Title: Retribution, Day 23 of 30 Days of Hannibloom
Fandom: Hannibal
Pairing: Hannibloom
Rating: pg-13
Author's notes: Obviously, Hannibal wasn't alive during WWII, so I had to change some things, including in a past chapter. If the tv show's canon ruins my semi-book related version of Hannibal's childhood trauma, so be it. Ugh, I shouldn't be as bothered by this as I am.

"Mischa!"

He woke in a patch of wet with a scream on his lips. The cry was both foreign and familiar. He cried out his sister's name during nightmares countless times in his youth. However, he had not had a nightmare of Mischa since finding and terminating those who had killed and cannibalized his beloved sister, so many years ago. To find his old nightmare resurrected disturbed him deeply.

He wondered why he was having this nightmare again after so long. He thought about it. Hannibal believed in retribution. It seemed he shouldn't have lied to Alana about having nightmares. Was this his punishment?

Hannibal got out of bed and showered, then changed his sheets. He lay back down in bed, but sleep alluded him. For the first time in a long time, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, cannibalistic killer of many men, was afraid to sleep.

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Alana woke from a dream where she was on a boat on the lake while Hannibal sailed, when suddenly the water grew turbulent, violently rocking from side to side. She sat up and gasped. The bed was rocking, not the boat; she was in Hannibal's large bed and he was thrashing from side to side.

She grabbed his flailing arm and shook it. He pulled free. He was thrashing so wildly that she feared for his safety, and hers a bit too. He was also moaning, and yelling in his sleep. Most of it was in rapid-fire Lithuanian, and her Lithuanian was not yet good enough to make out much but a few words here and there. She heard "prašom," which meant please. And "ne," or no.

And Mischa. He cried out Mischa, his younger sister's name.

She tried to call out to him. "Hannibal! Hannibal, wake up!" He was too deep in his nightmare to hear her. Alana moved closer to Hannibal and reached out her hand. She smacked him, right across his face.

His eyes opened wide and he grasped her wrist as she pulled her hand away. His cheek was turning bright red, but the rest of his face was so very pale. "Alana," he stated, his confused eyes starting to focus. He stared at her. His whole body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he was shaking. His teeth started chattering. Alana contemplated for a moment. She thought he was awake enough, so she climbed on top of him and pressed her warm, dry body against his cold, wet one. Then she pulled the covers over them both. "Shh, shh, Hannibal. Shh, my love," she whispered to him as she caressed his cheek, then his damp hair.

He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her tight.

Alana and Hannibal lay like that until Hannibal's breathing slowed and his body lost its tenseness. Then Hannibal slid Alana off of him, though his arms never left her body. She nuzzled up against him. She bit her lip; she wanted to speak, but she didn't know if it was her place. Then she thought, "I am his wife. It's time for him to tell me."

She leaned on her elbows and moved towards Hannibal, and kissed his cheek. "Please tell me. Tell me what happened to her."

His eyes widened. She thought he would refuse again. But he spoke, so quiet she could barely hear him.

"They took my parents. They said my father was a traitor to the Soviet Union. They shot him, right in front of us. I tried to shield Mischa's eyes, but I know she saw. She cried out for him. She cried out, 'Papa!' They raped my mother before they shot her. I could hear her screams. I covered Mischa's ears."

Alana swallowed. She hadn't heard the details of his story, only knew that his whole family was murdered. That was horrible enough, but Alana had not known he was a witness.

Hannibal stood up abruptly, and Alana thought he was not going to tell her any more. But he walked to a chest in the corner of his room, opened it, and pulled out a tiny little girl's silver bracelet. He turned it over and over in his hand. She waited while her husband became lost in his sad memories. Then he placed the bracelet with infinite care back into the chest. Next he pulled out the worn, bent photograph of Mischa she'd seen previously. He ran his fingers over it, as if he could reach through the photo and touch the innocent little girl.

"I don't know why they kept us alive until later…they said they were starving. We all were on the edge of starving, during the communist years. They said she was sick, and would die anyways. They said…they said she was plump, and would be…juicy."

It took a moment for Alana to comprehend. When she did, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Could it be true? They ate his sister? She stood and walked over to Hannibal, standing behind him. She wrapped her arms around her much taller husband, resting her head against his back. She didn't know how to comfort him, so she hoped that her simple touch would be a start.

"Did the police ever find them? The ones who…murdered your parents? Mischa?"

Hannibal didn't hesitate before lying to his wife. "No." He amended, "They never found them."

He turned in her arms. She thought she saw tears shining in his eyes. The sight of Hannibal, so vulnerable, made her start to cry.

"Don't you see, my darling, how much it hurts me, what they accuse me of? How could I…eat…anyone, with what was done to my sister?"

Alana nodded, and pressed her head to his chest. "Oh, my poor love. My poor, innocent love," she thought.

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Hannibal wiped faked tears from his eyes. He recalled his horror when he'd found out he'd eaten his own sister. But he could remember the taste of the broth his captives had brought him. Mischa, in the broth. He too had been starving, and he recalled how in such a state, he'd never before tasted anything so delicious.

But he'd gotten his retribution. With almost every meal since.

Even in a vulnerable state, Hannibal finds a way to manipulate Alana. What an evil, delicious man.