Blue gymnastic mats lined the floor like carpet and the room was filled with various work out equipment. Grey clouds outside darkened the windows, promising rain. A box fan wheezed in the corner, doing nothing to lower the temperature of the muggy and sweat thick room.

Hannibal had an emergency with work, whatever work Hannibal did. The two boys weren't exactly sure what it was Hannibal did on days where he was busy, but Walter was nearly certain that it had nothing to do with work.

Today, Will was running their combat training. Sparing today. Normally Walter didn't mind, able to take it easy on Morgan, but when one of their parents stepped in, Walter was in for a run around.

Walter stood in gym shorts, tennis shoes and a tank top, sweat beading down his face as he tried to catch his breath through his open mouth, nose still taped up with gauze and a deep purple. Old worn black hand wraps were twisted around each of his hands tightly like a second skin.

Morgan, in a similar outfit, sat to the side, drinking water and watching, waiting for his turn to go against Will, who still took it easy on the younger kid. Walter knew he wasn't going to get special treatment. He never did. But his talk with Hannibal the night before had put things into a new perspective. They were conditioning him to take over if something happened to them. They would never admit to such a thing out loud, saying it was all to protect Morgan, but Walter knew better.

Walter glanced around the familiar room. There were many days spent in this room. And many more bruises that came with this room, more than Walter could ever hope to count. He was often so covered he wasn't sure if he could remember a time when his skin wasn't marked by mustard yellows or blacks and blues. But the injuries sustained were good injuries. Signs of hard work, or so Will would say.

Walter's eyes returned to Will who stood, curls damp with sweat, breathing hard as well. His right arm had blood dripping down it from Walter having tackled him into a seated arm row machine and the exposed corner of a metal bar sliced at Will's bicep. Will had congratulated him on the attack, but Walter didn't feel like he had done much more than hurt the man who had once been kind and gentle and was much colder now, enjoying the pain and the nightmares nearly as much as Hannibal did.

"Again," Will instructed, hands going back up in fists, body turned sideways from Walter to make himself a smaller target, a lower center of gravity to make sure his balance was strong.

Walter widened his stance and looked over Will carefully. The rules were easy. It was takedowns today. Anything to get Will on the ground and immobile. Anything goes. There were no cheap shots when your life was in danger.

Walter took a step forward and gasped, eyes watering as Will punched him in the face. Walter stumbled back, hand at his nose that had crackled horribly in his ears. He could feel the gauze growing wet with blood and he pulled it from his nose, tossing it onto the blue mat, leaning over and letting his nose drip from a moment.

"Father's not going to be happy that he has to reset this," Walter grumbled, pulling his tank top up and blowing into it, dying the grey fabric a deep red mess, nose crying in pain.

"You left yourself open Walter. You know better," Will answered, not at all sounding sorry for the more than cheap shot taken. His parents didn't normally take the cheap shots. "Again."

Walter spit blood from his mouth and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, ignoring the pain. He stood back upright and let the blood drip down over his lips and chin and onto his already ruined shirt.

Walter took in Will's stance once more. He took a step to the outside, opposite of where Will was facing and out of the way of his outstretched fist. Walter stepped on Will's front most foot, pinning him down, and grabbed his wrist. His free hand shot out across Will's center, blocking Will's quickly coming other punch, elbowing Will in the face as hard as he could.

With his unused leg, Walter brought his knee up and into the back of Will's knee, sending Will off balance and tumbling into the mats. With grip still tight on Will's wrist, Walter's other hand found Will's shoulder and pushed him into his stomach, arm now trapped behind Will's back and pushed up. Walter pushed all of the weight of his knee into Will's back, and pushed up on Will's arm until Will gasped in pain.

Walter released Will and scrambled away from him, breathing hard, tired, wanting water desperately. He pressed his shirt back against his bleed nose and looked over Will as Will untangled himself and pushed up onto his knees, covered in drops of Walter's blood.

"Good," Will said with a nod, hands on his knees with a deep breath. He got back up to his feet, curls wild, eyes down on Walter whose face was beet red and looked like he would rather be doing absolutely anything else but this. "Again."

"I'm tired," Walter said in a muffled voice through his shirt. "You busted my nose again. Can I be done for today?" Walter watched Will hesitate strangely against the question, the room silent for a moment, Morgan's interest now back on the sparring instead of whatever book it had been mentally lost in.

"No," Will answered eventually, rising back to his feet. "Again."

Walter's teeth clenched and he closed his eyes at the ache that was pulling at his muscles. He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight until Hannibal helped with all of the knots. Not to mention that Will was being unreasonable. Walter felt physically incapable of obeying the order. Usually when either of the boys stated they were done or had had enough, both Will and Hannibal listened. Will knew that Walter didn't exaggerate his exhaustion. What made today different?

"Tomorrow," Walter tried again. "I can't do anymore today. If I try to get up I'm going to fall."

It had been hours. Surely Will understood. Will looked just as spent as Walter felt and he still had to work with Morgan. What was his drive? Will always seemed to keep going. What made him keep going?

Will's eyes were expressionless, taking on a hue much like Hannibal's that Walter didn't like. "Again," he said firmly.

With a clear shot of dislike at Will, Walter tried to stand, wavering, crumpling back to the mat, breathing short and aching. Will waited, gaze unyielding. Walter's eyes went to where Morgan had moved, now standing with eyebrows furrowed, though Walter wasn't exactly sure if he was curious or concerned. Maybe both.

Water forced himself up, legs trembling under him. Will was quick, his foot locking around the back of Walter's ankle, pulling Walter's foot easily out from under him and sending him careening into the mat. Walter gasped, air knocked from him for the second time in the last two days, leaving his coughing on the mat. Will didn't help him like Hannibal had. He watched Walter with faint interest as Walter did his best to force the air back into his lungs.

"Again."

"N-No," Walter choked out, inhaling deeply, eyes watering again. "Not today." That was a plea, begging as exhaustion took over his mind, swirling through him and wanted to make him cry, fall apart. The air was hot as he pulled it into his lungs, as if he were at the center of the sun. It was crushing.

Walter felt fuzzy. Dizzy. In this stupid room, in this stupid moment, he felt sick, most likely from the blood flowing down his throat, and not entirely present as if he were watching things from the outside.

"No," Will said, voice harsh.

"Please-"

"Again."

Walter rolled onto his elbows and knees and tried to stand again, but found himself only able to push up to his knees. "Please," he begged, eyes down on the blue of the mat that was slowly turning an odd purple with his still freely flowing blood.

"No. Get up. Again."

It was cruel what he was doing. What was wrong? Was it because Hannibal wasn't here? That didn't make sense. Hannibal was the one who pushed them, not Will. Will was the kinder between the two. Did he feel like he needed to make up for Hannibal not being here? No. Not even Hannibal would have done this to them.

"I can't," Walter whispered, arms shaking as he used them to hold himself up. He was doing his best not to collapse into tired sobs. He couldn't remember having ever been this tired.

Will watched Walter in silence, ground held tightly. This was something Walter needed to learn; it wasn't a lesson that Will could provide him with words. It had to be action.

Walter looked up and met his dad's eyes, seeing himself reflected in the dissatisfaction there. He wiped at his nose once more, sniffling painfully as the bleeding was finally letting up, the mat beneath him slick with it.

"Again," Will said quietly, though it sounded like gunfire in that room.

And then something snapped in Walter. Head jerking upwards, the words left Walter's mouth, sharp, each word biting and angry. "We are done for today," he growled, getting to his feet, the pain in his muscles easily ignored in his anger. He reached for Will who quickly sidestepped the attack. "And I don't care what you want!"

Walter stumbled to a stop and flipped back around, barely ducking in time to miss the punch that was thrown at him. Will had left himself open and Walter quickly took advantage of that, throwing himself at Will's core and knocking him to the mats.

They rolled, each fighting to be on top and Walter eventually found himself on top of Will, knees pinning down Will's arms, hands tight around Will's neck, pushing down and into the mat.

"I'm not doing this anymore and you can't make me," Walter hissed, jaw tight. "I'm done today." It wasn't until Will's face paled and Morgan took a few steps forward that Walter's face softened and he blinked several times, coming back to himself.

He quickly jumped away from Will, staring at his hands that were stained with his own blood and no longer innocent like they had once been before his mother died. Walter kept his eyes strictly on his hands, wincing and anticipating the anger from Will.

Will gasped, rolling onto his side, coughing as air rushed back into his lungs and bloodstream. He looked over Walter, who looked like he was trapped in his head, afraid of the punishment that was going to come.

Will slowly pushed himself up and reached out a hand to Walter, taking one of Walter's hands and calling his son's eyes to him. "Ok," Will said with a scratchy voice, receiving a confused look from the boy. "We're done for today." Will moved closer and wrapped his arms around Walter in a hug, feeling the boy go stiff, anger gone. "You're a good boy. I'm sorry."

"What?"

Will's fingers brushed through Walter's sweat damp hair and he gave a sigh. He wished there were easier ways to teach these things. He had thought all night about it after Hannibal had brought up the conversation that Walter and him had had in the bathroom.

"You learned it," Will replied, doing his best to be a comfort and not an enemy any more.

He didn't like being the bad guy. He didn't like filling the boy's heads with all of this information, but there really wasn't anything else that Will could do to keep them safe. And he and Hannibal had promised Molly, Margot, and Alana to protect their children no matter the costs and Will wasn't about to stop protecting them in the best way that he knew how. And it sucked. It was cruel and unusual and that was why Will fought Hannibal so hard on so many aspects. They still needed some form of normality in their lives among all of the lessons that most weren't taught until much later in life. It was a lot to take on, but Walter could do it and in turn so could Morgan.

"Learned what?" Walter asked dumbly.

"What I was trying to teach you," Will answered, pushing Walter back to look over his blood covered face. "It's not something I can just tell you. You have to learn through experience. You have to see it for yourself. The important things are like that."

"I don't feel like I learned anything," he protested limply.

"Challenge everything," Will said, hands brushing back dark hair from Walter's face as Will gave him a small smile. "You have to challenge everything. Even me. Even your father. If you don't, you will get pushed around. You take what you want. You don't take no for an answer. You fight even if you can't stand. You fight until you are on top. You give everything you can and then more until you win. Do you understand?"

Walter gave a small nod, comprehension in his dark eyes. He did understand now. He knew exactly what Will meant with a rush of clarity and he knew that everything his parents did had a purpose, a reason. It wasn't to be cruel and unkind. It was meant to teach them something important.

"Good." Will gave a small nod. "You're excused for the day. Go wash up and take some medicine and get some ice for your nose. Eat something, drink at least two water bottles. I will tell your father what happened when he gets home so he's not upset with you." Walter gave another small nod and let Will help him to his tired feet. "I'm proud of you Walter. Good work today."

With Walter's nose once more fixed and in place, notice given to Hannibal by way of text to a burn phone, Hannibal left the bathroom and entered the kitchen where a tired looking Morgan sat, highlighting in a text book.

"Where's your dad?" Hannibal asked, having not seen Will since he got home.

"His room, I think," Morgan answered, glancing up from his work, eye a deep purple from the scuffle the day before.

"Morgan, get some ice for your eye," Hannibal instructed before leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs.

Hannibal opened the door to their room, finding the large space empty. The bed, in rich dark blue silks, was perfectly made, the curtains drawn to keep the room dark, nothing out of place. Not a picture crooked, not any clothing left out on the floor, nothing to suggest that anyone was here other than the scent of eucalyptus and spearmint coming from the en suite.

Hannibal stepped into the large bathroom that was beautiful marble with an expensive clawfoot tub in the center, dark curls peaking over the side. Hannibal gave a small smile and stepped in, pulling a stool to the side of the tub, sitting on it. Will's eyes flickered open at the sound and he glanced up at Hannibal, sitting up a little more in the tub.

Hannibal's eyes wandered over his husband's body, taking in the injuries that littered his skin. His hands reached out, taking Will's arm to look over a deep gash there. Carefully searching fingers prodded over Will's skin and Will relaxed into the touch, head leaning back against the side of the tub with eyes closed.

Finally, Hannibal's fingers found the bright and fresh bruises and swelling around Will's throat, delicately tracing the lacing there, making Will shiver.

"Is this why you rebroke our son's nose?" Hannibal asked with a curious glint to his voice.

"No," Will whispered in a ragged voice. "This was a result of rebreaking his nose."

"He's getting better."

Will gave a small smile as Hannibal kissed his cheek. "Much better," Will agreed. "He just needs time." Will chuckled and leaned away from Hannibal at a playful bite at his jaw.

"You're feeling ok?" Hannibal asked with a bit more concern in his voice, tipping Will's head back to better look at the handprints left in painted purple in Will's skin. "You can breathe alright?"

"I'm used to being choked by now Hannibal," Will reminded smugly with bright eyes, voice still harsh as it always was when Hannibal was done with him. "Your hands always seem to find my throat too."

"You do look magnificent decorated in collars of injury." Hannibal released his hold and got to his feet, pulling his suit coat from his shoulders and draping it over the counter. Next came his tie and he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows before moving the stool from Will's side to behind Will. "And how did Morgan do today?"

"Fine," Will answered, allowing Hannibal's hands to dip into the water and rest on his shoulders. Long artistic fingers began to work at the muscles in Will's back and Will sighed, leaning into the hold. "He's doing well for his age. He'll be strong enough soon."

"I'm sorry I had to leave you today."

"I understand there are things you need to take care of," Will assured. He winced at a difficult knot that Hannibal pressed into hard. "Those boy's parents weren't going to rest until they sued us for everything we owned."

"The boys need more discipline. They can't act out like that."

"They were defending themselves like we taught them to."

"They should have deescalated the situation. Not engaged in it," Hannibal pushed. "What we teach them should be a last resort."

"Hannibal, you can't be mad at them. They did exactly what we have taught them to do. They protected each other using whatever they had to. You can't be mad at them for that." Will sat up a little bit more and turned to look at Hannibal, whose hands jumped back from Will's skin. Will's eyes flickered over Hannibal's face and he reached up, caressing Hannibal's cheek with a wet hand, though Hannibal didn't comment on it. "You're not mad."

"I'm not mad," Hannibal agreed, taking Will's hand and placing a kiss into its palm. "I'm concerned. I do not want to have to rip the boys away from somewhere they are finally growing comfortable again. We move too often for them to have a sense of normality like you're wanting them to."

"You didn't kill the boy's parents, did you?" Will asked with furrowed brows.

Hannibal shook his head. "Just paid them off and their medical bills. Not that they needed the help."

Will gave a nod and pulled Hannibal closer, kissing him. With a small smile against Hannibal's lips, Will took a handful of Hannibal's collar and yanked, dragging Hannibal into the tub with him.

Water splashed over the sides of the tub noisily and Will laughed as Hannibal came above the surface with a gasp, pushing silver hair from his face. His red eyes were fire as they glared at Will who could only laugh.

"This suit was made in Milan, Italy," Hannibal stated coldly. "It is a Ermenegildo Zegna original and cost-"

"A lot of money," Will said with a smile, moving to lean against Hannibal's soaked suit, head resting to Hannibal's chest, heart steady despite the upset. Will could feel Hannibal's body relax and Hannibal gave an irritated sigh through his nose, a hand resting against Will's bareback, caressing his silky soft skin. "It's just an excuse to go back to Italy," Will teased, a smile still on his face. "Please take me back to Italy, Hannibal. Voglio rivedere l'Italia, per favore." (I want to review Italy, please.)

"Your accent is getting better," Hannibal whispered, kissing at Will's curls. "Italy..." Hannibal mused softly. "We go there a lot. Is there anywhere else you'd like to see?"

Will shook his head. "Later. We always have later," Will stated. "There's still so many secrets in Italy." Will sat up, kissing Hannibal, hands on Hannibal's chest to keep his balance. "You still have to show me Venice. We always go to Rome or Milan or Florence. Per favore portami a vedere Venezia. Per favore." (Please take me to see Venice. Please.)

"I'll think about it." Will pouted and Hannibal smiled. "You've become spoiled."

"I told you not to buy me things." Will's smile returned and his fingers began to work on the buttons of Hannibal's shirt.

"What about the boys?" Hannibal asked, wet fingers brushing through Will's hair.

"They always come with us." Will continued to fuss with the buttons on Hannibal's ruined shirt.

"Walter could watch Morgan."

Will paused and looked up at Hannibal with an unsure expression. "I don't think that-"

"After this weekend," Hannibal hushed, giving Will a small kiss. "Let's see how they do. Then we can discuss a trip for just the two of us."

"To Venice?"

"If that's where you want to go."

"Yes," Will answered with a bright smile.

Walter stared up at the ceiling that was basked in a bright moonlight. Morgan lay fast asleep, curled into his side. As long as he could remember Morgan had been sleeping in his bed with him. It had started after Morgan's parents were killed. Normally Walter didn't mind, but tonight he was sore and being smashed into a small space was not ideal.

He carefully pulled himself free of the younger boy's grip and maneuvered his way over the top of Morgan until he could leave the room. With a deep breath, Walter wandered down several halls and to the other wing of the house where Will's and Hannibal's room was.

Walter hadn't asked for Hannibal's help today because Will and Hannibal had been in such a good mood, Walter didn't want to interrupt it. It always made the house so much nicer when they were more than their normal kind tempered parents, not that the house wasn't fine the way it was. It was just more relaxed when they were in a good mood.

With a deep breath, now standing in front of their door, he gave a small knock, the sound seeming to bounce and echo down the hall. After the knock disappeared and Walter waited a bit longer, he tried once more. Still no answer.

He bit his lips. He knew the rule. He knew that Will and Hannibal weren't to be disturbed if they were alone in their room without very specific permission. But there was no way Walter was going to be able to sleep if Hannibal didn't work these knots out of his muscles and if he didn't sleep, he was going to be reprimanded for falling asleep during class that he had in the past.

Feeling so very small, Walter pushed the bedroom door open and carefully glanced inside, finding two bodies in their bed, both fast asleep. "Father?" Walter asked, voice barely a whisper. When neither of them stirred, he tried once more, voice a little louder. "Father."

Will jumped up with a sharp inhale, alarmed. Seeing that it was Walter at the door, Will lowered his head into a hand with a groan. Walter could see all of the bruising that lined his body, a sharp contrast to his bare pale ribs and watched as his free hand slid something back under his pillow, though Walter couldn't make out what it was.

Walter watched as Hannibal slowly rose from the bed, grabbing his robe from where it hung on a chair. He pulled it on and tied it around his waist before walking around to Will's side of the bed, speaking just loudly enough for Walter to hear him.

"Grįžk miegoti, mano meile." (Go back to sleep my love.) An urging for Will to go back to sleep that was said in Lithuanian, though, now that Hannibal had pointed it out, Will never answered back in the language even though Walter knew Will knew how to speak it. Hannibal placed a deep kiss to Will's lips and waited for Will to lie back down on the bed before he turned to Walter, nodding Walter out of the room.

Hannibal shut the door quietly and turned to Walter, silently waiting for an answer as to why they had been woken in the middle of the night, much against house rules. Walter took a deep breath. It's not like Hannibal would yell at him. He never did. His eyes would just hold disappointment in them and somehow that was almost worse.

"I didn't want to bother you earlier about this, but I can't sleep," Walter began and stopped when Hannibal gave an understanding nod.

"What's hurting you?" Hannibal asked softly.

"Other than my nose, my right shoulder blade is hot." Walter reached back to feel at the irritated skin under his shirt. "And my calf feels tight."

"Let's get you back to your room and I'll take care of you," Hannibal assured and Walter wondered if the man was too tired to care if his sleep had been interrupted.

"What does dad keep under his pillow?" Walter asked as Hannibal took his shoulder and led Walter back down the hall and towards his own room. There was a silence, but Walter knew Hannibal wouldn't lie to him. Neither Will nor Hannibal ever lied to him as far as he knew. It was an important rule that Will had established, curious why it was made. Had Hannibal lied to Will about something?

"A gun."

"Do you keep anything under your pillow?"

"No," Hannibal replied as they came to stand in front of Walter's bedroom door. Walter reached out and opened the door, letting them in, but he didn't turn on the light. When Hannibal entered the room, he could see a small form curled up in Walter's bed, sleeping soundly. Hannibal looked over Morgan curiously before he went to turn on the lamp on Walter's desk instead, guiding Walter down into his desk chair. "How often is he in your bed?"

Walter gave a shrug and winced at the protest from his stiff limbs. He pulled his shirt over his head and could feel Hannibal's eyes look over his back that was scraped and bruised. "He has nightmares," Walter answered softly. His teeth gritted together as Hannibal's fingers pressed into the inflamed skin at Walter's shoulder blade.

"So he comes to you?"

"He has ever since Margot and Alana died." Walter's hands took the edge of the desk and he held back a moan of pain as Hannibal dug into the muscle there.

"You're worse than normal," Hannibal pointed out, a single hand taking Walter's shoulder to hold the boy still while he continued to work at the knot with his other hand. "Did something happen today?"

"Dad didn't let me stop when I asked to rest."

Hannibal gave a sound of understanding behind Walter, but didn't say another word and Walter wondered if Will had told Hannibal the full truth about what had happened or not. "I think you strained your muscles," Hannibal explained. "After this let's get you some ice. I don't want you to do the next hand to hand training. You need to rest. If you overexert yourself, you will make it worse."

"You want me to skip hand to hand?" Walter asked in utter shock. He had never missed a single day of class or training. Not a single moment was put to waste and it was because Walter felt it was his obligation, his job and he had to live up to the pedestal that Morgan was on.

"Do I need to get you a doctor's note to give to Will?" Hannibal teased, causing Walter to snort with laughter. "You want to build your muscle up slowly, not hurt it. Relax the rest of this week and you will pick up hand to hand on Monday."

"Ok." Walter said with a bright smile, shoulder not feeling nearly so agitated now.

"Better?"

"Yes."

Hannibal released Walter and knelt down beside his chair. "Which leg?" Walter held out his left and Hannibal placed Walter's foot on his knee, fingers feeling at the muscle in his calf for a moment before massaging into it. "Morgan should stay in his own bed."

"I don't mind," Walter said softly, looking over to where Morgan was still fast asleep, tangled in Walter's sheets. "And I don't want him bothering you and dad."

"Walter," Hannibal said firmly, calling Walter's attention from the little boy and to his father. Walter looked over his father's face but couldn't exactly place what expression was there. Will always seemed to know what Hannibal was thinking, but Walter was never close when he guessed. The only time he ever knew was if Hannibal let the expression flood his eyes and at the moment, there was a steel locked door that Walter wouldn't be able to get through. "You are not his parent. That is not your role to play."

"I really don't mind, father," Walter tried again.

"It's unhealthy for you to take on that responsibility," Hannibal pushed as he worked at the muscle a little longer. "Will and I are his parents. If he has nightmares, he can come to us."

"What about the rules?" Walter asked in confusion. They kept all of the rules. Every rule. It had been engraved into Walter like a name on a grave. He had learned early on that when Hannibal said to do something, you did it without question. Each rule was there for a very specific reason and the punishment would be harsh if they were broken, though lately Walter seemed to be skating by and he didn't understand why.

"Rules are meant to keep you safe and everything stable. I do not expect the rules to be followed if you are hurting or needing help." Hannibal's eyes met Walter's to make sure he was understanding. "You needed help tonight, didn't you?" Walter gave a small nod. "Then you did nothing wrong other than give Will a heart attack."

"I didn't want to-"

"Walter," Hannibal interrupted gently, placing Walter's leg back on the ground. "You hold yourself up to impossible standards. You seem to think that everything is set in stone and there is no other route to take than the one your dad and I have set out. That is not true and I need you to understand that."

"Challenge everything," Walter muttered, recalling the words that Will had told him earlier that day.

"Quite right." Hannibal's hand reached out and gently caressed Walter's cheek. "You are getting old enough to start making your own choices. You won't need Will and me for very much longer. Start going out on your own a little. Do not feel afraid of Will and me. I don't want you to be afraid of us. We are here to help you, not scare you into doing what we want you to do."

Walter blinked as he tried to take in the words. Words that shattered everything that had been drilled into him for the last two years. Words that went against his very foundation that he had begun building the moment his mother was taken from him and Hannibal was shoved into that parental hole more out of necessity than any kind of want on Walter's part.

And it stuck Walter odd how easily he had just accepted Hannibal into his life. It had never occurred to him, but the first time he had seen his dad and Hannibal kiss, he had accepted that this was his life now. Maybe it was a survival tactic. Maybe he was frightened. He honestly didn't remember. There had been so much going on all at once that Walter wasn't even sure how long it took him to fully understand that his mother was dead.

"Are you understanding what I am telling you, mangustėl?"

"I don't want to take lessons with you anymore," Walter said absently, still mostly lost in trying to find the meanings of those words. "I want to go to a real school. I will train when I come home, after homework."

"You will have to speak German."

"Sink or swim," Walter agreed with a small nod, eyes still distant.

"Your dad has a lot on his mind at the moment," Hannibal announced, releasing his hold on Walter's face and rising to his feet. "How about we three discuss this come Monday? I would like a list of reasons why a more public school would be beneficial for you. If we can come to an agreement, you will of course be attending the finest private academy. I won't have your mind wasted in a public school. They will expect a lot from you, as will I. I will expect your grades not to slip and that you will finish all of your homework in a timely manner and continue your home studies as well. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," Walter answered softly.

"And this is susceptible to change based on the conversation."

"Of course." Walter gave a sigh and stood. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hannibal in a hug. "Thank you."

Morgan glanced up from his book as Walter entered the kitchen, jumping up onto the counter and pulling an apple from the fruit basket. He wiped it on his shirt and then took a bite of it, his back to Morgan.

Morgan frowned, eyes lowering back to his book. "You're not supposed to sit on the counter," Morgan reminded, turning the page though he wasn't much interested in the Italian scroll across the page anymore. He gave a small sigh and looked back up when Walter ignored him, another crunch of the apple sounding. "Wally."

"I will sit on the counter if I want," Walter shot back, voice more playful than sharp, though Morgan could read Walter's voice better than anyone else. He knew when Walter was upset or sad. He knew Walter better than anyone. He only spent nearly every living and breathing moment with him and Walter was annoyed.

"Father-"

"Father's not here," Walter pointed out, looking over his shoulder at Morgan while taking another bite of the apple. Morgan's lips pursed as juice ran down Walter's chin and he didn't bother to wipe it away. "You need to lighten up. Come play soccer with me."

"So that you get beat up again? No thank you," Morgan muttered, doing his best to focus his attention back on the book that he suddenly couldn't remember the plot of.

"We can play in the backyard. There's tons of room."

"No, thank you," Morgan replied, the words no longer making much sense to him as he watched Walter finally wipe at the juice on his chin and hop down from the counter.

"All you ever do is read. Don't you get bored? It's like school all day long." Walter moved over and snatched the book away from Morgan, looking over the title. "Il Principe. What's it about?"

"It's an Italian treatise from the 1300's. Give it back," Morgan said, reaching for the book, but Walter easily kept it out of reach.

"Riguardo a questi due metodi per diventare un principe per abilità o fortuna, desidero addurre due esempi-" (Regarding these two methods of becoming a prince by skill or luck, I would like to give two examples-)

"Wally, give it back."

Walter took a deep bite, finishing off his apple and tossed the book back to Morgan who caught it against his chest. Walter threw his core away into the trash can and moved back over to Morgan, leaning against the counter.

"Why on earth would you want to read some old essay thing?"

Morgan gave a sigh. "I find it interesting. Is it that hard to believe?"

"A bit," Walter stated with a smile, showing bits of apple in his teeth as he chewed it. He swallowed and looked over Morgan's disapproving glare with a new found brightness to his smile. "Come explore with me. We've never been to the west wing."

"There's nothing in the west wing that's any different from what's in the rest of the house." Morgan lowered himself from the bar stool and dropped to the ground.

"Come on Morgan. Maybe there's a library. Or maybe it's father's study. He would have a lot of fun books in there," Walter pushed again.

"No, Walter."

Walter frowned at the use of his full name, not used to it coming from the younger boy's mouth. "Right," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading out of the kitchen, barely giving Will enough warning to jump back and let him pass through the doorway.

"Nice to see you too," Will called after him, hoping for a reaction and getting none, let Walter go, focus coming to Morgan who was clutching the book to his chest. "What are you reading now, Morgan?" Will asked as he went to the fridge to dig through it. "It seems like you have a new book every time I lay eyes on you."

"Il Principe," Morgan replied softly, eyes still on the open door where Walter had once been. "Why does he hate me?"

Will paused, glancing over his shoulder, the young boy nearly hidden behind the counter. Will gave a sigh and closed the fridge, going for the pantry instead. He fished out a small case of lebkuchen cookies and pulled the pack open, setting it on the counter beside Morgan, who turned around. Will took one and looked over Morgan who stared at him in question.

"You're not supposed to have sweets before dinner," Morgan said softly before watching his dad take a bite of the cookie. "If father-"

"Father will not be home until later," Will pointed out, watching the boy's eyes drop down to the pack, though he still hesitated. His eyes returned to Will who gave a shrug and Morgan slowly reached out, pulling a cookie from the pack, taking a bite from it. "Our secret, ok?"

Morgan gave a small nod, setting his book up on the counter and climbing back up into the bar stool. "Can I have a glass of milk?"

Will gave a nod, setting his cookie down before fetching two glasses and the brown glass bottle of milk from the fridge. Will poured each of them a glass and passed one to Morgan who drank from it quickly, setting the glass aside with a milk mustache across his lip. Will smiled, but said nothing as Morgan took another bite of the cookie.

"Walter doesn't hate you," Will stated strongly, holding out the pack of cookies for Morgan to take another one before he went to put the pack away.

"How do you know?" Morgan questioned, not feeling very in the mood for the cookies anymore. His eyes were trapped on crumbs that scattered the black countertop until Will used a rag to wipe them away, removing any evidence of the broken rule. "I don't feel like I belong here."

"What do you mean?" Will asked in confusion. "Just because your brother-"

"But he's not my brother," Morgan whispered, wiping at his mouth and pushing his cookie and glass of milk aside. "He says so all of the time. And I know he's not. I wasn't that old when..." Morgan trailed off, the picture of his mother pulling him behind her as the gun went off. He could remember the heat of her blood over his face. "I wasn't that old, but I remember what happened. I know you took me away."

"It was to protect you. We promised your mom," Will explained gently. "You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes," Morgan answered softly, eyes dropping back to the countertop.

Morgan sighed and rested his head on the counter, eyes full of nothing but the blackness of the countertops as he relived that night just as he did in his nightmares. He could remember the promise. He could remember his mom laying on the ground, a pool of blood around her that was too big to do anything to fix. Morgan understood that now, after all of the medical training that Hannibal put him through daily. Sometimes there was nothing you could do, sometimes the puddles of blood were too big and you just had to know. And he remembered Hannibal ordering Will to take him from the room and to hide both him and Walter, then being shoved into a closet where Walter hugged him until the door opened again and Will stood there.

"Are we a family?"

"Yes," Will replied soberly, leaning back against the counter, looking over the younger boy. "And Walter is your brother whether he believes it or not. We'll always be here for you Morgan. Anything you need."

Morgan nodded against the counter. "Where does father always go after classes?"

"He works."

"Doing what?" Morgan sat up at that, head tipped sideways in question. "We don't need the money."

"I think it relaxes him," Will answered with a small shrug, grabbing the milk and putting it back into the fridge. "He enjoys having something that's strictly his. He's a very private person."

"But what does he do?" Morgan asked once more.

"Therapy."

Morgan blinked at the answer. He hadn't expected it. He knew that Hannibal was a doctor. He could recall when he had come to their house and was fixed up, everyone referred to him as Dr. Lecter, but he had never been certain what kind of doctor he was, nor did he much care to ask. He found it was better to keep his father as shrouded in mystery as what was possible because Morgan knew he wouldn't like what he found underneath.

Morgan had a fair idea, he wasn't stupid, but he didn't want it answered. He never wanted to know the absolute truth because he never wanted to come to face the two men who were kind to him and were raising him as their own and see them as monsters.

And Morgan knew they were all monsters deep down. He recognized the differences between his previous life and this one. And he knew the differences from his private tutors' lessons back in America and the lessons that Hannibal and Will taught him.

Math was so very different from learning the conversion rates of a ruble to a euro.

P.E. was different from hand to hand and gun training.

Arts and crafts, like spaghetti necklaces for Mother's Day, were not the same as copying a passport.

Morgan's eyes met Will's, the monster nowhere to be found, only the kind blue. The monster was only there when it needed to be. Just as controlled as Hannibal's was. Just as restless and caged until it was needed.

"Walter doesn't hate you," Will said, returning back to the earlier question asked. "I think he just feels like he isn't good enough."

"So he is jealous," Morgan muttered. "I just pay more attention than him. You should see him in class. He's constantly looking out of the window or drawing instead of listening. If he would listen then maybe-"

Will gave a laugh that startled Morgan into silence. Something happier than he normally sounded. Will ruffled at Morgan's dark hair, making it stick up. "Don't be too hard on your brother. He's just in a difficult time growing up. You start to get restless around his age. You'll understand when you're older. Just focus on your studies and you'll be fine. Don't worry about Walter."

Walter caught the soccer ball as it fell down where he had thrown it above him. His back was pressed into his bed and he stared boredly up at the ceiling while playing pass back with himself. He knew that by now dinner was well underway and he couldn't bring himself to care to go downstairs to help make it. He knew it would make dinner a little more uncomfortable, but as Hannibal had said, he had choices and right now his choice was staying in his room where he could be lost with his thoughts.

There was a knock at his door and Walter lowered the ball onto his chest, pulling his earphones from his ears and waiting for the door to open.

"Dinner is ready, Walter," Will's voice said from the other side. "Please hurry down."

Walter sat up curiously. There was something in Will's voice that he couldn't quite place. Something sad almost, but that wasn't the right word. Maybe he was just tired. They were going on a camping trip again tomorrow and Will had been packing all day. Or at least that's what Hannibal had told them during class when Will didn't show up for breakfast.

Walter was a bit suspicious about it. Will never missed breakfast. Maybe he was sick. There was one time where Will caught the flu and was in bed for several days. He had come down for breakfast the first day and Hannibal forced him back to bed, canceling morning classes so that he could make sure Will was ok.

Walter sat up and placed the ball on his bed before heading from his bedroom and down the hall for the stairs. He entered the dining room and took his normal seat next to Morgan where his place was set. Will was across from him and was looking pale. Maybe he was sick. And Hannibal was at the head of the table, where he always sat. It was the same every night.

Morgan looked down at the bowl in front of him, the dish only seeming to dig in the fact that Will wasn't feeling well. It was soup. Black Silkie Chicken broth with red dates, wolfberries, bok choy, ginseng and white fungus. It was something that Hannibal fully believed in needing to be eaten when someone was sick. It was medicinal and good enough for the ancient Chinese, so why wouldn't it be good enough for them?

It's flavor was weird when Walter had first been ill and made to eat it, but as time went on, he found that he didn't mind the flavor. It was most likely the ginseng that Walter hadn't much cared for because he didn't like the hint of licorice flavor it added to the broth.

Walter glanced around at the oddly quiet table, but didn't say anything as Hannibal dipped his spoon into his soup, giving a silent permission for them to join, though Will just stared at his bowl. Walter's eyes didn't leave Will as he picked up his own spoon. Will was sick. There wasn't anything else about it.

His skin was pale and he looked fevered, chilled and tired. He was still in what he wore to bed instead of his normal dress clothes that Hannibal had put Will in once they had left, hardly any plaid or khakis anymore. Only when they went camping.

Hannibal must have made Will stay in bed all day. Would they still be going on their camping trip this weekend? Hannibal wasn't one to usually tag along in them. It just wasn't his thing. Walter was sure Hannibal could do anything he needed to to survive in the wild, but he was much more suited for the life of high class luxury.

Walter caught movement and watched as Hannibal reached out, taking one of Will's hands in his, calling Will's attention to his face. "Vous vous sentez toujours malade, beau garçon?" (Are you still feeling sick, handsome boy?)

Walter gave a small nod to himself. Will was sick. Hannibal would speak specifically in other languages to Will when Will was sick. Will said it was because it was comforting to hear the sounds that Hannibal's voice could make, but Walter thought it had more to do with the fact that Hannibal wanted to make sure Will was mentally all there, not about to slip away again.

It had been a long time since Will had a slip in memory, but Walter was more than aware how worried about it Hannibal was. Walter couldn't blame him. It had been like missing half of his dad when Will had come home from the hospital after being found two years ago.

Will gave a small nod in answer, placing a kiss to the back of Hannibal's hand before releasing it and folding his arms over the table. Hannibal reached out and gently caressed Will's cheek, finger trailing down the scar that sat there, still brightly white.

"Mangez quelque chose, s'il vous plaît, et je vous recoucherai," Hannibal instructed before returning to his food, him and Morgan the only ones who had touched their food so far. "Vous devez vous hydrater." (Eat something, please, and I'll put you back to bed. You need to hydrate.)

Walter wasn't much interested in dinner anymore. Instead, his focus was on his parents. It was always so interesting to Walter how they treated each other. Will was a god and Hannibal was immortal. Both defied anything human, unable to be categorized. Both just as in love with each other as Walter had ever seen them. He had seen his mother fall out of love many times, but Hannibal and Will only seemed to grow stronger in their relationship. Something that was honestly nice to see. He hated when his mother would stop caring because it would carry over to him in some odd roundabout away that Walter could never exactly name.

"Please eat Walter. Your soup is going to go cold," Hannibal instructed, hand taking Will's again, attention now on the boys.

Walter blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts and looked over to Morgan who was nearly done with his bowl. He glanced back up to see Will obey Hannibal's pleas for him to get something into his system before going back to bed, eating some of the soup.

Walter glanced down at his frozen hand that had a spoon halfway dipped into the soup and finished the motion, scooping up some of the broth. He placed it into his mouth and did his best to keep his face from showing any sort of emotion. It was wrong. The flavor profile was wrong. Salty. Far too salty. And Hannibal wouldn't over season something. Never once had Hannibal ever over seasoned anything. Everything was always absolutely perfect because he couldn't stand it to be anything less than perfect.

Walter's eyes met Hannibal's, who was watching him, and he inhaled through his nose, taking his napkin from beside his bowl and raising it to his mouth. His eyes stayed locked with Hannibal's as he spit the broth from his mouth into the cloth napkin. The knowing in Hannibal's gaze sent a shiver through Walter's body.

Walter cleared his throat and set the napkin down on the table. "Father?" he asked, voice steady, mind racing. Salty. What left a salty taste? What was making Morgan look like he was falling asleep beside him? "Do we have any leftovers from last night?"

"Is there something wrong with the food?" Hannibal questioned, setting his own things down and sitting up a little straighter.

"I'm just not in the mood for soup tonight. Was there anything left over from last night?" Walter tried again, keeping his voice as respectful as possible and pretending not to notice Morgan's slumping body.

"I will make you a plate," Hannibal said lightly, placing his own napkin from his lap onto the dark wooden table top and rose to his feet. He placed a kiss to Will's head as he passed and left the room.

Walter's eyes moved over to his dad, taking in Will's complexion again. He was having a panic attack, he wasn't sick, but it would make him sick. He was worried about something, though Walter still couldn't exactly place the reason that everything was going the way it was. But if Will had been suffering from it all day, enough to make it so he couldn't leave his bed, then there was something wrong.

"Gamma-butyrolactone?" Walter asked into the room, watching very carefully the way that Will froze. His mouth eventually tipped into a frown. "The soup was salty."

"Gamma-hydroxybutyrate," Will replied in a barely audible voice. "Walter, I-I-"

"You don't have to explain," Walter said, getting to his feet and moving over to check on Morgan. He placed a hand beside Morgan's nose and at breath, Walter's fingers pressed into Morgan's neck to check his pulse. "I don't want to know." His eyes went to his watch as he counted.

Walter's heart came to an abrupt stop as a strong hand snatched at his shoulder and pulled him away from Morgan. There was a pain in his neck and he tried to reach back at the person who held him, but he couldn't pull from the hand that kept him firmly in place.

Walter could see Will's face swim in his vision, an expression of regret and pain. The needle was pulled from his neck and Walter's watery feeling legs were moving until he was back in his chair at the table, the room spinning and suddenly inordinately bright. He blinked through the light and could feel something grip at his face, or maybe it wasn't his face. He wasn't quite sure anymore if he even had a face.

But there were maroon eyes in front of him and words vibrating through him from a strong accent that he knew. He shook his head at the garbled mess, trying to make sense of it and it was the last thing he could place before his hearing went away like his vision.

"Atsiprašau, mangustėl. Suprasite pabudę." (Sorry mongoose. You will understand when you wake up.)