Graham's eyes were wide and his face pale and sweaty. He looked like shit and Dean wondered if he realized it. If he knew he looked freaked the fuck out. Probably not. He'd been sitting there as meek and mild as a lamb the whole time Lecter had pawed at him and rambled on about killing people and why the fuck he thought that was okay. It wasn't. If beating the monsters meant you had to become one of them, then it still wasn't fucking right. Dean got that. And he sure as hell hoped Graham did too. He thought he did. He wanted him to.
Graham had left the gun sitting on a table next to his favorite arm chair. Tossed down there the same way Dad would sometimes drop his gear after a long hard hunt. But Dad knew that Dean and Sam would never, ever touch them without permission or damn good reason.
This – this counted as damn good reason.
Lecter had been practically curled around poor fuckin' Graham like some freakin' b-movie vampire bat hovering over the sleeping chick. It had meant Dean had absolutely zero clearance for a shot. Anything that went through Lecter would have been bound to take out Graham too, and Dean wasn't quite ready to kill the poor fucker yet. Not when he was only in this mess because something like Lecter had dragged him into it.
But Dean had been working himself up to it. If he had to. He had Sammy to think of, and as much as he really didn't want to do anything that might risk Graham, he had also tried every damn thing he could to get the guy to pull his own ass out of the fire and he hadn't listened to Dean. Maybe couldn't at this point. Who knew just how far Lecter had crawled inside his mind. It was clear now that he was the one responsible for that freaky evil deer thing. That he was probably the reason Will always looked so sick. Hannibal had been able to make Will see shit and had probably been watching him and fucking with his head this whole time.
Everything was just so messed up and it was up to Dean to fix this and they were all so screwed because Dean was pretty damn sure he couldn't. He'd told Sammy to stay back, away from the door to the kitchen and ready to make a run for it if Dean could find them an opening. He didn't know if the brat would listen to him, but he had to trust that the kid would have enough sense to stay out of the kitchen and in the limited safety of the other room. Dean had to kill Lecter. That was the only way to get out of here. But he couldn't do that without maybe killing Graham too. And Dean had never killed a human before. He had never, ever, even thought he might have to.
And even though his arms had started to shake and he had been risking their lives every moment he had hesitated, Dean still couldn't quite bring himself to fire. You never point a gun at something you weren't ready to kill. And he was pointing it at both of them. Lecter's wide open vulnerable back – and Will Fucking Graham.
He'd had his one chance and he had fucking blown it.
Lecter knew he was there. Had known for god knew how long. And he wasn't the least bit scared of Dean.
He proved that when he turned around, still holding on to Graham like he had his claws dug into the guy. Lecter's face was calm and impassive. His shoulder straight once he stood up. Not a hint of surprise to find Dean there with a gun. Not a hint of fear.
Which mean Dean really was dead. For sure this time. He'd known it. Known it was a damn good possibility as soon as he'd picked up the gun. But he had to do it. Had to try. And now he was dead.
"Hello, Dean."
Lecter's voice was as mild as summer day and it made Dean's stomach flip over.
"Dean," Graham keened. "What – what are you doing?"
"He is making his choice," Lecter answered before Dean could. "Just like his father. He intends to kill us, Will. His stunted ability to see or understand anything means he would rather murder us all than let someone like you or me help him."
Dean's hands were shaking visibly now and he had to deliberately concentrate on keeping them level. It took him a moment to figure out how to work words too. And how to gasp them out over the rushing noise in his own head. "You're not –" Human? Anything like Graham? Fuckin' sane? "Not helping. You're not helping. You're trying to hurt Sammy the same way you've fucked up Graham. At least those things out there kill people because they're evil and that's what they fuckin' do. You – you're supposed to be human. And not fucking eating people and putting curses on people and trapping them places and pretending it's to protect them. He's got Sammy trapped with some damn spell that makes it hurt when he tries to leave!"
Lecter tsked and shook his head. "You see, dear Will? He cannot even recognize that we are trying to keep the monsters away from his brother."
"You're the monster!" Dean screamed back. He stepped closer, still staying well out of arm's reach but wanting nothing more than to shoot this fucker.
Lecter ignored the implied threat, his attention still focused sole on Graham even as he pretended to talk to Dean. The man sighed dramatically, like this was all some fuckin' regrettable disagreement over tea. "Does that mean you are you going to kill me too?" he mused and hell if he didn't try to make it sound like he was the fuckin' martyr.
Fuck that shit. "Yes," Dean hissed back. "Yes, I fucking will. I will if you don't let Sammy go!" The hell he wouldn't. Dad had been teaching him for years now. He could do this. Even if it didn't work, it wouldn't be because Dean was too afraid to try.
Lecter shook his head. "And where should Sammy go?" he wondered. As if he were asking an empty room – not expecting any real answer, not caring what it might be.
He was playing Dean. Dean knew it. Damn Lecter had been doing that since day one. But Dean didn't know how to outmaneuver him to get out of it. He couldn't even come up with something witty and sarcastic to say back. He wished he could. He wished so bad that he was older and bigger like his dad and able to look this kind of thing in the eye and tell it to fuck off. But he wasn't and the words seemed to keep getting bottlenecked up in his throat until he felt like he might actually choke on them. "Away from you," he managed, determined at least not to blubber his way through this. Not to give the damn witch that satisfaction. "Anywhere that's fuckin' away from you."
"And into the arms of monsters," Lecter replied without missing a beat. And without even the slightest hint of irony, the bastard. "I cannot allow that, Dean," he proclaimed.
The words were physically heavy as if Dean could almost feel them setting down on his shoulders and slowly entangling all of him. Jesus fuck. Witches. Where did one even start with them? How the hell did you even try? Dean's hands were shaking bad now. His arms were well passed numb but at least his elbows were still up, even if he had to lock them to do it. He was breathing faster than he should be and he wasn't sure if that was just him freakin' the fuck out or if it was something the bastard was doing to him. Either way, it was going to throw off his aim. Assuming it didn't do something really awful like make him pass out.
Even Graham looked like he was starting to feel it too – that something in the room wasn't right. His eyes were still wide and his face feverish, but he'd finally stopped staring at Dean like Dean was the problem. He was turning, slowly, to stare up at Lecter. It didn't look easy to do and not just because of the way Lecter kept a firm grip on the spot where Graham's shoulder met his neck. Letcher had moved around behind him now, standing just passed the man's shoulder and firmly in his blind spot. It meant Graham had to twist himself around awkwardly just to catch a glimpse of him and even Dean could see the way Lecter's hand tightened when the man tried.
"Hannibal," Graham murmured and reached up to gently pat that vice-like grip as if he thought he could calm this beast.
That wasn't going to happen.
"I won't let you have Sammy," Dean told Lecter. He might not be able to mess with people's minds or make them feel words like they were things of power, but he meant it. Meant it with his whole body and soul and that had to count for something.
And damn that bastard if he didn't smile back at Dean, as if Dean had done something precocious. Like a snake or something laughing at a mouse while it scrambled at the sides of a wall trying to escape. Lecter leaned down to put his mouth near Graham's ear, one hand still holding him firmly in place and the other carelessly combing through the man's sweaty hair. "Which leaves us no other option, don't you see, Will?" And it was like Dean no longer existed. As if this was just a conversation between the two of them. "I am afraid there is no happy ending here. And we have a duty to Sam. To protect him. Even from his brother's delusions and hysteria."
Graham tried to twist around to face him, but Lecter kept him firmly in place. Those same hands had broken a vampire's arm like it was a dry twig and now they had no trouble holding Graham right were Lecter wanted him. But for once Graham seemed to notice it. He reached up to grasp Lecter's arms, not fighting back all-out the way Dean would have but clearly pulling on them. "Hannibal," Graham repeated. "What are you saying?" His eyes darted back to Dean, and Dean waited for it. Waited for Graham to go on about how everything was okay and Dean should put away the gun and how everyone just needed to hug and make up or some bullshit. He waited for Graham to look at him the way he did when he thought Dean was going to do something reckless or insane or broken. But he didn't. He didn't once tell Dean to put the gun down. Instead his eyes went back up to Lecter, his body taunt trying to pull away even as he tried to twist around at the same time so he could get a closer look. "Hannibal, what are you doing?"
Lecter's hand moved to cup Will's jaw and tilted his face back towards Dean. He leaned down then until their cheeks were pressed together and practically crooned. "Look," he ordered Graham. "Look. Do you believe for a moment that the boy will not shoot? You know people's minds, Will. You can see into them. You have always been able to before now and that will only grow more powerful the longer we are together." Lecter paused at that, looking far too pleased at the idea and so damnably confident that it would happen. His gaze shifted back to Dean. His words were for Graham and Graham alone, but the way he stared, focused but without even the hint of recognition, said more than enough to Dean. "We all know how this will end. I am afraid you will have to make a choice after all, dear Will, Dean or Sam?"
And didn't Lecter sound so freakin' heartbroken about that one. From day one he'd had his sights on Sam. The only wonder was why it had taken him this long to make a move to get rid of Dean. What had he thought was going to happen? That Dean would just accept this? That he'd duck his head down at the first threat and keep his mouth shut? Or did he really at one point think he could talk Dean into thinking this was a good idea?
"There will be no backing away from this one," Lecter continued, his voice finally losing that damnable calm and refined tone and leaving behind something harsher and more guttural. "There will be no senseless," he jerked Will's head once "inane," shook it again, "stupid notions of laying down your own life. As if wasting it on something so ridiculous would preserve anything of value. No, I am afraid Dean has backed us into this corner," Lecter soothed. "Despite my best efforts to warn him against such action – "
Dean's face flushed. This – this wasn't his fault! It wasn't! He knew that. And yet – it was almost as if even he was starting to believe it. Staring to believe whatever crazy ass thing Lecter said. Which should have terrified him, but maybe he was passed the point of being able to be more terrified. All he had left was pissed. "You threatened to fuckin' kill me, you mean!" he yelled back.
But Lecter just spoke over him. "He will shoot, Will. Even if we disarm him now, he will not stop until one or all of us are dead -"
Damn straight! But it was only going to be one of them and Dean was going to make sure he was dead, salted and burned.
" – and even then, there will be no rescue or refuge for whoever is left. Even if he shoots both of us and takes Sammy away from here, both of the boys will die. Horribly," he stressed. And it was like having someone shove needles under Dean's skin. He gritted his teeth to bear it and tried not to think about what could and would happen if something ever got ahold of little Sammy. How long it might take to die. What little of him there'd be left for their father to find.
Lecter was shaking his head, oh so tragic and sympathetic and already decided. "There is really no other choice you can make, my dear. And I cannot in good consciousness stand by and allow such a thing. The good of the many, outweighs the good of the one.
"Hannibal," Will tried.
"Are you going to give me the gun, Dean?" Lecter demanded.
Dean couldn't help it. He backed up a step. Lecter hadn't moved. Not yet. He hadn't done anything other than focus that mind-numbing attention back on Dean. But it was enough to have him wanting to abandon this shit crazy idea of fighting and go straight back to flight.
"Answer the question, Dean," Lecter demanded. He didn't yell it or growl or do any of those things monsters were supposed to do. In fact, he sounded a hell of a lot like a more fancy pants version of one of Dean's teachers. And if Dean did actually survive this, he was never ever going to be able to listen to that kind of shit again without wanting to claw his way out.
Dean wanted to look to Graham so bad, but it was as if his body had locked up entirely. He desperately wanted his dad. Wanted Dad to come bursting through the door, guns a-blazing, armed with silver and ash and whatever the fuck else he needed and with a plan in place. Hell, Dean would have settled for some of Graham's stupid police friends. They may be ineffective as shit, but maybe it would be enough to escape in one piece.
But there wasn't any help coming.
And Sammy was waiting just on the other side of the wall.
"No," Dean declared.
"A poor choice," Lecter informed him. He stepped clear of Graham's chair, moving to put himself between the two of them. He had finally released his grip on Graham's shoulder, but he didn't really need it, did he? He had all of them exactly where he wanted them. "I had hoped, Dean, that you might have enough sense to understand how drastically out classed you are. But some people cannot be taught, no matter how one tries."
"Hannibal," Graham tried again, too little too fuckin' late. "He's still just a child-"
"No, he is not," Lecter argued back. "He is a Hunter. Aren't you Dean?"
Lecter took one step forward, decreasing the space between them. But retreating wasn't an option for Dean no matter how much his hindbrain screamed for it. Sammy was back there. He couldn't risk Sam getting caught in the crossfire of this – whatever this was. And he didn't want his little baby brother to have to watch him get killed in whatever way it was that Lecter planned to kill him.
"Yes," Dean gasped out. "Yes. Yes. Damn straight." Because if there was one thing he was good for, it was that. He wouldn't let this bastard take that from him.
"And you are not going to stop, are you, Dean?"
"No. Fuck you. No."
"Hannibal-"
Lecter waved one hand. "I deeply regret this, Will-" Bullshit! "-but this is how this will end. Dean is a Hunter. He has made his choice to live or die by that. Well, Dean? Now is your opportunity." Lecter stepped one more pace closer. "You will not have a clearer opportunity."
"Hannibal!" Graham's voice sounded panicked. Finally. Knowing Dean's luck, however, he was probably more worried about Lecter's well-being than figuring out the fucker was a grade-A monster.
Lecter ignored him too, his attention focused only on Dean now. "Well, Hunter?" he taunted.
Fuck it. Dean clenched his jaw, steadied his arms and tried.
And Lecter just stared at him. And then slowly smiled.
It was like the floor dropped out from under him. That sinking feeling in your stomach when the floor suddenly crumbles beneath your feet like the rotted out wood of an old porch. Or like the first time Dad was late from a hunt, seriously late, and Dean didn't know what he was going to do. Or like every time Dean managed to lose Sammy in a grocery store. Like that one time Dean was really, really sick and he kept thinking that Mom was still there, brushing the hair back from his face, only to wake-up again and remember she was gone.
Dean tried to fire. It was something he had done a million times before and should have been easy. But even though his whole body was focused on completing that one action – he couldn't.
He had his arms braced. He could feel the weight of the gun in his hands. And he would swear his brain was telling his finger to pull the damn trigger – that he was pulling it – but the rest of his brain was well aware that nothing was happening and that message had somehow gotten lost along the way from his head to his hand.
He wanted to scream. He could feel it strangling his lungs.
Damn Lecter. Damn that bastard to hell. He'd never been at all threatened by Dean. It didn't fucking matter that Dean finally had a gun. The damn thing was useless if all Lecter had to do was look at him to trap him in the prison of his own body.
"Do you see, Will?" Lecter calmly asked. The smug bastard was happy Dean had tried to shoot him. Vindicated. And not at all ashamed of locking another person inside their own body. Of taking control of another human being and stripping them of even the most basic free will.
Lecter didn't turn to look at Graham and Dean couldn't even if he wanted to. But he could just barely see Graham slowly pushing himself up to his feet, looking like someone who'd just gotten over the flu, as he stood and trembled behind Lecter.
"What is this, Hannibal?" Graham demanded in a voice that was little more than a whisper. But it was the first time Dean had heard a little bit of the real man himself in it in a long time. Was this what it took to make Graham sit up and take notice of what was happening to him? Lecter had been twisting him around his finger all this time and the asshole waits until Dean is a deadman to finally wake the fuck up!
"Do you see, Will?" Lecter repeated, seemingly not at all perturbed by Will's feeble attempts to push back.
Dean had a better view of Graham now, could see him just over Lecter's shoulder. For a moment, Dean had something else to look at than the terrifying face of the monster in front of him. Graham's eyes met his and Dean had to wonder if he looked as fucking freaked the fucked out as he was? Graham looked way too calm. Almost bored. Or tired. Or just generally done with everything and Dean managed to find yet one more layer of fear and the feeling of being so terribly alone and vulnerable.
It was awful. The worst he'd ever felt since the day Mom had died. But that probably made sense. This was going to be the day he died. And maybe the day Sammy died. That had to count as an all time worst day ever.
"Do you – "
"I see!" Graham hurried to agree with Lecter.
"Good," Lecter proclaimed. "For every action, there must be an equal response. There must be a balance. An order to the world. Each choice has repercussions, Dean. Each action. You have made your choice. Made your action. Or tried to, at least. It is only fitting that you see it through, don't you think?"
It felt like nails scrapping up his back, like really nails not fingernails, scrapping deep furrows into his spine. But that wasn't magic. Dean could feel the difference. Reactions, like Lecter has said. The spasming pain was his body's feeble attempt to fight back against what Lecter was doing to him. It wasn't the magic that made it burn like his muscles were tearing. The magic didn't hurt at all. It was Dean's desperate attempt to get control back that made him want to cry it hurt so bad. But he had to get back control because it sure as hell wasn't Dean moving his body now. He willed his arms straight and steady. He felt them as straight and stiff. Even as he watched and knew they were folding up on him. The gun now pointed uselessly over Lecter's head. And still they moved. The gun was now pointed straight up at the ceiling.
The gun now pointed straight at Dean's face.
He was crying now.
Dean could realize that, even as his body felt like it was seizuring it was trying so hard to stop what was happening and couldn't. The angle was awkward for his wrists. What an odd thing to realize. He had never seen anything so frightening as the view down a gun from this angle.
"Hannibal!"
Graham's voice was loud and sharp like a cracking boom. Commanding. With only a hint of something that might have been fear, might have been anger, might have ben nothing more than annoyance for all Dean knew. But it was as real and physical a blow as Lecter's had been.
Dean felt it like a blow across his chest. It forced out a lungful of air and a whimper that felt out of place and lost and very human and alone.
"Will," Lecter replied slowly, "It would be best for you to follow my guidance at this time."
"Until just exactly when, Hannibal?"
"We have already discussed this," Lecter argued back, finally sounding frustrated. "I am afraid we are out of options at this point"
"Are we?" Graham answered quietly.
Lecter huffed impatiently and tilted his head to the side as if he couldn't quite figure out why Graham was making such a fuss over killing someone. His eyes never left Dean, his focus still pressing physically on him even as his attention shifted. "My dear Will," the man sighed. "Dean has long been out of any viable options. And you, my dear, have already made your choice, have you not? By blood and consent. Where I go, you will follow."
"I never agreed to this."
"You accepted me," Lecter shot back sharply. "As I have accepted you. Body and soul. That cannot be changed or undone now. You no longer have that option. You may reassure yourself with that if you wish. I am comfortable taking responsibility for this myself. You need not burden yourself with it if you do not wish.
"Hannibal, he's a child – " Graham cut off, scowling in frustration before switching tracks immediately. It wasn't like Lecter was going to feel any guilt at killing a kid. He'd already made that pretty damn clear. "He's not even a threat!" Graham argued instead. "Is he? Just try to tell me otherwise. Tell me you don't have the ability to control this any way you wish. I do know you. I see you now. You are far too careful for anything else. You never would have let this get to this point unless you knew you held control."
Lecter frowned, but nodded once.
"Don't do this, Hannibal," Graham tried and Dean wanted to scream at him. Did he think begging would work? Did he think that was going to stop this? But Lecter still didn't finish it and seemed content to let Graham have his say. "Don't make this choice," Graham told him. "Don't force this. Let it go. For once, just let it go. We – we can work out the rest."
Lecter hesitated. He turned ever so slightly, mostly in the hips, his focus still on Dean. But his eyes drifted slowly over to Graham. It wasn't enough to break Dean free. His body was still trembling so bad he didn't know how he was on his feet. The gun was still pointed at him. But breathing was just a little bit easier. Which meant he was back to sobbing in great breaths, choking on them around the tears and snot.
Lecter smiled at him. "I have not doubt on that matter, Will. I already own you. It is a matter of maintaining my authority over the rest of my territory. It is best that you come to understand that now."
"Like their Ma'am out there?" Graham asked. Dean didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, but based on the way he gestured out front, he had a feeling it had something to do with the two dead bloodsuckers. Maybe he was finally seeing the connections between those monsters and the one in front of them.
Lecter certainly did not seem to appreciate the comparison based on the way he scowled suddenly. Good. The bastard should be having a bad time with this somehow. "I have little use for such a crude arrangement. One would hope you would be able to understand that I would not have invested so much time and effort for something as base as that. We are partners in this, Will, do not doubt that. I would see you at your best. But at the moment, you are still a fledgling and can hardly be expected to appreciate the necessity of certain actions. Given time, you will. And we will have plenty of time. Years. Decades. More if all goes well. By then this will be nothing more than an unfortunate bit of unpleasantness. Even little Sammy will come to see it that way."
Graham shook his head slowly. "No."
But Lecter wasn't paying attention. He kept talking, but he was already shifting his focus back to Dean. "Yes. You already have. You simply do not realize it yet. You have killed for this, Will. And you will again. It is a part of you now."
"I will not risk having this in my house," Lecter announced, clearly meaning Dean by the look on his face. And this was it. Lecter was done talking. That feeling of suffocating was back, hovering just on the edge of too much. Something was wrong with the muscles in Dean's back. The constant spasming felt like it had torn something free back there and it hurt. Everything was starting to hurt. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to fail Sammy and Dad and hell, not even stupid Mr. Graham, but he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. It literally felt like his body was going to rip itself apart, pushing and pulling in two very different directions – between survival and what Lecter willed.
Dean whimpered and looked away from the gun. He didn't want that to be the last thing he saw. He wanted it to be a hell of a lot of things other than that, but he was going to have to settle for Graham's shabby kitchen, the smug look on Lecter's face and the distant calm one on Will's.
"Don't –" Dean managed to choke out but he couldn't manage anything more. He wanted to say don't touch Sammy.
He wanted that to be his last words.
