Morgan stared at the small collection of stuffed animals that he had. Nothing too fantastic. Just a teddy bear and a bunny and then an elephant from one of his uncles on Alana's side. He didn't like the man much. Thomas was his name and he smelled far too strongly of mint for Morgan's liking. Chewed on the leaves. Alana had explained that a girl had made fun of him for his breath, so he had taken to chewing on mint leaves to help with the issue. Morgan didn't care much for the elephant. The amount of wear and tear to the teddy bear and the bunny were enough to prove just how much the boy loved the two of them over the third.

He had been given the task to only bring one at first and that the other two would be brought later to wherever they were going, but Morgan found himself sitting in front of the three of them with his legs and arms crossed in a pout as he tried to decide.

He had made sure to wait until later that night when Walter was asleep in his own room before he set off on the task because he knew that Walter would tease him for the fact that he still had stuffed animals. That was just how Walter was. He didn't think that Walter did it on purpose, but he would rather that the air between them stayed good rather than tense like Walter liked to keep it.

Morgan sighed, head tipping to the side as he stared at the three. He reached out and knocked over the elephant so he could focus between the two he actually liked. One from Alana and one from Margot from when he was born and Morgan supposed that the reason he couldn't choose was because he thought he would be picking between his own mothers. Like it was a test that would tell his mothers exactly which one he liked more, which wasn't fair in the slightest.

Instead, he found himself wandering his way through the house in search of a single person who might actually listen to him, if the older boy didn't laugh first. It was always a possibility. And even if he did tease, he was a safer bet than either Alana or Margot.

He opened Walter's bedroom door and stepped into the dimly lit room where Morgan found the older boy sitting up in his bed, a book was left tumbled on the floor and head back against the headboard where he had fallen asleep. The lap light sent shadows over Walter's face making it look hallow. Morgan hesitantly stepped closer to the bed.

"Wally?" he asked in a whispered voice. The older boy stirred just slightly, mumbling something in his sleep, but he didn't do much else. Morgan sighed before reaching out and shaking Walter's shoulder. Walter jumped upright with a gasp and that only caused Morgan to jump in turn, his heart pounding in his chest.

"What?" Walter asked with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. "I thought you were asleep."

"Can't sleep," was all Morgan had to say before the older boy's caramel eyes flickered open to take in Morgan. Morgan fought the urge to shrink back at the momentary judging look in those eyes, but the look quickly turned to something much softer and there was an annoyed sigh.

"Come here," Walter instructed softly, shifting so that there was room on the bed far end of the bed that already had plenty of room. "Go to sleep," Walter instructed, causing Morgan to only feel confused once more.

"Here?"

"Where else?" Walter lied down fully and pulled the covers up and over his head.

"You don't like when I-"

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to be nice."

Morgan frowned. He slowly obeyed, climbing over to the other side of the bed and slipping beneath the covers. There was a click as the light was turned out and Morgan blinked up at the ceiling above them.

"Wally?" he asked softly. There was a groan in answer and Morgan frowned. He was always in the way, always an annoyance. Morgan tried so hard not to be, but the feeling never truly ever went away. It always sat heavy in his chest and ran round and round in his head. "I'm sorry."

"Just tell me," Walter's voice said through the darkness.

"What's going to happen with your dad?" It wasn't the question that Morgan had meant to ask, but it was a safer one than having Walter think of him as a child.

There was a tense silence and Morgan turned away from Walter, not wanting to face the brunt of whatever outburst the older boy would give. Morgan often found that Walter was just one word away from an explosion and Morgan tried to understand why Walter was always so upset and he supposed that losing a mom would be hard, but now Walter had two dads, so it couldn't be all bad. Could it?

"I don't know," a small voice replied and Morgan's brows rose at the softness of Walter's tone. "He'll come find me. And your moms are nice. I'll be alright, I think."

"I like Will," Morgan announced with a decided nod. "He's smart."

"Incredibly smart," Walter agreed, voice still just as soft, hurt in a way if Morgan had to guess. Could he help make it better? "What were you doing up?"

"I..." Morgan started before catching himself and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment of hesitation. "Nothing. You'll just laugh."

"I won't laugh."

Morgan's nose scrunched up and he flipped back around in the bed to face Walter who had turned to look at him as well. "You always laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"My mother said I was only allowed to bring one stuffed animal with us and the rest would be brought when the movers got our things and I couldn't pick," Morgan muttered out, pulling the blanket closer against his chest and clutching it tightly in his small fists.

"How many do you have?" There was no hint of laughter in Walter's words and it caught Morgan a bit off guard. He had figured that even after telling him, Walter would still laugh.

"Two."

And there was the laughter that Morgan had been expecting. "Just ask if you can take both of them," he suggested. "I'm sure two wouldn't be that big of an issue. I'll hide one in my bag if I need to."

"You mean it?" Morgan asked excitedly, sitting up with a smile. "Thank you Wally!"

"Yeah," Walter muttered. "Get some sleep kid."

"Do you have anything that-"

"No," Walter quickly interrupted. "I don't have anything."

Morgan hummed in thought. That was true. Walter didn't really own anything. He had a small bag with some clothes in it, but nothing else. No toys, no games, no books, nothing. But Walter did have something. Something that he kept around his neck constantly.

"What about the rings?" Morgan asked into the quiet room. The air stiffened once more. "The ones around your neck. You haven't taken them off since you came here."

There was a shaky inhale and Walter shrugged in the dark of the room, voice distant. "What about them?"

"Those must be important."

"They belonged to my dad and my mom."

Morgan closed his eyes and swiftly turned away from Walter. Why was he such a screw up? Why did he always pick things that hurt Walter to speak about? "I'm sorry Wally. I didn't-"

"It's fine. Would you please just sleep now? We need to pack tomorrow."

"Ok," Morgan whispered, pulling the blankets even further around him. "Night."

"Night kid."

The smile didn't leave Hannibal's face as he continued to work. The spring sun was finally starting to lend enough warmth that Hannibal didn't need his coat as he once more stirred up a mixture for concrete in an old and rusted wheelbarrow that he had found forgotten at the edge of his mother's long ago overgrown garden.

The shovel dug through the mixture with a scraping sound as the dust churned with the water and turned into something thicker and darker. Hannibal paused for a moment as his eyes caught movement and his smile only seemed to grow. Mischa's golden hair caught the sunlight like a beacon and her voice was sweet and soft as she sang old Lithuanian folk songs that his mother had taught them when he was still quite young. In her hands were a multitude of flowers that she had been dashing about and picking. Wild things that seemed to bloom right under her fingers whenever she would reach for some place still bare.

"Come play with me," the young girl called impatiently, looking up from the unruly bouquet in her hands and a smile on her lips. "Please, Hanni. Come play with me."

"Work and then play," Hannibal said kindly before returning to mixing the material in the wheelbarrow. Lithuanian had felt a touch odd on his tongue at first, but now flowed freely from him. It was nice in a sense. Another way to be closer to his home. "Once I finish this, we can play."

"But you've been at it for days!" Mischa complained lightly, her flowers lowering slightly in her grip in disappointment. Hannibal glanced around at the work he had done and what still lay ahead of him. A foundation and the first few layers of thick, light colored granite blocks that now came up to about his hips. "Please."

Hannibal chuckled and shook his head. "Let me use the concrete I've already made and then we'll play. I promise, Mischa."

Mischa sighed and dropped herself into the tall grass, crossing her legs and looking over the flowers in her hands. Hannibal went back to work, scooping some of the liquid stone to spread out on the waiting line of granite to start another row.

"Who is that boy you were with?" Mischa's voice called to Hannibal as he used both hands to pull the heavy stone from its stack to add it to the new stack. Hannibal paused for a moment, looking over his sister before heaving the stone up and into place.

"Will?" he asked, using a trowel to clean up the concrete and spread more out. "My husband?"

"No. I know Will." Mischa's nose scrunched up as she shook her head. "He took you from me. I was talking about the other one. The younger one."

"Walter?" Hannibal once more paused, perplexed as his attention returned yet again to the young girl who he knew was strictly in his mind, though she looked so solid. Mischa didn't look up from the crown she was weaving with the flowers in her hands, but she gave a nod. "That's Will's son."

"Yours?"

"I suppose in a roundabout way." Hannibal exhaled deeply, hands resting on his hips. "What are you getting at?"

"Why did you leave them?"

Hannibal was taken aback by the question. Especially by the way his own subconscious had decided to ask it. Did it really have to come through his sister's voice? Did all of the difficult questions always have to come from her?

"I thought that they would be better off without me."

The words came far easier from Hannibal than he thought that they would. The answer was far more simple than it should have been as well. But then again, Hannibal had always known himself rather well. He had always known the reasonings behind everything he did and this was no different, though it felt odd.

"What made you think that?" Mischa questioned innocently, lifting up her crown to inspect it.

"Because I'm the entirety of why everything continually gets worse around the two of them," Hannibal replied softly, starting to work once more. "They don't need that in their lives and I don't want to force it onto either of them."

"What do you want then?" Mischa asked, the question somehow far too old to be asked from her lips and somehow just childish enough to make sense.

Want. What did Hannibal want? He wanted a lot of things, he conceded. He wanted to see Florence again, but knew he needed to wait for the heat to die down there as well before he would ever have the chance. His mind would be his only view of Florence for the time being.

He wanted Mischa to be alive again. As wonderful as it was to have her dancing about with him here, it just brought an ache to his chest that it was all in his head. And he knew it was. She was never going to come back again, but he figured he must have had a problem that he needed to solve and she was the best way to solve it just like the ghosts that seemed to live in Will's mind.

He wanted to have enough courage to step into his family's home again. It still sat in the distance, tall and big and overbearing as if it had eyes to watch him work. It judged him for not being man enough to face his demons. But he had done more than enough facing in the last little while to want to do anymore of it. He could still recall the horrendous pounding of the hangover he had when he had drunk enough wine for twelve of him just to get into that wine cellar to see Will's design.

He wanted to finish this tomb for Mischa. His sad excuse of a grave had always sat heavy in the back of his mind, but he hadn't had the chance to do something better for her. The police were on his trail, not that now was any different, but he hoped that with the way that the authorities liked to continue to drag their perfect hound dog into the mess, that he would have quite a bit more time before they found him. After all, he doubted Will would remember. He was fairly certain that Alana and Margot would have put in place similar rules for Will that Molly had. Maybe not going as far as to block websites, but Hannibal doubted that there was any internet in that entire estate and if there were, it was strictly for business uses.

He wanted to be with Will. Above everything else, that was what he wanted. From the moment Will had stepped into Jack's office, Hannibal had needed Will like he needed water to live. Will was as essential as breathing and it had been harder to inhale deeply and freely without the man there beside him. It wasn't healthy, but Hannibal honestly didn't care. As long as he was with Will, that was all that mattered. As long as Will was happy, and Hannibal would clean the ground Will walked on with his tongue if it made Will happy, then Hannibal would be happy. The two of them together was something he wanted.

And lastly, among many other things, Hannibal wanted to know Walter. Maybe wanted wasn't quite the right word. He was intrigued and allured, by Walter in a professionally curious sense. By the boy's mind. The way the boy worked and rationalized things was far beyond that of a mature adult. His acceptance was extraordinary. His stubbornness matched Will's and Hannibal's own. His problem solving skills were brilliant. He knew how to play the game to obtain exactly what he wanted or needed from a situation. Hannibal wanted to see the boy grow. He wanted to know if Walter harbored the same darkness that Will had deep inside of himself and if it would grow or be squandered out by the light. He was a remarkable enigma and it was selfish of Hannibal, but he wanted to have his hands there to impact exactly the outcome of the puzzle that was Walter Graham.

"I want my family," Hannibal finally decided.

Mischa's smile brightened as she placed the flower crown on her head and met Hannibal's gaze. "But we are a family, Hanni."

"Yes," Hannibal agreed. "Yes, we are a family." He bent over to pick up another block and put it in place with a deep breath. He had thought that the feeling of being watched would have disappeared with how long he had been working on the grounds, but the ghosts of the past just seemed to keep an eye on him.

Or maybe not a ghost. A shifting among the trees told Hannibal it was something else, but he didn't honestly feel that threatened by it. Maybe he should have and maybe hindsight would be twenty-twenty, but for the time being there were more important things to focus on than some random person wandering through the forest on his family's property.

Monsters from his past were nothing but shadows now. He had become the monster in the night for all of them and for many more besides them. A stranger in the tree line was the least of Hannibal's worries. The very least. Especially as a breeze kicked up.

Hannibal inhaled deeply of the scent of forest, overshadowed by petrichor, though there was not bound to be any rain any time soon. Mischa seemed to have caught it too, because she slowly rose to her feet, gazing into the trees while Hannibal returned to his work.

"What kind of father will you be, Hanni?" she asked, stepping a little closer to the forest, head tipped to the side curiously.

Hannibal blinked at the question that he had never truly considered or asked himself before. He had long ago pushed the idea of parenthood from his mind. He could manipulate relationships, but had never wanted to blind someone to the point where he could obtain a marital status. Until Will. But Will was different. He wasn't blind and had agreed.

Marriage had been the first obstacle. Children hadn't even been considered until Abigail, and even she was another piece in his chess game against fate. She was there for Will's sake, to bind Will even further to Hannibal. Walter, on the other hand, had belonged to Will long before Hannibal had entered the picture. Walter was not a bargaining chip, he was something special. Something used against Hannibal instead of the other way around. Will had learned his lesson with Abigail as had Hannibal.

"The worst kind," Hannibal finally replied, voice a bit more defeated than he wanted it to be. "Manipulative and cold. Cruel and overly analytical. I fear my standards will never be met and therefore my children will always doubt their self-worth."

"That doesn't sound like you," Mischa giggled, turning her attention away from the trees in disinterest and running through the tall grass and over to the wheelbarrow that was nearing the end of its cement mixture. "You're too kind to be mean."

Hannibal winced at the words. What a pretty little lie that only a child could tell.

"You were the nicest big brother," Mischa continued on, stepping up onto one of the granite stones with her arms outstretched for balance as she wavered on one foot. "You would read me stories and play tea parties with me. You helped me to not be frightened during lightning storms. And you always drew me such nice pictures."

Hannibal scooped the last of the mixture from the wheelbarrow and added it to the wall before another granite block was applied. He did his best to ignore the compliments, compliments he did not in any way deserve. With the block in place, he turned back to the young girl with his hands on his hips.

"What did you want to play?" he questioned with a deep breath.

"Hide and seek!"

Hannibal nodded, biting back his dislike of the suggestion. Nothing good had come from hide and seek since that night. He could recall with absolute clarity what he had told Mischa as they hid behind a tree that first day.

"You need to be quiet," he whispered, his index finger going over his lips to further his point. Mischa's frightened blue eyes stared up at him and she nodded, her hand tightening its grip on his. She shivered in the snow drift, their footprints marking their path directly for them, though Hannibal hoped that the driving snow would be enough to shield them from the men closing in around them. There was a small whimper from the girl and Hannibal snatched her up in a hug against her chest. "Shh," he ordered gently. "It's alright. It's just a game."

"A game?" she asked into his coat.

"We're just going to play hide and seek, alright? We're both going to hide from those men. If we hide really well, they'll get bored and go away."

"It's cold, Hanni."

"I know." Hannibal pushed the girl back and tugged at his coat, pulling it from his small frame to drape it over her shoulders. He zipped it up and watched as she snuggled into it. Hannibal's fingers had long ago grown numb and the feeling was slowly spreading up into his hands. He gave her a gentle smile. "If we keep going that way, we'll reach the cabin. We'll be warm there for the night. In the morning we'll find the Volynsky home. They'll help."

"My feet hurt, Hanni."

"Shh..." Hannibal pressed his hand over her mouth and pulled her close once more at shouts from a few trees away. They were too close now. Far too close. Hannibal's eyes snapped shut and his nose scrunched up as he dared not to breathe, afraid that the vapor that caught the air would give them away. He waited, heart pounding in his ears for what felt like eons until the shouts from the men drifted away. "I'll carry you, alright?"

And he did. He lifted her up onto his back and trudged through the blinding snow in the direction of the hunting cabin that he had become far more familiar with than he had ever wanted to. His father had insisted on him learning to hunt and Hannibal spent a good chunk of his summers trapped in that humid, old, smelly building with animal carcasses littered about him.

She shivered against him, hands ironclad around his neck at an uncomfortable angle. His shoes were wet now. He could feel the sloshing of melted snow chilling his toes. Maybe they could start a fire. A small one wouldn't be too noticeable, would it? They very well couldn't stay huddled in a place without some warmth, even if they would be out of the wind the temperatures would be enough to freeze them.

Hannibal had to stop several more times, hiding them down creek banks and behind rocks as the voices would once more rise over the snow, causing Hannibal's heart to nearly burst from his chest each time.

The cabin was icy when he pushed inside of it. He set Mischa down and shut the door, grabbing a chair from the table to shove beneath the door handle. Once he was certain that was in place, he wandered around the cabin in near pitch blackness until he found the curtains to the windows. He pulled them shut, praying they were thick enough to block out any fire light.

"Hanni," Mischa whined through chattering teeth. She sniffled in the dark before there was a sob.

"Quiet, Mischa," Hannibal ordered, voice a bit harsher than he meant it. There was a louder cry and Hannibal felt a lump form in his own throat, though it was for reasons other than being cold. He raced towards the sounds and found his sister's body in the dark. He knelt down and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry. It's alright. Everything is going to be alright. We're still playing though, so I need you to keep being quiet."

"How long do we have to play?"

"Until we reach the Volynskys. Can you do that for me? Please, Mischa!" She nodded and Hannibal let out a deep sigh. He released her and quickly made himself busy through the cabin. "I'll make a fire and get you warm. There should be some more blankets somewhere."

"I'm hungry."

Hannibal froze in his work and closed his eyes. There was possibly something here, but Hannibal doubted it. His father was always careful to not leave any food behind because it would attract unwanted animals or people that could damage the cabin.

"Let me get a fire going and then I'll see if I can find something to eat. Alright?"

There wasn't an answer, but there didn't need to be. Hannibal set to work again, finding some kindling and firewood in the corner and the matches in the kettle on the hearth. It took him a beat or two to finally get the wood to light without any form of starter, but soon enough there was a decent sized flame that would at least stave off the chill. Hannibal pushed Mischa in front of it, pulling her wet clothes from her body and laying them over the bricks of the hearth in order to help them dry.

He dragged the mattress from the only bed in the cabin and tugged it over to the fireplace, dropping it to the ground. He ripped the two blankets from the mattress before cocooning Mischa up in one of them, her teeth still chattering. He sat her as close to the fire as he could on the mattress and added another small piece of wood to it before looking back through the cabin for any kind of food. Coming up empty, Hannibal frowned and decided that he would always have a supply of something nonperishable somewhere in case he was ever in trouble again.

There were some tea packets though, which would be better than nothing. He grabbed the packets and then the kettle, heading over to the door to dig some of the fresh snow into the kettle, fingers trembling with the cold. He placed the kettle in the middle of the flames and there was a hiss that caused Mischa to jump, but to Hannibal's relief she was silent.

With two cups placed beside the hearth, Hannibal pulled off his wet shoes and socks and set them by the fire, then his clothes as well before tugging the last and thinnest blanket around his body in hopes that he would be warm. As soon as he was settled on the mattress, Mischa's body fell against his and he glanced down to watch her eye lashes flutter in the firelight.

"You can sleep," Hannibal offered in a whisper. "I'll wake you when the tea is ready."

"Hungry," her tired voice mewled.

"We'll find some food tomorrow. I promise."

Mischa nodded and it didn't take too long for her to drift off to sleep, leaving Hannibal alone with the bloodied images of his parent's murders. The storm had scared Mischa enough that Hannibal had taken her to their parents' room. The men had barged in a few hours later and Hannibal had dragged Mischa under the bed, telling her to plug her ears and close her eyes. But his had stayed open. Seen everything.

His father's head turned to a bloodied pulp as it was beaten in with a crucifix that was kept on the mantle in the main parlor. The screams of his mother begging before they were silenced, but not before her body was used in a way that Hannibal had never seen anyone's used before.

The kettle was steaming by the time Hannibal finally came to. He used the edge of the blanket to pull the metal from the flames and poured the water into two cups before adding a tea bag to each.

Mischa yawned and rubbed at her eyes, happily taking the warm cup into her frozen hands when Hannibal passed it to her. Hannibal pressed a kiss to her head and sighed, his breath hanging deadly in the stale cabin air.

"I don't want to play anymore Hanni," Mischa muttered, eyes stuck on the small flames that Hannibal reached out to stoke. "I want Mom and Dad."

Hannibal tugged playfully at the red ribbon in her hair. "I want you to drink all of that before you fall back to sleep, ok? It'll help warm you up."

"But I want-"

"Hush," Hannibal soothed once more, nuzzling her nose with his own and causing the girl to giggle softly. "Just trust me a little longer. Can you do that?" Mischa nodded and brought the tea to her lips, taking a tentative sip. "Thank you for being so good for me, Mischa. I promise I'll take care of you. Let's just play hide and seek a little bit longer."

"And where would you like to play?" Hannibal asked, lowering himself to his knees in the dirt to be the same height as his sister. She pointed out in the distance and Hannibal grimaced as he took in Castle Lecter, absolutely despising the way that his mind was forcing him back into that building. "In there?"

"Yes!" Mischa said happily with a bounce.

"Alright," Hannibal reluctantly said with a frown, his chest going immediately tight at the idea of stepping foot in that building.

Will watched curiously from the tree line at the man before him that was doing hard labor, a sight that Will never thought he would ever see the man perform. Dissecting a body was a different thing altogether, but watching Hannibal build something efficiently was an enlightening moment to be certain. Not that Hannibal couldn't accomplish the task of whatever it was that he was doing, but just the idea of Hannibal getting his hands dirty struck Will as out of the norm.

It also fit the man in a way that Will wished he could place. There was something about seeing the normally stuffy killer dressed down and covered in dust and dirt that brought a smile to Will's lips. A smile he wished didn't linger on his lips as long as it did. He was still upset. Not even upset. Upset was putting it mildly.

Will's anger burned in his chest as if his very soul were aflame and ready to spontaneously combust. A dark room held deep inside of his head was developing images he wasn't sure he could ever forget. A man in suits brandishing a tongue laced with poison, setting up pins just to knock them down at his own convenience no matter the outcome to anyone else that just so happened to be in the way.

Images of a broken man that Will had told that whatever the man wanted to do, not to come back for him. That Will had bled far too much and could hardly breathe and one more ounce of fucked up love could end his life.

A frozen love that Will had tired for so long not to miss, a love that he overdosed from with just a single touch. A love that pulled at his bones with a longing ache. A love that had dragged him to a bed of coals that Will couldn't seem to regret. Not even when he had been left alone with the burning embers and had barely made it out alive.

The killer had never left Will's dreams, broken bones and empty shrieks, sleepless nights in burning sheets. Even phantom images had left Will desperate for him. Standing here now, close enough to hear an odd language on the wind, pleaded Will's body to move closer. His legs were sore with want, his heart racing in his chest like a speeding bullet. His hands throbbed with how tightly he held them in fists.

Maroon eyes darted up in his direction and Will hid the very small bit of his body that was exposed back behind the trunk of the tree. His eyes closed tightly and he held his breath despite the fact that he didn't need to. He waited for what felt like minutes for footsteps to come after him, but there was no such thing. Instead, the scraping of stones picked up again with Lithuanian dancing through the forest.

Will nearly laughed aloud. He was hiding from his own husband. He was hiding from a man that he had known for years upon years. A man that he had shared so many twisted experiences with that he could never survive being separated from him, and yet... there Will was, hidden behind a tree in the heart of Lithuania, mere feet away from the other piece of his soul, and he couldn't bring himself to move closer.

Will dared himself to slowly lean back around the tree to gain another look at the man who had left him. And Will honestly shouldn't have been all that upset over the matter. He had tried to end Hannibal's life with hands tight around the other man's throat. It had been long enough that Will didn't see any of the purple bruising across Hannibal's skin but that didn't stop the way that he wished it were still there, as sick as that was.

Like the scaring across the insides of Hannibal's wrists, Will wanted to be further marked into the man's skin. A sign that Will was always there. Especially since the ring on his finger was still missing. His finger still felt odd without Hannibal's own body to grace it. A large part of Will was missing and his chest clenched at it, had been in a constant knot after having searched the entirety of the Verger estate top to bottom to find the missing item and coming up empty. It wasn't fair how in his relapse he had lost the one piece of his life that he had hoped would always be with him, even if he did forget again.

Instead Will had lost nearly all of it. He had Walter, of course, and he would always love his son, but how long had his world revolved around Hannibal? Far too long for Will to be sane without the man in it.

The man finally came to a stop and turned his attention to the castle in the distance. The one that not even Will dared to enter the last time he was here. A place he wasn't sure he should enter now, if he would be permitted to.

Hannibal hesitated, something in his stance and his Lithuanian a bit uncertain. Will stood in curious silence, watching as Hannibal slowly made his way from whatever it was that he was building and stepped through the tall, brown grass and towards the castle.

It wasn't until Hannibal was a speck in the distance that Will let himself wander from behind the tree and through the forest into the clearing. A clearing full of multiple graves, each stone a bit more ornate than the last, some with names perfectly etched into the stone and others worn and weathered away by time and the elements.

Will stopped in front of the stone work that Hannibal had left behind, a hand reaching out to touch the last stone that had been put in place, at Will's eye level. The stone was a cold mattress that didn't have even the hint of a blanket or sheet over it just in case Will decided he wanted to hang himself. Though there were far more options at Will's disposal in that god forsaken cell than hanging. He had debated slamming his head into the sink multiple times when the faucet would repeatedly drip water in the basin despite how hard he forced the water off when he wasn't using it.

"You should have stayed there," a sharp voice said behind him and Will closed his eyes with a deep breath. He hadn't been able to make the voices go silent, not even with Hannibal's words running through his head.

Wade into the quiet of the stream. Let the voices be washed away by the current. Relax into the drag of the water. Feel the voices being pulled away from you. You're safe. Your mind is a safe place for you. You can pick and choose which voices you would like. It's your head.

It hadn't felt like his own head in a long time. Had it ever been his own head? He doubted it. His head had always belonged to everyone around him and he wished that he could silence all of the voices in his head that liked to voice his own sins and guilts back at him.

"You're angry," Will muttered, turning away from the stone, his eyes landing on Molly. Her arms were folded over her chest, head tipped to the side and tongue bit between her teeth and in her cheek as she liked to do when waiting for a damn good explanation. "I understand."

"I don't think you do Will," she shot back icily, though her voice didn't raise in volume. Her fingers tapped over her arm and her head tipped the opposite direction. "Why am I mad Will? Let's start there."

"You're dead," Will replied boredly with a halfhearted shrug. His insides twisted as he did his best not to let his own frustrations get the best of him. He just wished that sometimes she would leave his head, like Jack had left his head when dismissed. Jack had gone silent, why couldn't Molly?

There was a hurt snicker of disbelief from the woman and her hands were thrown to her sides as she looked around them, tongue pushing at the back of her teeth with a shake of her head. "Try again. You're better than that Will, and you know you are."

"Walter," Will offered up in absolute certainty as he glanced around at the bags of cement mix that were waiting to be used, as well as more stones to be put in place for a tomb. Mischa's, no doubt. She would be the only thing special enough to Hannibal to deserve such treatment even after a death that had occurred about three decades before. "He's all you've ever cared about."

"I just want him safe, Will," Molly said with an exasperated sigh. "That is all I have ever wanted for my son."

"And that's not me."

"Not now," Molly agreed. "You're dangerous and you are more than well aware of it. Aware of the way that Hannibal makes you feel, makes you act."

Will paused in his step towards the wheelbarrow and looked up at Molly with a sharp glare. "He doesn't make me do anything," Will corrected. "He has never once made me-"

"He manipulates you!"

"I would stop him if I didn't like it!" Will shouted back. The silent forest around him seemed to jump to life as birds flew from nearby trees and there was a rustle of something a bit bigger beyond the tree line, though Will didn't give much thought to it. Molly's eyes widened with Will's own eyes as the realization finally sunk into him. He hadn't liked all of it, not in the slightest. Being framed for murder, having his first and second child killed and his body gutted and cut open in all manners were absolutely not things that Will had enjoyed. But he had obviously not minded enough that he put up with it. Had gone through years upon years of abuse because... He liked it.

"Masochist," Molly grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. 'You're sick and I don't want you around my son."

"Who do you want to take care of your son, Molly?" Will shot back hotly, turning away from her to look back over the dirty, dusty wheelbarrow. His fingers reached out and dug through the slowly drying cement left on the inside of the wheelbarrow, the grittiness getting stuck under his fingernails, but he didn't care. "Your sister would refuse, your parents are far too old and would ignore him on good days. I have no idea who the boy's father was, you never mentioned any type of person to me and there's no one listed on his birth certificate. He has no other family and to be honest, I doubt they care much at all. I haven't heard about any sort of reward or search being put on by the family for him. You were buried and it's like Wally fell off the face of the earth. What is it exactly that you were hoping for?"

"Let him stay with Margot and Alana. They'll be good for him."

"Absolutely not," Will muttered lowly, wiping his fingers down his jeans to clean them. "As much as you hate it, I have legal rights over him. You knew this when you let me sign the adoption papers."

"What are you possibly going to offer him that Margot and Alana can't?"

"Love!" Will's voice once more rose in frustration and he spun around to see Molly's mouth dropped open in shock. "I love him like he was own kid, Molly. I always have. Have I ever once done a single thing to hurt him or upset him? Have I ever been unkind or unfair or upset with him? Have I ever yelled at him? Disciplined him too harshly? I've been good to him, Molly! I will keep being good to him."

"No you won't," she whispered with a shake of her head, moving towards Will to take his shoulder in her grip. It felt heavy, an anchor to drag Will back into the depth of his mind when all he wanted to do was escape. "You'll turn him into something horrible, a monster like you and Hannibal."

"I won't," Will argued, though he could hear his own lie in his words. "He won't become like either of us."

"You think that Hannibal will just stop? Do you honestly believe that if you walked up into that castle right now and asked him to never kill again, that he would stop? Just for little, old you? Will, this isn't some romance movie where the man changes for the person he loves. People don't just change."

"He would."

Will's eyes left Molly's and turned to the castle that was starting to catch the lower light of the afternoon, a coldness slowly starting to permeate the air. There had been plenty of things in Will's life that he had been uncertain about and there were bound to be more, but he knew for a fact that if he asked, Hannibal would give it to him. It wouldn't even be an issue up for discussion. Hannibal would stop. But... was that something that Will wanted?

This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

It's beautiful.

Will's eyes slid shut as he thought over those moments. Those precious moments that he had been trying so hard to destroy for so long. Moments that he would never fight ever again. They wouldn't drag him down in the Atlantic ever again. They had happened, they were there, and that was where they would stay. Right where Will could cherish them.

"Don't be ignorant," Molly scolded. "Stop painting him in a better light."

"I'm not," Will whispered, mind racing back over the fresh memories that were still sharp in his head. Over a specific conversation he had had with Hannibal not too long ago. A conversation that had solidified everything in Will's heart.

"And you really mean to include Walter in this life you've thought up?" Will asked, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth when the words left him.

"I figured you were packaged together from the moment you wouldn't run away with me," Hannibal answered, bringing Will's hand to his mouth so he could kiss at his knuckles. "The boy will stay with us. I will take care of him."

"He's not your son," Will pointed out, keeping his eyes tightly on the pillow in his hand. "You don't have to-"

"I promise to take care of him. Of both of you."

"You promise?" he asked.

"I promise," Hannibal whispered. "Someplace safe where he can grow up, the best schooling we can find for him. He will want for nothing. The answer is always yes for you Will. Forever, yes."

"Molly, we're going to take your son somewhere safe where he can grow up with the best schooling available for him. Your son will want for nothing," Will promised, eyes flickering open to look over the woman who still looked apprehensive. "He will never be forced to do anything. He will never be ashamed of his choices. He will be successful and happy. He will have a loving family. He will have everything you've always wanted for him." Will pulled Molly's hand from his shoulder and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her knuckles. "Walter will have a full life. You can rest knowing that he will always come first and that I will always be there to protect him. I will always be there for him."

"You promise Will? You promise me right now."

"I promise. And I always keep my promises."