black and jagged boulders.

Several yards down the beach, a body floated, caught between the shore and a large rock, held in place by the tide.

The metallic taste filled Will's mouth again. He felt sick.

His body fought him, but Will made his way to his hands and knees, then his knees, then his feet. He took a small unsteady step forward, then another, then a third. He fell, elbows against rocks to protect his chest. More pain. A sharp intake of breath. He stumbled to his feet again. Each step sent a sharp hotness throughout his body.

Hannibal floated, slightly, on his side, half held up by the rocks. A wave came and he rolled forward, face into the water, then onto his back as the water went back out. His body soaked in black. Will did not think about his movements. He grabbed Hannibal by the shoulders and dragged him laboriously up onto the beach. He fell, again, and yelped. A stabbing throbbed at his side. He slid his arm under Hannibal's mangled shoulder and, on his hands and knees, continued to drag him further up onto the shore, heaving him a foot at a time, just out of reach of the water.

Eyes closed. Mouth hung open. Hannibal was covered in too much blood. An enormous gash on his shoulder left the sweater around it ripped and tattered. Will saw a piece of his scalp sliced open, just above and behind his ear. It flopped over and hung towards the ground. The blood from it matted his hair and covered his face, pooled at the inner corner of his eye, the side of his nose. A slow but steady pumping of blood onto the pebbles. An enormous and still forming bruise spread across what was visible of his chest, reaching up towards his neck. Red and purple. His arm twisted at an impossible angle. Will realized that the lump in Hannibal's sleeve was a protruding bone, snapped at the wrist and forced through his the skin.

Will reached out. Closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose. Forced his breathing to slow. Ignored the blood seeping from his own wounds. Pressed two fingers to Hannibal's neck, tried to find a pulse, but his fingers would not stop trembling for long enough. He leaned over Hannibal's open mouth, put the side of his face, his ear, up to it. Held his breath. Tried to feel, to hear, something.

Nothing.

Will found the strength to sit up, back onto his knees.

He stared at Hannibal's body. Something washed over him, like being doused in cold water. Hands began trembling even more.

Do nothing.

Heartbeat against his ribcage like a ricocheting bullet. Hissing in his ears. It could end. Here. Now.

Leave.

He willed himself.

Do. Nothing.

And then he was counting, rhythmically, hands pressed together, and against Hannibal's chest. Pumping. Not thinking. One. Two. Three. Pause.

Nothing.

One. Two. Three. Leaning over, listening, feeling.

Still nothing.

No. No, no, no.

One. Two. Three. Harder. His chest and shoulders ached with every pump. One. Two. Three.

"Come on."

He tilted Hannibal's head back, grabbed his chin and opened his mouth. Blew into it. His lungs burned. Hands on his chest, again. One. Two. Three. Mouth. Chest. Nothing.

"Please." One, two, three. Will pressed against his chest harder. Blew air more forcefully. "Please." He leaned forward onto his knees. Began using the weight of his body, up, and down, with every pump, through his shoulders into his wrists. He felt a rib shift in his side. Ignored the pain. Then the cracking of Hannibal's ribs under his palms. Began to panic. One. Two. Three.

Hannibal's body tensed, convulsed. Will sat back, frozen, stared. A gargling from Hannibal's throat. Water forced its way out of his mouth. He coughed. More water. Again. Even more, now mixed with blood. It dripped down the side of his face, onto his neck, chin, hair. He continued coughing, eyes opening and closing rapidly. Face turning red. Will wanted to tell him to breathe, but didn't.

He took a deep and rattling gasp, wincing. Then another. Rapid and desperate. His eyes opened, pointed at the sky. Irises flying around wildly, unable to focus on one thing. Rolled back, slightly. Another gargling from his chest and throat. Will realized what was happening, grabbed Hannibal's shoulder opposite him and rolled him to his side. He vomited, more water, onto the beach. A fit of sickening coughs. Vomited again. Gasping. Water from his stomach washing away the blood from his head. Broken arm limp, tucked against his abdomen. With each retch he curled into himself. Soon there was no more water left to expel and he rested his head against the beach, eyes closed, breathing heavily through his mouth. Unbroken arm clutching at Will's knee.

Will slumped. Sat down and put his legs out in front of him. Leaned backwards on his arms. Face to the moon. Catching his breath for the first time. His own pain came slowly back to him. Hannibal, still lying next to him, rolled onto his back. Labored breathing, but still.

Breathing.

His wild eyes settled on Will's. Narrowed in confusion. Looked around again. Back at Will. Voice hoarse.

"You-?" He looked up the side of the cliff.

Will did too. "Yes."

Eyes closed. Hannibal nodded.

"And… we…?"

"Yes."

Minutes passed. Breathing slowed. Clouds shrouded and then uncovered the moon. The navy horizon losing its deep hue. The air now felt as frigid as the water. It lapped at the edges of the beach, now retreating, further and further away. Hannibal grunted, began to try and sit up.

"Stay still." Will turned to look at him. He looked broken. Left for dead. Hannibal persisted to rise. "Don't move." He sat. Breathing heavily again.

"I am…" Each word a challenge. Deep breaths between them. "I am in an incredible amount of pain." It was annoyingly matter-of-fact.

"Me too."

He looked down. "My arm is broken."

"It is."

Hannibal looked around the beach intently, as if he were studying it. Taking in as much as he could in a matter of seconds. He reached up, felt, gently, the piece of his scalp that hung off his head. Clenched it between two fingers, and, biting down on his lip, ripped it from his head. Will watched with a frown. Hannibal shifted a few feet closer to the water.

"We shouldn't be bleeding so much this far up on the shore." He put the piece of scalp onto a small, jagged rock close to the water, bloody inside facing upwards. Dug it in with the back of his good wrist. Then reached up and tore a few bloody threads from his sweater that hung off his shoulder. Leaned over and tossed them towards another, larger rock.

Will watched, mindless. Hannibal was already plotting. Broken and bloody and in ruin, but planning. Calculating. Will wanted to be shocked. But his own shock stopped him from processing much of anything.

Hannibal was looking at him now, eyes darting between Will and his own bits of scalp. Will, still mindless, did as silently instructed. Reached up and tore a bit of skin from the cut at his cheek. The air stung the newly exposed flesh. He stumbled to his feet, shuffled down the shore, closer to the water, to Hannibal. Left the bit of flesh on a rock near Hannibal's, pressed it down to keep it in place.

He looked down at Hannibal, still on the ground. Hannibal looked up at him.

"We need to go back to the house." Hannibal nodded, eyebrows lowered, wincing, looking out at the water. Words were too much. He caught his breath. "I have medical supplies there. We'll both die here if we don't get to them soon."

The information was simple and sensible enough for Will's scattered mind to grasp. He nodded.

Hannibal propped up on the elbow of his mangled arm. Reached up with the other. Will grasped his hand and bicep, and, with a tremendous amount of effort, pulled Hannibal to his feet. He leaned against Will, shaking and gasping. Scrunched eyes and unsteady feet.

"You know the way?"

Hannibal's grip tightened on Will's shoulder. He tucked his chin into his chest.

"Give me just a moment, please."

"Sorry."

Hannibal's knees weakened, he took an uneasy step and began to tip to the side. Will caught him with his own shoulder, propped him upright.

"Yes." Hannibal nodded, having trouble with swallowing and breathing and talking and standing all at once. "There's a small trail." A deep, hissing exhale. "We'll need to walk in the water to get to it, leave as little indentation as possible. The tide should take care of that but it's better to be careful." He pressed his hand tightly against the wound on his scalp.

"Can you walk?"

"I can." He tilted again on unsteady legs, eyes still shut.

"Hannibal."

Open eyes. Repeated, reassured both Will and himself. "I can."

Will bent, tucked his head under Hannibal's arm, taking part of Hannibal's weight to himself. He stood. Hannibal steadied.

"Thank you."

Bitter. "Don't."

By the time they reached the house, the sky had turned a dull shade of light blue, undertones of gray. Morning. Shirts starched with blood dried stuck to skin, damp at the sources. Pebbles shaken loose from hair. Will estimated it had been just over an hour, though everything was blurred and nothing seemed quite real. It could have been two, or three. The winding trail through the trees around and up the side of the bluff, though smooth, and paved at parts, had proven incredibly difficult. Each step squeezed blood from his chest. He had stopped repeatedly to prop Hannibal up alongside a tree so that they both may catch their breath, listening carefully when Hannibal told him where and how much to bleed.

Around a bend in the path, through a clearing of trees. Will spotted the sharp angles of the roof, close, and very suddenly did not want to get any closer. An air of finality hung above the house. Wisps of death and endings. He focused, consciously, on putting one foot in front of the other. Dreaded every step. Hannibal's arm felt heavier and heavier over his shoulders.

And then there was the Dragon. Will had no idea how he would feel seeing Dolarhyde's corpse. A small part of him trapped in the icy fear that he would not actually be where they'd left him. That all was for naught. But there was no way. They had killed him. Will felt it. He felt it, again, as they neared the patio. Stronger the closer they got. Dolarhyde lie, unmoved, unchanged. Blood around him dried and sunken into the stone, seeped into the cracks.

With Will's help, Hannibal lowered himself slowly onto the long wooden bench near Dolarhyde's body. A long exhale. Will stood, between the bench and the Dragon, all but mesmerized. His eyes glazed over and stared upwards at a sky Will could not see. Jagged bits of flesh hanging into his throat. Stomach nearly black with blood where Will had cut him. He was not so fearful now, now that he was no longer the Dragon. He was a broken and pitiful being. Will had seen to that. Air felt fresher in his lungs. This was all because of him. Look at what I've done. What I've created.

This is my design.

He made himself look away and turned instead to look at Hannibal, who was eyeing him just as he had Dolarhyde. Both waited for the other to speak. But Will did not want acknowledgment.

"Where are the supplies." Flat.

"There is a medical kit." Hannibal, eyes now closed, words still a struggle. "In the bathroom on the first floor, the hallway off of the kitchen." Deep breath. "No shoes. Avoid stepping in the glass, and the-" He stopped. Lifted his head towards the house, eyes narrowed. He inhaled, slowly, deeply. "…I don't seem to be able to smell the wine." He looked to Will. "I hope, for your sake, that fall didn't damage any of my nerves."

Will stared back. Arms hanging tense at his sides.

Hannibal finally blinked. "A joke."

At least he wasn't talking about Dolarhyde. Still, Will scowled. Turned without a word, walked to the house. "Some water, please." Hannibal called out. Will said nothing. Kicked off his shoes and stepped through the shattered window, balanced on the balls of his feet, floor cold against his socks, stepping carefully around shards. It was expectedly difficult to remain balanced with his body so fatigued. The subtle sweetness of the Valpolicella, the stale smell of unused furniture. Will felt the familiar uncertainty of the previous night come back to him. Anxiety slowly permeating the shock.

The first aid kit, which was really just a converted suitcase, was on the top shelf of the linen closet. Will pulled it off the shelf and half dropped it on the ground, not anticipating the weight of it. In the corner of his eye he glimpsed himself. Turned to look in the mirror and found that it wasn't actually him staring back. Or maybe it was. Eyes blackened. Cheek sliced. Bits of blood and dirt all over his face, congealed on his jaw. Pale from blood loss. Will in the mirror was not the same Will as yesterday. He was someone different. Someone… more.

Will had to pry his enamored eyes away. Kit gripped tight in one hand. Out of breath just from carrying it down the hallway. He stopped near the kitchen to catch his breath, and grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator. The phone mounted on the wall next to the fridge seemed to shimmer. Alluring.

One call and this would all end.

He picked up the kit and the water and made his way back outside.

Hannibal sat up as Will approached, arm outstretched. His entire hand shook as he took the water, and he winced as he drank it. Will set the kit down on the ground beside him, opened it, kneeled in front of the bench. Silently got to work. He pulled Hannibal's shirt forward and cut upwards at the front of it. Blade gliding gently against skin. Hannibal held his breath when they reached his collar. Stared, unblinking, at Will, who held the scissors there for a moment too long, staring back. A surge of… something spread across his shoulders, into his arms, into the scissors. Warm and calming. Tingling. If I were going to kill you, I would have left you on the beach. He could have said. Didn't. Put the scissors down. Began peeling back fabric from skin, dried blood along with it. Slowly pulled the sleeves from his arms.

Will had gotten the worst of the Dragon but Hannibal had gotten the worst of the fall. He sat before Will, extremely pale, struggling to breathe normally, shaking slightly. Consciousness unexplainable. His entire chest shades of red, dark purple, one enormous bruise littered with small scrapes and scratches. A small pulsing trickle of blood still seeped from both the deep gash on his shoulder, and the bullet hole on his side.

Will took Hannibal's sides in his hands and peered closely at the circular wound. Moved around and examined the entry wound as well.

"It went right through." Will mumbled. Hannibal already knew, of course. "Clean entry and exit. Not too bad." He set to work, alcohol and water, gauze taped over both wounds, a large roll of cloth bandages wrapped tightly around Hannibal's midsection to keep it – and his ribs - in place. Not perfect, but it would do for now. The bandages were stained seconds later by the blood from the gash on Hannibal's shoulder. Will dabbed at it with a wad of gauze. Picked out small rocks embedded in the flesh with a pair of tweezers. Cleaned and sanitized. If anything hurt, Hannibal did not show it. His eyes were closed, head limp, breathing slow and focused. It quickened slightly, but remained steady, when the first stitch was pulled shut. Will held his tongue between his teeth as tightly as the needle between his fingers, the tips wet with blood. Wondered where Hannibal had gone.

He moved to Hannibal's arm and was surprised how little the gruesome sight of it fazed him. The wrist had swollen to the same width of the hand itself, deep purple. Bone stained pink, poking through the side of his arm. A lucky, clean break.

"I'm going to set your arm."

Hannibal's nod was microscopic. Will nodded in response, reassuring only himself. He gripped Hannibal's wrist and, in one quick squeezing motion, pushed the bone back through the skin, snapping it into place. Hannibal attempted to swallow a yelp. Leaned forward and vomited the water. As Will stitched and bandaged, he held his forehead in his palm, breathing heavily through an open mouth and clenched teeth.

"I am severely concussed."

Will reached up, took Hannibal's face in his hand and turned it to the side, brushing his hair away from the gash on his head.

"I've lost a lot - " He paused, eyes screwed shut, when Will splashed alcohol onto the cut. " – a lot of blood, but I need to remain conscious." Things Will already knew. The cut was deep but not wide. It would only need a few stitches. "At least for a while longer." Speaking only to keep himself awake. Will finished the stitches, wrapped around Hannibal's head, gauze over the wound. Sat back on his knees.

"You're done for now." Moved onto himself. Unbuttoned his shirt to his navel, leaning forward and clumsily pulled his arms out of his sleeves, feeling his broken ribs shift under his skin. He too was bruised, biceps and forearms, but the extent of the damage came from Dolarhyde's knife. Muscles sliced, ribs scratched. Quick jabs left thin but deep punctures. The alcohol burned white hot inside of them. Will's hands began to shake. He had to move fast, not think about it.

"Will."

He continued to work. Cloth turning pinker with each gentle dab, droplets of blood tainted alcohol rolling down his stomach.

"Will, I need to know."

"Need to know what." Blunt. Eyes on his chest. Feeling the cuts, trying to determine which and how many needed stitches.

"If you're going to call Jack."

He looked up. Hannibal appeared before him, eyes soft, slumped shoulders but head high. Dignity in defeat. Will stared. Hands slowed.

"They're coming." Hannibal continued unprompted. "It will take them a while to find this place, but they're coming all the same." A pause. "Naturally… I would like to run. But in my current condition I wouldn't make it very far. And if I am to return, I'd like to go willingly, so that I may retain at least some of my privileges. They've taken my books before. They'll take more this time."

"You… want to surrender?" Will tried to work his mind through Hannibal's words.

"No. Should you give me the choice, or rather, the opportunity, I would run." He swallowed. Swayed slightly, uneasy and unbalanced. "I will tell them that I killed the Tooth Fairy and that I tried to kill you as well. If you ask me to."

Will knew what was coming next. Wished he had a few moments to compose himself, to prepare, to think.

"Or."

The inevitability of a single syllable. Will stopped breathing.

"You could come with me, Will." Hannibal's voice stopped the world.

"There is enough evidence of our deaths. They will see that we've fallen, find our remains on the shore, and look no further."

Will turned to his own bloodstains on the patio, where he and Hannibal had stood and held and seen each other.

"Jack wouldn't buy it." Shakily.

"Jack directly aided in my escape. I doubt he'll carry much influence in the investigation."

Will looked at Hannibal.

"Go home. Be who you were before. Or leave it all behind. Accept what happened and who you now are." Hannibal could not hide the small flecks of hope in his already unsure eyes. Will saw them too, and suddenly overwhelmingly knew, if he wanted to, he could destroy them. The surge of something, from before, returned, a warm and powerful calmness atop his shoulders. Control. Absolute. It was intoxicating. Hannibal had taken his remaining years and handed them over, a frail and shaking heart in Will's steady hands. He held it, turned it over, considered it. Breathed. He could crush it, and Hannibal would be all but helpless. It was his first instinct. But not his strongest.

He closed his eyes. Felt his knife tear through the belly of the dragon. Felt his bloody face in the crook of Hannibal's neck.

He had made his decision on the beach.

"Where do we go?"