"What are we waiting for?" Walter questioned that morning at the breakfast table.

Morgan was busy, consumed up in a book that Margot had let him read ever since the announcement of the move had come about as if it would make the transition any easier on the child. Margot shot a glance at Walter from where she was eating a small bowl of fruit.

"Waiting for?" Alana questioned nonchalantly, not looking up from her tablet as she sipped on her morning coffee.

"Why aren't we leaving?" Walter pressed, his voice down low as if the walls would be able to hear the conversation. He pushed his plate of food aside and sat up a little higher in his chair. "What are we waiting for?"

Alana's brows rose at the question, and she licked her lips with a small nod, her hands folding on the table top as her tablet was set aside. "We are currently waiting for your passport to be delivered to us. It takes time to get paperwork processed. And processed under the table."

"Passport?" Walter questioned. "We're leaving the country then?"

Morgan perked up a bit at that, his eyes leaving his book to glance around at the conversation curiously. "Where?" he asked in a voice mimicking the volume of Walter's.

"Margot and I are still deciding. We're planning on leaving for a safe house we're securing by the end of this week," Alana continued on, her tone just as simple and unconcerned as it had been from the beginning of time. "We had to make some changes to the plans when you were unable to tell us who had said all of those things. We will be leaving Friday night."

"Where?" Morgan asked again, looking over to Margot who was still silent, but had set her fork aside.

"Maybe South America or Europe," Margot answered. "Just for a bit. Then somewhere else."

"We're waiting until Friday? We don't have to have a passport to go to a hotel or something," Walter argued, eyes darting worriedly between the two adults. They had been sitting on this for a week already. Another four days wasn't good enough. Walter hadn't heard those men speaking again, but he knew when adults were serious and when they weren't. He knew all too well from his mother's boyfriends the types of inflections that tones could have and when to listen and when not to listen. "We should have been out of this house the night that I told you about..." Walter trailed off, but he knew that Margot and Alana understood.

"Wally," Margot said in her calm and toneless voice, a micro smile on her red lips. "Alana and I have decided that it's best for all of us if we wait until the end of this week."

"Why?" Walter's brows furrowed in confusion; his appetite completely gone now. "Because it would be suspicious if we just left?"

"That is one of the reasons, yes," Alana agreed with a nod, picking up her tablet once more to signal the end of the discussion. "Among other things that you wouldn't understand."

"My dad would have listened," Walter grumbled, pushing his chair back from the table and leaving the room without being excused. If they were going to ignore him then he didn't need to follow their rules.

He went back to his room, heading directly for the closet where his bag was still packed from that day where he had decided to run away before he was stopped. He could do it now. He pulled the bag, the only thing in the entire closet, from the floor and tossed it over his shoulder. His dad had taught him enough on how to get by for a bit out on his own. And he knew where Margot and Alana kept an extra bit of emergency cash in one of the drawers in the study. He had been boredly rummaging through the desk one day and stumbled upon it.

It would be tough, but he had been in worse conditions before with his mom and if she had been able to pull them through it, then he could do it alone. He was sure. With Molly and Will's lessons and stubbornness in himself, he was certain he would be fine.

Spring was finally starting to come around too. The nights would still be chilly, but with one of the large coats in the hall closet, a heavy blanket from his bed, and a box of matches he had also found, he could stay warm. Water would be a different issue, but he could go into a convenient store and buy some if he needed it.

"You're leaving, aren't you Wally?" a small voice asked behind him, causing Walter to whip around at breakneck speed. Morgan's eyes drifted over Walter curiously and Walter had to glance down at his hands to find that he had unconsciously started to rip the bedspread from his bed to fold up and take with him.

Walter inhaled deeply, looking around the room at anything that wasn't the child. Morgan wouldn't understand. He was just a kid. An annoyance that Walter had put up with for far longer than he thought he would have to and he had just about enough of it. He was tired of trusting all of the adults in his life. He was tired of believing that they all wanted what was best for him, because it was utterly clear that they didn't.

If they had, then his mom wouldn't have dated such assholes as often as she did. She wouldn't have let them be abused and live on dry toast and bland rice when they had a working stove. She wouldn't have let any of those men touch him...

If they had, his aunt and grandparents would like him. They wouldn't look at him like he was lower than the dust on their shoes. Just because he was a bastard kid who didn't know who his biological father was didn't mean he was any less of a person.

If they had, Will wouldn't have left him. Will would have stayed, would have picked him over Hannibal. Will wouldn't have let any of those awful killers anywhere near his mom or him, then his mother would still be alive.

If they had, then they wouldn't still be sitting around this house while those men were planning whatever horrible things they were planning. They would have left by now. They would already be safe.

If they had at all, once in time, wanted what was best for Walter, then... He couldn't leave. Because it would just put Morgan in the same exact position. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. Just in the same way that he knew that if they waited until this Friday then something horrible was bound to happen. It was going to happen, no ifs, ands, or buts.

Morgan didn't deserve that. Walter didn't know if he could do anything, if there was anything for him to do, that would help the boy, but he had an overwhelming feeling that he needed to try. Maybe if the grownups couldn't step up then he had the responsibility to.

"No," he assured, dropping the blanket to the floor before taking the back pack back to the closet and closing the closet door. "I'm not leaving."

"Oh good. You said we were going to teach Applesauce another trick today."

Walter nodded. "I sure did, didn't I kid?"

Morgan hummed with a nod and a giant smile.

"Maybe he's right," Margot said, picking up the book that had been haphazardly tossed aside as Morgan had raced after the retreating Walter. "It wouldn't be difficult for us to find a hotel for the rest of this week. We could afford it."

"It's not about the money," Alana muttered. "You know that we agreed to give Will until Friday."

"He would be able to figure it out, I'm sure. You've met him, haven't you?"

Alana let out a sighed laugh and shook her head with a smile at her wife. "Unfortunately," she answered.

"We wouldn't have met without him, so don't start with that unfortunately stuff." Margot waved off Alana. "I'm certain he would be able to find us."

"He said he would-"

"I think he would understand."

Alana sighed, rubbing at her tired eyes, ignoring the fact that she probably smeared her makeup in the process. "I don't want to tempt fate."

"We're tempting fate while staying here," Margot pointed out as she reached for her fork to pick up a slice of strawberry and bring it to her lips.

"Would you rather fight a farm hand or two killers?"

"Two killers. At least we know what to expect from them."

Alana groaned and laid her head on the table with a small thump. There was a light chuckle from Margot, but Alana didn't look up. "Maybe you're right," she mumbled.

"Of course I'm right," Margot agreed without hesitation, though the words weren't harsh in the slightest. "Walter is a boy who grew up like I did. He's always had to be on his toes, always walking on eggshells, always ready to run or fight. He's cautious and can pick up on small things that others can't."

"How on earth could you possibly know that?" Alana asked, her voice echoing back at her from the wood of the table.

"You can see it in his eyes," Margot explained gently. "The same hallowed, scared look that I used to see in mine while Mason was alive."

"Where do you think we'll go?" Morgan asked as he fished another treat from the container in his hands that Applesauce was trying to shove her nose into. Morgan laughed and pushed the dog away.

Walter snatched hold of her collar and tugged on the dog until it took a step or two back. "The point of the treats is to give it to her when she does the trick," Walter teased with a light smile.

"She's bigger than me!" Morgan shot back with another laugh. "Where do you think we'll go?"

"I don't know," Walter replied with a shrug. "Why does it matter where we go?"

"I want to see Paris." Morgan put the lid on the treats and Walter released the dog who raced forward and knocked the container from Morgan's hands to try to get in it. Morgan giggled and stepped back to watch Applesauce play.

Walter sighed, both of them having given up on trying to get Applesauce to learn anything new. Instead, Walter lowered himself to the ground and played with the fraying end of his shoelace. "Why there?" he grumbled.

"I saw a picture once in a market place." Morgan gave a shrug, his smile warm as he ruffled Applesauce's ears. "I was shopping with my mother and there was a stand with a bunch of small pictures. There were things like the Eiffel Tower and stuff, but the one that caught my eye was the Palais Garnier."

"The what?" Walter glanced up from his shoelace at the boy who had said the words without a hint of issue, something like from a movie. Beautiful and flowing.

"The Palais Garnier?" Morgan questioned, turning his head enough to look at Walter before his attention was once again given to Applesauce. "It's an opera house there."

"Out of everything there is to see there and you want to see an opera house?"

Morgan gave another small shrug. "What's wrong with opera?"

"It's boring? Christ kid!" Walter groaned, hiding his face in his knees. "There's better music out there."

"I think that it's a bit harder to write opera than it is to write whatever is on the radio. They have to write music for each of the instruments in the orchestra. Each part is different. Isn't that interesting?" Morgan questioned. "Or that's what my mom said at least. Each instrument has something different to play and it all comes together to make something beautiful."

Walter was quiet as he took in the explanation. He had never thought of music in such a way. Normally music was just something he would turn on loudly to drown out the arguments that his mother and whoever she was with would have. Something with a strong beat that could hide the fists pounding on counters, the smashing of plates, the breaking of chairs thrown against walls, the sound of a backhanded slap that Walter had to pretend didn't leave purple lace under his mother's eye.

Music was a band aid to cover the hurt. It was a blanket meant to distract from the cold, not be enjoyed. But... Everyone else always seemed to enjoy music. Even Will had enjoyed music, though it was horrible old country or classic rock most of the time. The classic rock wasn't bad, Walter supposed. Maybe classical music wouldn't be all that bad. He had always wanted to learn the piano. Maybe now that his parents would have money he could take lessons?

Could he ask that of them? They needed to be settled first before Walter even dared to ask for a single thing. Maybe he shouldn't even ask them. Maybe that would be a step too far. Anything could be a step too far and Walter was suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect.

"Wally? Are you ok?"

Walter cleared his throat and shook his head, plastering a smile over his lips. "Fine," he lied. "Maybe we should head inside. It's almost time for your lessons to start, isn't it?"

"Do you want to come to my lesson with me?" Morgan asked excitedly, heading over to where Applesauce had knocked the treat container to pick it up.

"I can't understand anything you are learning. It's all in German. God help me if I ever have to learn German," Walter teased lightly.

"And if Will doesn't come back?" Alana asked with a sigh, pacing the dining room, her heels clicking on the ground with each step, sending a metronome-like tone in the room.

"Will will come back," Margot defended boredly, getting up from where she was sitting. She came around the table and got in front of Alana who halted, blue eyes darting up to meet Margot's. "What makes you think he won't? He came back for Wally the first time."

"And immediately left. You know how flighty he can be when it comes to Hannibal."

Alana folded her arms around her chest in an almost protective manner like she used to when Margot had first met the woman who had been shoved through a window. Possibly phantom pain, but Margot had never pushed her wife for an explanation. There were just secrets the two of them had and respected the boundary of and whatever had happened in that kitchen in the middle of that rain storm was a line that Margot wouldn't cross.

Margot's hand caressed over Alana's cheek, brushing Alana's dark hair behind her cheek. "What if Will doesn't come back?" Margot mused simply for Alana's sake. It was better to dig through all possibilities than to try to ignore the situation, Margot had found. The therapist in Alana wouldn't let anything rest until she had all of the possible answers and outcomes. "What do we do then?"

"We take in the boy, don't we? His family won't take him as far as he's explained." Alana leaned into Margot's hand and let her eyes slide close. "And we've been wanting another."

"And that another is Walter Graham?" Margot gave a light and airy breath of laughter. "He's not exactly what I pictured in our next child."

"He's a good kid underneath it all," Alana stated firmly as if Margot didn't already know that. He was a difficult child, but with the amount of trauma he had faced and was still facing, Margot was certain that it would take quite a bit more to knock down the door to him, but once it was opened there would be endless possibilities. "He's smart. He could join Morgan in his lessons."

"I think that maybe Walter would prefer public school a bit more than being homeschooled. I doubt that locking him down in the house would do him any favors." Margot leaned closer and placed a gentle kiss to Alana's mouth before stepping back with a kind smile. "Maybe Morgan would enjoy a more public setting as well."

"Morgan?" Alana shook her head. "You said yourself that you wanted him to be homeschooled so that he would learn everything he would need to take over the-"

"If we leave the country there's not going to be much of a family business to take over," Margot pointed out kindly, reaching out across the table to fetch her half gone mimosa and take a sip from the glass. "You've seen how tightly he's clung to Walter. He needs more friends, he needs to be more social. He needs something more normal than what we're giving him."

"Just because you and your brother were homeschooled doesn't mean that he is going to turn out like Mason."

Margot stiffened at the words, the fear that had long been between the two of them finally voiced after four years of silence. She lowered her glass to the table with narrowed eyes that blurred the white lace over the table cloth to a blizzard instead of delicate snow fall.

"He's not Mason," Alana continued on softly, her hand taking Margot's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "He is nothing like Mason, Margot."

"Let's set that aside," Margot muttered out in a harsher voice than she meant it, but Alana didn't take any ill will from the words. She simply wrapped her arms around Margot and rested her chin on Margot's shoulder. It was a difficult topic and Alana had done no favors with shoving it so harshly into the spotlight. It could return to the dark for the time being until they were in a more stable place to speak about it. "I believe that would be better for us to blend in. I hardly believe that anyone would think that either of us wouldn't let the kids into a public school. Besides, if we give a piece of normality to Walter it could make it easier for him to open up to us and I know that you really want to help him."

"We both want to help him," Alana agreed in a whisper, pressing a kiss to the side of Margot's throat. Her grip around Margot tightened momentarily before she released Margot and stepped back. "I'm going to get Morgan ready for his lesson. I love you."

"Love you too," Margot muttered, snatching back up her glass and finishing it off.

"Hanni, please!" Mischa begged from just inside the front door, looking so utterly small compared to the large stone hallway. Hannibal stayed on the other side of the doorway, staring into the fortress that had been made to protect those who lived inside and a bitter taste filled his mouth at the idea that it had failed to fulfill the purpose of its existence. "Come on. Don't you want to see your room? It looks the same."

No. Hannibal didn't want to see his room. The room would have been left lonely behind such a rocky exterior. A room of a scared little boy who had twisted his own reality for so long after having almost made it to heaven himself.

His own paranoia had filled his world with weapons, each as deadly as the last sin he had inflicted on those he found below him, but maybe... He could see why he would need to live in a building such as this. Grand and empty, dank with small windows and surrounded with his own filth. It was just perfect. Made just for him.

"Why are you fighting it so hard?" Mischa asked, stepping closer to him and taking his hand to try to pull him inside of the entrance. "There's nothing to hurt you here anymore."

"I don't know if I fully believe that, Mischa," Hannibal muttered. She was right though. He had pushed this off for far longer than he should have and he had to face it now. He had tried yesterday but no matter how desperately he pushed himself, he had stayed standing outside the castle nearly all night until the cold bit a bit too harshly at his toes, fingers and nose. He had retreated to Chiyoh's quarters by a warm fire, wondering how Will was fairing.

Hannibal hadn't been one hundred percent, but was sure he had seen Will in the tree line of the forest. Or at the very least had seen something that looked and smelled rather similar to the man hidden among the forest. He had tried to not get his hopes up that the man had come for him, but he couldn't exactly stop the fantasy from playing in his mind that Will would show up and help him finish Mischa's tomb and everything would be alright.

"I'm scared to go in," Hannibal admitted to the child who stopped tugging at his hand and tipped her head to the side with a confused look. "I suppose you wouldn't understand, would you?"

"Not really. There was only one bad thing that happened here," Mischa explained, words simple in only a way a child could make them. "I don't think the one bad thing should ruin all the good."

Hannibal nearly wanted to smile, but the ache in his lungs held him back. The ache only grew stronger as he took his first step past the threshold as if the castle were trying to steal the air from his lungs to help itself return to life after so many years of being abandoned.

Hannibal found himself more surprised at how many of his family's treasures were untouched. How much wealth was still left behind in this building for anyone who wanted it to come take it. Priceless art that was now dusty and a little sun bleached.

Hannibal had thought that most of it would have been gone by now, but maybe there were rumors around the nearest towns of exactly what had happened. Or perhaps there were greatly exaggerated tales of monsters that ate up men whole and if anyone came near the castle then the monster would get them too. Munch-munch, chomp-chomp, gobble-gobble, gulp.

Once the orphanage was moved away and this place was again abandoned... Not even the people who operated the orphanage wanted to take the items away? Hannibal inhaled deeply as a phantom conversation pressed into his mind. One foggy and hazed over by wanting to forget it. A conversation between two little boys who said that everything in the castle was cursed and if someone were to take anything then they would die a horrible death of being eaten alive.

Hannibal hadn't understood what that had meant then. Ha blocked absolutely everything out, even Mischa, until his uncle had come to rescue him. And it all came back at once while eating dinner one night. Hannibal bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed and then it slammed into him. Sent him into a silent frenzy and panic that only his aunt had noticed.

Mischa guided him through the halls, all eerily familiar, blurred like a dream he were trying to hold to. His chest continued to ache as he was pulled to the half of the estate that his family had resided in, the half that had been closed down and never entered when the orphanage had been set up. Ropes had been tied up to the iron work that held the tapestries on the walls, but they were easy enough to walk under, smelling musty with age, ready to snap with how brittle they had become with time.

Up a flight of stairs and down a carpeted hall that let up poof of dust with every single one of Hannibal's steps, though Mischa's made no markings whatsoever. Mischa stopped and Hannibal faced a door that had been hastily flung open by a young girl afraid of a thunderstorm. He heard the echo of the door hitting the stone wall as if the sound were just created.

It made his teeth clench with dislike and he shook his head to excuse the noise from his person, stepping past two young children who had left the room in search of their parents for better protection from nature.

The four poster bed had the curtain drawn back and half on the bed and half on the floor were the sheets and bedspread that had gotten caught on Hannibal's ankle when he had left his bed. The pillow still held the indent of where his head had once upon a time laid.

Across the dresser was a folded stack of clothes. Something on the nicer side that his mother had picked out for him for a family portrait that was going to be commissioned the next day. Though why they couldn't have taken a picture with a camera and given it to the artist, Hannibal would never know, though he recalled his mother enjoying the idea of experiencing and owning the real thing.

Hannibal's head tipped to the side at how small the clothing was. A good pair of dress pants, a button up shirt and a tie, not that he wore much else when he had to attend private tutoring and look his absolute best. A pair of dust, but still polished dress shoes. Beside those was a copy of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. An American neighbor had let him borrow it to help with his English.

I wish I could have adventures like this, he had thought as he had set the book aside that night. The adventures that he ended up getting weren't quite as fantastical as living in an art museum, though he had attempted that in Italy once upon a time. He had never been allowed to sleep in the museum, but living amongst the art after hours had its perks. Just as Will could hear stories in the bones of the dead, Hannibal could hear tales from paint brushes and chisels and hammers.

Hannibal inhaled deeply, the air stale, but his lungs felt a touch lighter. It wasn't quite so hard to breathe now. Maybe Mischa had been right. Maybe the bad didn't have to outweigh the good.

He couldn't bring himself to touch though. He didn't dare lift his hand to move a single item. All of his toys, including a handmade rocking chair from his father, stayed piled in a corner, a bit more messy than how Hannibal had liked his things because Mischa had been playing with them before she was led away to her room for bed by their mother.

"Can we see my room next?" Mischa asked, a hint of boredom in her voice most likely from how long Hannibal was taking to look at everything.

"Yes, Mischa," Hannibal answered weakly, his mouth so extremely dry. He stepped a bit further back to take in the entirety of the room, forgotten and lost to a single moment that was now trapped within the walls.

Hannibal turned his back to the room and made his way further up the hallway, leaning against the doorway of Mischa's room, unsure if he could find the strength in himself to actually step into it.

Just as his room was, her door was left ajar just enough for him to peer in. Her once bright yellow bedspread was nearly a light grey now, tossed about by a nightmare. A fox stuffed animal with two different sized button eyes lay slumped on the floor, having fallen from the bed. Hannibal adjusted himself enough to glance at a different angle where a large doll house, also handmade by his father, waited for a child to play with it once more. Beside the lovely house was a table with a tea set, covered with enough dust that the roses across the china weren't present any longer.

"I miss Socks," Mischa sighed. "He was a good fox."

"Yes," Hannibal agreed, voice barely above a whisper. "A good fox. He protected you from many things."

"Like you, Hanni!" Mischa explained, her grin bright as it was shot in his direction. "Come on." She turned on her heel and bounded up the hallway, her blonde hair bouncing with steps.

Hannibal's body was sluggish as he turned from his sister's room and followed her up the hall. Despite how much easier it was growing to breathe, his steps did not become any easier the closer he grew to the door at the end of the hallway. Past the second floor library and his mother's private sewing room. Past a grandfather clock, the pendulum had long since gone still and the chimes silent.

10:19

What an interesting time to stop. It made Hannibal curious as to the day. What had he been possibly doing when this clock finally stopped working? When was the last time that the Westminster Chimes played out in the stone hall? When was the last time his father had wound the clock?

The door he stopped in front of was, oddly enough, closed. His head tipped to the side as he looked over the dark wood and his hand reached out, caressing over the rough, handmade iron door knob.

It sent a spark of pain up his arm and through the entirety of his body. Not a physical pain in the slightest. Something much deeper than that, though he couldn't put a name to it. His heart skipped in his chest as he twisted the door handle and pushed the door open.

The hinges squeaked with age, a sound far louder now than when he had been a child. His breath caught as he willed his feet to move forward, readying himself for any skeletons that might have been waiting there for him, literal or metaphorical. Instead of bones, he was greeted with a carpet stained with old blood, as if no one had cared to try to clean it.

Hannibal winced at the brutality of the way his father's head had been bashed in with a religious relic. He could hear the thump of his father's body and recalled the way his eyes had widened of their own accord. The way that his hands moved to cover Mischa's mouth and hold her against him so that she couldn't see. How he instructed her to plug her ears in a rushed whisper.

And then his mother's voice was a shriek in his ears. Her body bent over the writing desk, her night slip roughly dragged up her legs as she fought. Their laughter was almost worse than her sobs and begs in whatever language she could speak in to hopefully help herself. Worse above that were the grunts and groans from the man. Sounds that would never leave Hannibal and that would haunt him the first few times he tried to participate in anything even remotely intimate.

Over the years Hannibal had grown numb to the gurgling that came from slitting a person's throat, but his mother's rang through his head as clear as a bell and it brought tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat. His precious schemes of restrained elegance were all of a sudden empty, useless, non-existent as he watched his young self force a sobbing Mischa out from under the bed as the men were distracted with raiding the room.

Portraits were slashed and his mother's jewelry box smashed on the floor and all the precious things from it were missing. His father's antique gun and knife collection had been pillaged through, the unwanted items left behind and scattered across the carpet and through the blood.

Hannibal stepped closer to the mess, falling down to his knees at the edge of the carpet. His hand stretched out and hovered over one of the ornamental knives that used to decorate the wall, but his boldness stopped there.

He wasn't meant to touch. He wasn't meant to move. This space was meant to stay exactly as it was. There was nothing that should disturb this space ever again. It had been left untouched for the last three decades and that was how it would stay. There was an aura or respect and reverence in the idea.

Hannibal had moved on long ago. Not accepted fully, but had moved past this and he didn't need any family heirlooms to pass down. Especially since there wasn't anyone to pass them down to and Hannibal didn't know any of the stories behind any of the items. He had never had a chance to ask his father about any of them, so there really wasn't a point. Everything had its home, its own little spot and it was not Hannibal's job to disrupt it.

Hannibal inhaled deeply, the scent of petrichor and ozone strong over the stale dustiness of the air. A small smile pulled at Hannibal's lips and his heart ached at the thought that maybe he could share this with a curly haired man, but that man wouldn't dare step out of the shadows. Not now. Hannibal wasn't sure what it would take for Will to finally produce himself, but this moment wasn't the right time. Hannibal was grateful for the fact as well. This was an intimate moment that he needed to deal with alone, but even the thought of Will's presence was comforting.

Hannibal pushed himself up from his knees and glanced around at the room once more, taking it all in for the last time and turned to leave. Alone, he left the castle and returned to Chiyoh's quarters as the sun was beginning to set.

The scent of rain and lightning did not abandon him as he washed up and prepared something small and not at all impressive for dinner. A fire crackled to keep him warm and he retired to bed, ready to begin his work again the next morning. Ready to finish the tomb and finally put Mischa to rest. Give her exactly what she had deserved and where she would be happy.

After that Hannibal wasn't quite sure what he would do. For the longest time in his life he always had a direction, some form of a compass, but Will had been that compass for so long that Hannibal had lost a north that wasn't the man.

He had infinite resources. He had made sure of it when he had run from Paris. It was just trying to decide which resource he should use and where it would leave him. How far would it take him from Will and when would Will finally give up. on him?

Hannibal's hand moved over to his other hand as he rested into bed, finger gently caressing the ring that he had given to Will, curious if the man knew it was missing or if Will had simply come after him to once more try to kill him. If maybe Will were waiting for an opportune moment. If he were it would have been right then.

Observing had always been something that Will had been good at. Seeing and feeling things that others didn't notice. But in that moment, like so many lately, Will wished he couldn't do either of those things.

Watching Hannibal reminisce in his room was painful, but seeing the way the man stepped through his sister's room was down right excruciating. His parent's room had been darker than Will thought it would be and it reminded Will just how little he actually knew about what had happened.

Will knew crime scenes well enough to know what the large stain was in the carpet of the master bedroom. He knew what the scattered belongings meant. He knew exactly what the scratch marks in the desk meant. It was disgusting. Horrible. Unbearable.

Will did his best to let the man be but when Hannibal dropped to his knees with tears rolling down his cheeks, Will nearly stepped out from behind the wall in the hallway he had been hiding behind. He wanted to comfort the man, remind him that he wasn't alone, but Will wasn't sure if he could quell the rage that was building up in him enough to actually be gentle with the hurt man.

It was best if he stayed out of the way, simply observed. If he kept his distance he could allow Hannibal the time to heal. The time to do exactly what he needed to do. Hannibal had obviously come here for a reason. He had needed closure of some sort and Will didn't want to deny the man it.

Will wandered from Chiyoh's abandoned lodging and through the woods until he came to his small makeshift camp. Sure there were infinite places that Will could have stayed on the grounds. The cabin, the castle, even warmed beside Hannibal in that bed, but they all felt out of place. He didn't belong there. Not yet. Possibly not ever.

So he sat at the mouth of his tent and started a small enough fire to warm a can of food that he had brought. He pulled on his coat to keep out the chill of the night and made sure that the flames crackled away to help stay warm. The moment the sun fell, a frozenness filled the air and Will's breath hung in the sky, but the can of food kept his fingers and insides warm. It wasn't any different from any other camping trip he had been on. He had been camping in blizzards. A little frost on the tent wouldn't bother him.

What did bother him were the multiple bodies that he could hear out amongst the trees. They didn't belong to any animals as far as Will knew. Animals didn't move in the way that these creatures were moving. They didn't hide away like these creatures did. They didn't stake out Hannibal as he continued to build and nearly finish a beautifully made tomb for his sister. Animals didn't act like Will.

Will wasn't exactly sure what these men wanted and he didn't want to stick around to find out, but he wasn't about to leave. Not without his husband in tow back to America to find Walter and then to wherever the wind might take them. He hadn't been lying about wanting a family with Hannibal and about how he wasn't about to let Hannibal jeopardize it for them.

Will didn't sleep much that night. The chill of the air and the restlessness of the forest kept him awake and stoking the small fire. The sunrise brought with it chirping birds to welcome in the Wednesday morning and as Will warmed up some water to make some tea to warm his fingers, he could hear the familiar scraping of mixing concrete and the clinks of stones being put into place.

Will had enjoyed watching Hannibal get his hands dirty and was nearly certain that today would be the last day of Hannibal's project. The roof was what needed to be finished and the frame had already been built up to support it. It would dry overnight and then tomorrow Mischa could be put to rest.

Will had been trying to place exactly where Hannibal would be going once his sister was finally at peace, but he hadn't been able to figure it out. He had always assumed, that while not on the same page, that he and Hannibal had been in the same book, but now it was difficult to tell.

Will let the tea warm his body and he put out the fire before making his way back down to his spot to watch the cannibal work. Like so many days prior, Will simply watched as Hannibal carried on in simple conversations with an invisible person, the same types of persons that were still trying to obtain Will's attention.

The midday was decently warm enough for Will to need to shed his coat and he turned away from the tomb and made his way back to his camp, adding the coat to his things. He sat once more at the entrance of his tent and found another can of something that he could eat for lunch.

"You keep ignoring me," a voice teased. "Is a can of Dinty Moore really that much more important than me?" Will nearly snorted his laughter into the can and coughed, choking on a carrot. "Do you not remember how pathetic we all thought it was when that guy was found murdered in his hotel room and the last meal he ate was a cold can of that shit?"

"I remember," Will acknowledged with a nod, using the back of his hand to wipe at his chin. He set the can and spoon aside and looked over the fiber analysis who stood in her usual dark jeans and red leather jacket. Her arms were folded over her chest and her hip was jutted out to the side, her teasing and crooked smile bright on her face. "How low I've stooped."

"I don't think canned meat is that low of a stoop compared to other parts of your life."

"Ouch." Will gave a fake gasp, a hand going to his chest as he smiled up at the woman. "That's a bit harsh Bev, don't you think?"

"Not really, no." Beverly lowered herself to the forest floor, cross legged in the dirt. She made herself busy with playing with the pine needles that scattered the ground. With a deep breath she glanced up at Will through her curtain of hair. "I'm only saying it because it's what you believe. I'm not real, remember?"

"I remember," Will repeated with the same nod as earlier. "How could I forget?"

"You seem to like forgetting as of late."

Will inhaled deeply, rubbing at his chin. "I suppose I did," he admitted softly. "I don't think I consciously chose to forget, I just couldn't-"

"Live with the idea that you were like him," Beverly offered simply, her smile still brilliantly bright.

"I don't know," Will chuckled with a shake of his head, reaching out for his food once more to take another bite. "I've always been like him. Ever since I was a child I was like him. I just saw how horrible my dad was and never wanted to be like him. I fought so hard for so long, I guess my mind couldn't process both sides. It couldn't justify both feelings."

"Of wanting to be a good man while being a killer," Beverly supplied lightly, tipping her head to the side while looking over him. Will gave a nod around another bite. "Will, you're still a good man."

Will snorted sarcastically and swallowed thickly. "I can't lie to myself anymore. If I do then I'll just keep repeating the same cycle that got me into this mess. I'm not a good man, Bev."

"I think the two can coexist," Beverly pushed, her knee nudging into Will's. "I might not agree with both of them, but you can still be a good father to your kid. So hurry up here and get back home to him."

"I don't want to interrupt him." Will glanced over his shoulder in the direction of where Hannibal would be, though he couldn't see or hear the man anymore from the distance. "He gave me my space to take care of my son, he deserves the same respect for his sister."

"And once he's done, where are you going?"

"We'll both go back for Walter and we'll work things out as we go." Will shrugged, the empty can now being set aside. "I'm not sure how else to navigate things. We'll just have to play it by ear."

"And if Walter doesn't want to leave?"

Will's mouth went dry with the underlying fear that had been digging at his chest coming to light far quicker than he was ready to deal with it. "We can't stay there," Will muttered.

"That isn't what I asked."

"I know it isn't what you asked." Will sighed and fell back, looking up at the roof of his tent. "I promised Molly to do what was best for him."

"And that if that means-"

"If that means that leaving him behind will be what's best, then I suppose that's what I'll have to do," Will cut in firmly with a roll of his eyes. "That's the whole point of being a parent. You do what's best for the child in your care and if Margot and Alana are what's best, then that's what he'll get."

"That's quite mature of you."

Will groaned as he sat back up to find Beverly pacing through the brush with her arms swinging boredly at her sides. "I'd like to think that I'm an adult," Will grumbled out, getting to his feet to follow wherever Beverly guided him. Beverly shot him a smirk and he rolled his eyes as they passed through trees in the opposite direction of the family cemetery. "Am I not mature?" Beverly shot a look at Will, brows rose in disbelief and Will laughed. "Me running away after someone I love isn't mature."

"Not in the slightest," Beverly agreed. "But I don't think it's done much harm. Personally, I think it's been better for the both of you."

Will winced at the warped and twisted view that he was giving himself. Some sick justification of all of his actions from the beginning of time. "You've always been a better liar than me, Bev," Will whispered, a dull pain working its way through his system. "I miss you, you know."

"I know," she assured with a nod, making her way down an embankment to where a steady stream of water was happily running, trickling soothing through the forest. Will followed after her, a hand out behind him to help balance him in case he fell due to the steep angle. "But you can't hold onto me anymore. You shouldn't hold on to any of us anymore."

Will straightened himself up and stopped at the edge of the creek before bending down to let his hand dip into the icy water. It burned his fingers, but he didn't quite mind it. Birds still sung sweetly in the warming air, though Will couldn't find any of them in the trees.

Will couldn't find it in himself to answer as he stepped his way across the stream and further into the forest. He had let Jack go and Walter go. They were the easiest. They weren't dead. They didn't cling to him like death did a corpse. Molly had fallen silent, but was still present. Not visually, but her aura was strong in the back of Will's mind. The honey sweet, gentleness that made her up lingered in him. He hoped that in time she would fade like others had when he had stopped finding their voices useful, but he didn't know when that day would be.

Abigail dallied as well. The guilt with her was too great for Will to ignore. The same guilt that he was certain Hannibal was currently working through with the construction of someplace nice for his sister to be.

A cabin greeted Will in the distance and he started towards it, Bev a step behind him, silently waiting for his answer, though nothing came. Will halted in front of the door that was falling off its hinges, the wood rotting away. Will carefully pulled on the door until it opened and he had to prop it up so it wouldn't collapse.

"I know I can't hold onto all of you," Will finally stated, stepping into the tiny one room cabin. Dust littered every inch of space there was for it to occupy. "But you're the voice of reason in my head, Bev."

There was a table thrown aside, a crack down the middle of it. A bed was torn apart and beside an ash filled fireplace sat the mattress and some blankets. The air held a bitter stiffness to it and Will frowned as something cold clawed at his skin.

"This is where it happened, isn't it?" Beverly asked in a soft voice, glancing around the cabin.

"Where Hannibal became Hannibal?" Will questioned, taking a step backwards and out of the cabin. Beverly followed after him and Will did his best to try to block the feeling of overstepping from his system. Will closed up the door and looked over the old building once more before turning his back on the memory he shouldn't have trespassed on. Instead, he followed the river, doing his best to keep phantom hands from snatching at him to drag him away from his sibling to be slaughtered in the snow. "How do I let you go, Bev?"

"You've always had a voice of reason." Beverly shrugged. "Just add your own face back to it. Why does it need to take the shape of any one particular person?"

"Because if it has your shape then I wasn't the one who killed you."

Will's eyes widened at the truth that came from his mouth and he paused, running a hand through his hair. Beverly glanced over him, a warm smile on her lips.

"You didn't kill me. I told you I couldn't take the evidence to Jack until I could back it up."

"Bev-"

"Your exact words to me were: Stay away from Hannibal Lecter. I didn't listen." Beverly gave a deep breath. "You can let me go. You're not guilty."

"Then why do I feel like it's all my fault?"

"Because you know you're like him. You've always been like him. You were capable of killing me too," Beverly explained like it was so easy. So utterly simple. Will stopped and inhaled with an extremely deep breath, hands resting on his hips as he looked around the wood that he was sure was a wonderfully green color when it warmed up and a dazzling display of bright colors in the fall. Too bad that each time he had seen it, it had been nearly winter. "But you didn't and you never will be the reason for my death and you need to accept that. You need to let that all go."

"Forgive me for keeping you from your rest," Will muttered, meeting the woman's deep eyes that were bright with a smile. "You can go, Bev."

"Thank you Will."