He would sooner eat the legs of one of his worst enemies than force them to endure the trials and tribulations of traffic.

He hated traffic that much.

He reached the volume on his radio and cranked the music up. Sweet sounds of Tchaikovsky soothed his ear drums, numbing down any murderous impulses.

The traffic moved along, ever so slowly and steadily, until he could see the cause of such a delay. Ambulances blocked off an entire lane, encircled around what appeared to be a crash. Being nosy came naturally to Hannibal, but those useless, oversized, life-saving mobiles were blocking the view. From the bits he could see, however, he gathered that one man was being put onto a gurney, while the other figure already laid on one, covered up, presumably dead. Why else would he be covered?

The other man being put onto the gurney was covered in blood and so limp he looked boneless, but he couldn't make out any concrete descriptors to save his life. He could only assume that this man was also dead- there was too much blood for any other option. He had made a lot of kills in his life, and from just a glance he could tell how much blood loss was survivable or not.

There was no coming back from this.

But, oh well. It's not like he knew them anyway or particularly cared. And even if he had seen them in passing prior to this, well, they probably got what was coming to them.

He continued his drive back home, not sparing a second thought to the mayhem he had witnessed.

It was an incredibly rude thing to be late, and Will was well aware of how Hannibal abhorred rudeness.

Hannibal had been waiting, with as much patience as he could muster, in the cafe for-

How long had it been?

He checked his watch. Forty-eight minutes. That was almost a full hour. Will showed up early to his regularly scheduled appointments, and he apologized profusely for being five minutes late to their unauthorized 'brunches,' so what was holding him up? He would've called earlier if it hadn't been for the threat of Alan picking up his phone instead, as he didn't want to deal with that particular bundle of crazy at present. He also hadn't called because he was too engrossed in the novel he brought with him, but now Will's absence demanded his full attention.

He quickly pressed his name on his list of contacts.

It went straight to voicemail.

Which was odd, because he knew all of Will's ticks, nuances, and mannerisms, and he knew for a fact that charging his phone before he left the house was something he was OCD about.

He tried calling again, only to get the same outcome.

Growing desperate now to see why Will was ignoring him and sending him straight to voicemail (because that had to be the case- Will's phone never died) he clicked Alan's name in his contacts, after wondering for a few seconds why he had his number in the first place. It rang a few times before a woman's voice answered.

"Baltimore State Hospital, this is Cathy speaking. How may I help you?"

Hannibal's stomach dropped, but he regained his calm when he realized that it had been Alan's number he dialed and not Will's. The theatre nut probably tripped on his ego and stubbed his toe or something.

"I'm looking for a man named Will Graham, is he visiting Alan?"

"One moment please." She had a sing songy voice such as one would use on kindergarteners. Hannibal liked listening to it. He heard the rummaging of papers for a while before she spoke again.

"Patient Alan Bloom has no visitors presently and is in no condition to take phone calls. Would you like me to contact his nurse for you? Would you like his room number?"

This woman actually thought he gave half a care about Alan's condition. How sweet of her. In his eyes, that's what he got for ruining Hannibal's suit: fabric imported straight from Norway.

"No, that won't be necessary. But if you do run into Will Graham, please tell him to give his doctor a call."

"Sure thing!" He heard the tick tacking of her typing on a keyboard. "Will Graham you say? That name sounds familiar... Oh! Hold on, I'm getting another call. It will only take a minute."

A steady stream of saxophone notes filled the line. He was being put on hold. Nobody put Hannibal Lecter on hold.

He would've hung up the phone immediately, on principle, if he wasn't so astonished at how willingly and often rude people were employed at important facilities. What had her name been? Cathy? He envisioned her with petite fingers, high cheekbones, blonde hair and brown eyes. In his mind she had good cardio. A runner. He hadn't had one of those in a while, and those small fingers would go beautifully in a broth-

"Back!"

She interrupted his thoughts, probably inadvertently saving her own life.

"I found out where I've heard that name before. Will Graham is in room 228 with Alan Bloom. He's a patient here."

He suddenly didn't like her voice anymore.

The police in this town were so incompetent at their jobs, honestly. He could understand how they'd be unable to catch the Chesapeake Ripper for so long, as Hannibal was top notch at what he did; he could reason why the Tooth Fairy- the murderer Will most recently empathized with, as they so called him- was not in custody because that young man was no rookie to the game; but really, he couldn't quite comprehend how no one stopped him from going 75 in nothing but 40 mph lanes.

He sped all the way to the hospital, only sometimes stopping at red lights and he hadn't gotten so much as a honked horn of irritation directed towards him. He didn't know whether to cry from joy or frustration that such a large amount of people could be so useless at very important jobs.

But in reality, he was simply distracting himself.

He needed to focus on the stupidity of others to keep from dwelling on his poor Will, his sweet, sweet lamb, all alone in that big, cold hospital with who knows how many injuries. Of course, he wasn't alone. He was with Alan, which was worse.

He made it to the hospital in such record time NASCAR should've been waiting at the door with a contract for him. He flew in through the doors and didn't bother to check in with the receptionist at the desk, even as she called after him.

Not today Cathy, not today.

He got on The Longest Elevator Ride In Existence until he reached Will's floor. His eyes scanned the room numbers as he passed by them, looking for the right one. He stopped in front of a random room before he even saw the number, knowing instantly that it was the right room on some subconscious level.

He opened the door, slowly, and peered inside.

"Oh my God."

Will's face was swollen in odd places, like his nose and left cheek and his right eye brow, his face was scratched everywhere and both legs were encased in casts, suspended by some pulley system. His torso was wrapped in white bandages that were tinted brown in some places, in need of changing. He lay sprawled on the bed haphazardly, as if he had been moving wildly in his sleep. There were several tubes jutting out of him from several different places, most were filled with a clear substance, while one or two had a red one. He most likely had needed a major blood transfusion.

Hannibal's mind went back to the horrific accident he had seen earlier.

Then his mind went back to Will.

The accident.

Will.

But it couldn't be. Those victims had been in critical condition if not already dead. He had been a surgeon for so long he knew when it was time to call it quits, and from what he had seen of the accident, to even suggest that life was salvageable would have been laughable. A rookie's mistake.

And yet.

Here they were, both of them. Alan was adjacent to Will's bed, but there was a divider curtain. Both of them were still asleep, or at least, what looked to be sleep. The only way Hannibal could tell they weren't dead was from the vitals the computer screen showed. They were both barely alive but- they were alive.

Hannibal was not a very religious man (it was hard to be in his line of work) but he knew a miracle when he saw one. Will had been saved (unfortunately it had been a two for one deal) and returned to him. He would heal soon and, assuming that he had already found the ladies' under garment he had Abigail place wherever her heart desired, he would soon be out of Alan's hair and into his own, so to speak.

All he had to do was wait.

Will would soon be his, free for him to do with him as he so pleased.

"You can't be in here."

He glanced over his shoulder to see a doctor, fully equipped with the white jacket, stethoscope, arms crossed defiantly, and an expression of disapproval. He didn't bother to respond and instead walked over to Will and took his hand. He interlocked their fingers, and squeezed.

Will would soon be his.

The thought excited him. It pleased him so much that he vowed to come and wait at this hospital everyday (even if it meant signing in) and waiting until his Sleeping Beauty awoke for him. Or perhaps, maybe his dear Will had eluded death and was sent to him because it was Hannibal's duty to rid him of his life. If that was the case, he had the perfect plan on how he would go about it, which parts he would eat first, which parts he would savor. Not an inch of him would be wasted, that's for sure. He could even use his soft hair for pillow stuffing if it came down to it. But really, the outcome all depended on if Will rejected him or not.

He'd just have to wait and see.

He pulled the trigger, again and again, until the noise stopped.

It was something about this family that had been most peculiar indeed. The father had made low sound vibrations, guttural sounds rumbling right off the chest, commanding attention. The mother had a lighter sound, full of grace and good will, a high pitched sparrow's song. The twin boys, now, that had been different- identical twins but with slightly different sounds. The first one's sound had sounded, for lack of a better word, sticky. It stuck to one's eardrums and reverberated annoyingly, while the other's sound was thick, yet gentle. Their sounds came together like syrup and cream.

All of these sounds were unique, in their own way.

But to him, it was all just noise.

That's why he had to end it, had to end them. He was doing the world a great service. This family of four he had watched for weeks made the same noises the last family had made. Both families released sounds that couldn't be described as words, and nobody seemed to notice but him. These people were demons, incapable of human communication, and he knew it was his job to exterminate them.

And so he did, but with dignity of course.

There was method to his is madness, despite what the tabloids said. He had rules. He made sure everyone was present before he gave them his gift of a merciful death. He wasn't keen on tearing families apart, and he have just had to kill himself if he were to send the children to the orphanage, like him as a child. They were always families of four and the work was always done on a full moon, the reason for which he'd rather not think about presently. He always woke the family up beforehand: he wasn't one to favor the element of surprise right down to the minute details. He wanted to give them a fair chance of retaliation.

Always, always, the family tried to speak with him. He never bothered responding, he didn't want to confuse them. If he responded and talked to them, they may have made the mistake to think they were human, that their deaths weren't justified.

He never could make out what they were saying, anyway.

After the work was done and all was quiet, he made sure that everyone got their new eyes. This part was crucial. Seeing that they were demons and they made the mistake of coming down to Earth, trying to pass as a normal family of four, he needed to make sure that their souls didn't try to escape and flee into new bodies. The mirrors had the power to reflect whatever was inside and keep it inside.

As they say, eyes are the windows to the soul.

But he was never fast enough. No matter how completely he covered their eye sockets with shards of mirrors, they ended up escaping and possessing four new hosts. He didn't want to start the whole process over again, but he had to.

It was his duty.

Now he was running, trying and failing, stumbling and falling, yet getting back up and still running. He was running from-

What it was exactly, he couldn't be sure. But he knew that it was following him. He looked over his shoulder to see the thing walking, but how could it be walking? It was keeping pace with him and he was near sprinting.

He looked over his shoulder again to get a good look at the thing, a really good look. It was taller than him by about a foot or so, and that wasn't even counting the antlers protruding from its head. It had the build of a man but was not human in the least. Its entire being was ebony, a black so deep that it came off as glossy in some parts.

A black so absolute it could swallow you whole.

Its hands- if you could call them that- were more like claws, each finger had long, bent talons. This beast was a thing of nightmares, but this felt all to real.

He kept running, pushing himself to go faster. Every time he looked over his shoulder, the monster was still the same distance behind him, still walking as if on a Sunday leisure stroll.

He must've looked at it a bit too long this time because he fell, and fell hard, not having seen the log he tripped on before it was too late. He pushed himself to get up but only managed to send him tumbling down the hill behind the log, hitting everything in his path as he rolled and yet still gained momentum.

He finally stopped rolling when he hit a tree. He was on his back but couldn't feel nor move any part of his body. He couldn't even tilt his head to see how far that thing was from him. But it was no matter, for the thing was looming over his immobile form within seconds. He looked up at its face. It had no eyes. Or if it did have eyes, its eyes were as black as the rest of its body. Slowly, it bent down and moved one of its arms, claw spread open and going right for his chest.

Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid. Maybe he had already accepted the warm invitation of death but for some reason, this didn't feel like death. He felt more safe than anything.

He watched as the thing's sharp nails receded back into its boney hand, leaving it talonless and non-threatening. He watched, helplessly, as its hand grabbed his own. He suddenly could feel his hand again, though the rest of his body remain uncooperative.

The thing gently interlocked their fingers together, and squeezed.

He would go everyday at noon.

Suitcase full of snacks, a change of clothes, and a book or two of Lithuanian fairy tales, he would visit Will at the hospital, everyday at noon.

Of course, Will would be unconscious during these visits, and visiting Will also meant visiting Alan, but this couldn't be helped.

Will being unresponsive had its perks, though. He was unable to voice protest to any hand holding or complain that all the stories he read were in his native tongue. Every so often, after a particularly good story, Hannibal would get the impulse to lay a small kiss on the back of his hand, and he often did so because no one could stop him. However, he never laid a kiss on the lips of his beloved or took advantage; he may have been a serial killer but he was no rapist, and consent was everything.

But speaking of killing in a serial fashion, the first doctor Will had should've been more careful about who he blabbed Will's business to. On this third day of visiting, the good doctor had told him that the only reason Will was alive was because the man he came in with had shielded him with his body, absorbing most of the impact and baffling the rest of the doctors on how he survived.

Not for long, Hannibal hadn't said, but wanted oh so desperately to.

This doctor with his big mouth had to be taken care of, naturally. It would've been a true catastrophe if Will were to be informed of how truly devoted Alan was to him.

Hannibal couldn't have that.

But what he could have was a charming chowder, and so he did. And if that happened to be on the same day the old doctor went missing-

Well.

But in good news, the new doctor was competent and didn't comment on how frequently he visited, so he was terrific in his book.

He finished the story he was reading and took Will's hand once more. He squeezed it. He didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but it felt like the proper thing to do. He'd done this a million times, but had never gotten a reaction from Will's comatose body.

Until now.

When he squeezed his hand, Will's vitals started to jump, his heart rate increasing dramatically and everything else following suit. This sudden change worried Hannibal, but he was too intrigued to see what was about to happen that he didn't call the nurse to come in and ruin all the fun. The beeps from the monitor continued and grew faster and higher pitched all the while.

Will's eyes flew open. They flittered around the room aimlessly before landing on Hannibal, sitting in the chair to the right of him.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."