The Silence Of The Lecters

by A. David

Sequel to Losing You Terrifies me. What happens to two young boys raised by serial killers on the run? Back home a new case with a killer going after young women starts to become too much to handle. Will the boys return home to help solve it or go their own way?

6. Chapter 6

"Why does he get to go to a normal school?" Morgan questioned as Walter raced out of the front door after Will who was walking him to school. The door shut and Morgan frowned. Hannibal placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Because he is older and can make his own choices," Hannibal explained. "When you're his age we will discuss other options for you if that is what you desire. For now, it is time to start your lessons for the day as well."

"Will we go back to Germany someday?" Morgan asked as he was led from the front of the villa and to the stone staircase that led up to the attic where the new classroom was. "I miss it."

"I thought you would enjoy Venice," Hannibal stated, hand still on Morgan's shoulder as they entered the smaller space.

"Everything is smaller here," Morgan grumbled, taking his seat at his desk. "I don't like the city much. It's too loud. It's hard to sleep at night."

"Even in Walter's bed?"

Hannibal glanced down at his son's silence and gave a small tip of his head. He wound himself up to his desk and leaned against the edge of it with his arms folded. Morgan waited quietly, eyes on Hannibal, but no lesson seemed to start. Morgan tipped his head to the side, mirroring Hannibal's stance and Hannibal gave a small smile.

"If you have nightmares, you are welcome to come to your dad and me," Hannibal finally said after the silence drew on a little too long. "Walter and you are both growing boys who need sleep. Please come to me if you are having problems sleeping."

"Yes, sir," Morgan answered with a nod, embarrassment painting over his cheeks. "I wasn't aware that you-"

"Kleiner hase," Hannibal interrupted kindly. "Do not think that things go unnoticed in my house. And since when am I Sir, to you?"

"They must have if you haven't said anything before," Morgan answered, shifting in his seat, head tipping to the other side.

Hannibal felt his teeth show in a smile at the cheeky comment. "You have traits of Will in you, kleiner hase." Hannibal pushed himself from the desk and moved over to Morgan, kneeling beside his desk. Morgan stared at Hannibal curiously. It was always a surprise to him when Hannibal lowered himself down to Morgan's level. Morgan had always thought of Hannibal as above him and to always see him eye level when he was a god, made Morgan feel a little out of place. "kleiner hase, we need to discuss last weekend."

"I know I didn't help like I was asked to and I-"

"No, no, no," Hannibal quickly interrupted, hand reaching out to take Morgan's in reassurance. "You do not have to help in those ways if you do not wish. I have asked a lot from you and to expect you to assist in those aspects would be irresponsible of me."

"Then what do we need to talk about?"

Hannibal gave Morgan's hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "The soup."

"Oh," Morgan answered with a nod. "You drugged us."

"You didn't notice," Hannibal agreed, getting back to his feet and moving to his desk to sit behind it. "You must always be aware of your surroundings, Morgan. You must always check your food. I know it is a lot to remember and I do not expect you to remember it all and not all of it is important while you are living at home with your dad and me. We will protect you to the best of our abilities, but there will come a day when you have to be on your own and I can't tell you the food is drugged."

"The food was salty," Morgan said with a nod, eyes up in thought. "But you and Dad were eating it just fine so I just thought maybe you had messed up."

"Messed up," Hannibal repeated with a small chuckle. "I do not mess up food. It should have been a big enough hint, Morgan."

Morgan gave a small nod. "I know what they taste like. You've taught me that. I'm not sure what else there is for you to teach me about them. And what if the food really is just overly salty?"

"We're going to start building a tolerance in your body to common sedatives and tranquilizers," Hannibal explained. "It is important that you are not taken off guard again."

"What about Walter?"

"I will discuss it with him when he returns home." Hannibal leaned back in his chair. "He was cautious enough to notice the soup was drugged." Morgan gave a small nod in understanding. "It is important that if you can't avoid being drugged your goal should be to maintain consciousness, feign greater symptoms than you have, and use that as an advantage."

"Pretend to be drugged, even though I'm being drugged?" Morgan asked in confusion. "I don't understand."

"We will build up your tolerance, but you still need to be cautious. You have a smaller frame than Walter does. You will be more affected by drugs than he will be. We need to work on your detection and then if there is something in your food or drink, you need to keep your drugger under the belief that the drug has worked. The idea is to keep them unaware."

"Are you going to be drugging all of my food from now on?"

"No," Hannibal replied with a shake of his head. "We will start slow. Your first test will be right now. We're going to go down to the kitchen and I will make several items. One or more might contain some form of drugs. You will try each one, tell me which ones are drugged and then you should be awake in time for your brother to arrive home."

Morgan blinked several times, taking in the words. "And how often will we do this?"

"Once a day until you are able to identify them."

"And if I know you're drugging everything, then how will I be able to-"

"I will keep you on your toes, son. You do not let your guard down, do you understand?" Hannibal asked, getting from his desk and dismissing the lesson he had planned in leu of this new one. "Come with me."

Morgan got from his desk and raced after Hannibal's long strides, back down the stairs and into the kitchen, sitting when Hannibal instructed him to at the counter bar. He waited for Hannibal to return from the other room and he stared as several bottles were placed onto the counter in front of him.

Morgan reached out and took the first one, looking over it and reading the label. Rohypnol. Morgan glanced up as Hannibal began digging through the fridge for some vegetables.

"This is meant for insomnia," Morgan said, spinning the bottle to read the back of it. "Is it over the counter?"

"You need a prescription, but it's not difficult to get your hands on," Hannibal answered as he went to his knife block, inspecting a knife and, finding it not sharp enough for his liking, went about sharpening it. "It is ten times more potent than Valium. It has amnesiatic effects."

"You make it sound like I'm going to be putting myself into situations where I'll be drugged," Morgan grumbled, setting the bottle down to grab the other one, listening to the comforting sound of vegetables being chopped up.

"It is better to be safe than sorry, Morgan," Hannibal pushed, glancing up from his work to see the boy pick up the next bottle.

"Gravol?" Morgan asked, fingers trailing over the label. "What does this do?"

"It's used for motion sickness, but when mixed with other chemicals it can produce the effect of dimenhydrinate."

"I'm assuming the same thing happens with Benadryl," Morgan muttered as he moved onto the next bottle. "What chemicals? Alcohol? Because those two are relatively easy to just pick up at the store, aren't they?"

Hannibal smiled with a small nod. "So you do pay attention in class."

"Of course I do!" Morgan argued defensively. "Walter's the one who doesn't!"

Hannibal chuckled at the outburst that didn't normally come from Morgan unless Walter was messing with him. "Walter still pays attention, Morgan. He fidgets somedays, but he is just as good as you in all subjects."

"Even German?"

Morgan could see the small tip of Hannibal's lips and Morgan smiled at the truth that was in the curl on his father's mouth. "Even German," Hannibal finally answered, adding oil to a pan of the stovetop for it to heat up. "He might be slower than you, but that does not dampen his mind. He is just as smart as you."

"If you say so," Morgan muttered with a small shrug, reaching out for the next bottle. Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid. "This is the one that you gave us."

"Correct," Hannibal agreed as he put the vegetables he had chopped into the pan before adding some balsamic and garlic salt to them. Hannibal went back to the fridge and pulled out some fresh berries. "Morgan, you need to understand that something even as simple as ibuprofen can be used against you. You have to be vigilant and cognizant."

"Codeine," Morgan muttered before he picked up the last bottle. "Ketamine." Morgan set aside the last bottle and watched as Hannibal added the berries to a pot on the stove. "And you won't tell me which one you're using?"

"Part of your lesson is knowing which drug is being used. Everything that I teach you is important and could save your life."

Morgan frowned, reaching out for one of the bottles once more, opening it and smelling at the contents. There was a faint chemicaliness to the bottle, but not much else. Morgan looked over the pills curiously before dumping them out on the counter to look over them, touching each one absently with an index finger.

"Would it have saved my moms?" Morgan asked with sadness in his eyes.

"So einfach ist das nicht, kleiner hase," ("It's not that simple, little bunny,) Hannibal said kindly knowing how difficult the topic was for the child. "The human body's functions are easily affected, and it takes too many years to master methods that can help a person to temporarily prevent the malfunction or at least stabilize it until a surgeon can try to repair something that might not quite repair completely," he explained.

"Were they beyond help?" Morgan asked in a whisper.

"Yes."

"Did you try?" he asked, doing his best to not cry.

"With all my being, I assure you. I hate to lose a person in my care, that's why I gave up on surgery."

"So you became a mind´s doctor," the boy stated firmly with a nod as he scooped all of the pills up and put them back into the bottle he had dumped them from.

"A psychiatrist," Hannibal corrected kindly as he flipped the vegetables in the pan before stirring at the berries that were boiling on the stove.

"Why?"

"I don't like to lose a patient in my-"

"But you kill, Father." Morgan's eyes were bright with questions as they watched Hannibal work.

"I do." Hannibal reached out to the counter and took all the bottles in his hand, placing them beside the stove. "Close your eyes for a moment Morgan. You don't get to see what I put in these."

Morgan exhaled deeply and did as he was asked, swiveling back and forth in his chair while he listened closely to what Hannibal was doing to see if he could guess which item Hannibal would use.

"Why is that different?" Morgan asked as the room slowly began to disorient.

"I-I appreciate life, Morgan, I do. What I don't appreciate is that others waste it. If I find uselessness in that I have no problem to take what they are wasting," he explained in as simple of terms as he could. It wouldn't do to lie to the child, but it also wouldn't do to give him all of the details. He was still far too young. "I found another way to better other people's chances in life through psychiatry that surgery could not help."

"What part of surgery couldn't help them?"

"I am afraid of making a mistake that costs other people a loved one," he stated solemnly. "You can open your eyes again Morgan."

"You have performed surgeries on us," Morgan reminded as he blinked his eyes open. Hannibal was setting out several things in front of him on several dishes. A stir fry that was steaming and hot, a raspberry jam, some leftover rice from the night before and some carrot slices and hummus that Hannibal had made a day or two prior for a snack for Walter.

"Simple ones that will not cost your life. I am sure that If I had to choose between trying or losing one of you I will take the risk." Hannibal's smile was soft and he rested his hip against the counter with his arms folded and a hand towel over his shoulder. "Losing either one of you is not an option as far as I am concerned."

"Do you know why my mom didn't go for surgery?"

"I am afraid we never discussed it, but knowing her as I did, I believe that it was more a matter of vocation to help others in a field not as well studied. I believe that for her it was a challenge. Not much is known about the mind, Morgan. It is quite fascinating."

"So… Surgery is a field that you really need to be the very best in to leave a mark because of the many people in it?"

"In a way… Yes," Hannibal whispered. "But you're not meant to leave a notable mark in surgery. It's about saving the person, not about the recognition that comes with it. Saving a life is more important. It shouldn't feed a hero's complex."

"A hero's complex?" Morgan asked curiously as he reached out to pull the several dishes more within his reach to look over them.

"No matter the situation or the odds, they want to be the ones that save the day," Hannibal explained, watching Morgan carefully, but Morgan didn't eat anything. He simply stared cautiously.

"If I wanted to go into the medical field, would it be more rewarding to go into surgery or psychiatry?" Morgan questioned. "I feel like finding a way to stop the bleeding while others try to prevent it might mean more in the end. And you can see physical recovery far better than you can mental. I think I'd prefer to go into surgery."

"What a stunning boy you are, kleiner hase," Hannibal said, smiling. "Seems to me, that you have had to find yourself a challenge at a very young age. I will teach you everything you need to know if that is the route that you want to follow."

"You'll teach me?" Morgan asked with a small smile coming to his face as he reached out for the spoon for the jam that Hannibal had made. Hannibal's hand reached out and stilled Morgan's hand before Morgan could pull the spoon to himself. "What?"

"You don't have to do this Morgan," Hannibal answered in assurance. "If this frightens you or-"

"It's important," Morgan answered, brows furrowed in confusion. "I need to learn this."

"You sound like Walter." Hannibal's smile was fond.

"I trust you, Father. I always have. You're not going to hurt me."

"Why are you so sure?"

"You've had countless chances," Morgan explained, his free hand reaching out to pull Hannibal's from his. He put the spoon to his lips and met Hannibal's eyes. "Not to mention what dad would do to you if you did anything to me." Morgan placed the spoon in his mouth and licked it clean, carefully noting the flavor, smiling at Hannibal's slightly surprised look.

"What Will would do indeed," Hannibal muttered, stepping back from the counter to pick up all of the drugs that he had pulled out. "Just a small bit of each please. I don't want you falling out of your chair. When I come back, I want to know your findings."

Morgan watched Hannibal leave before he dropped down from the counter and took the jam with him. It would be a waste, but he tossed it into the sink, turning on the water to wash it away. He then moved onto the stir fry and the fork, taking a bite of the veggies. He frowned and spit them back out on the plate. Rosemary. Other than that, they might have been fine, he wasn't about to find out. That went into the trash with a small smile. Hannibal would be upset if he wasted that food without a reason other than rosemary, but he was wasting food by drugging it anyways.

Then the hummus. There was something wrong with that. Morgan couldn't place it, but it was wrong. He spit it into the trash along with the stir fry and then went for the rice. A single spoonful of that and Morgan nodded, letting that be the only thing that he didn't throw away.

Morgan glanced back up to Hannibal when Hannibal entered the kitchen once more, drying his hands on the hand towel before he tossed it back over his shoulder. Hannibal stopped and looked over the kitchen curiously. His eyes landed on Morgan and Morgan looked back, head tipped to the side.

"They start to work quickly, don't they?" Morgan asked as a heaviness began to fill his limbs and his mind quieted just a bit.

"We'll adjust your dosages as we go," Hannibal explained with a nod. "This is a baseline to see what you know and how your body reacts."

"The jam. There was a bitterness under the sweetness. You tried to counter it with extra sugar. It was grainy," Morgan explained. Hannibal folded his arms over his chest as he listened to the young child. "You should have let it cook longer."

Hannibal gave a huff of laughter. "I will keep that in mind, Morgan. What drug was in the jam?"

"Ketamine, I would have to guess." A hand went to Morgan's head and Hannibal moved quickly forward, scooping the young boy up and into his arms. Morgan let himself be carried through the house and towards his room.

"What else, Morgan?"

"The hummus was bitter too. Almost like cough syrup." Morgan rested his head against Hannibal's shoulder as his head began to feel heavy. "Codeine."

"What about the stir fry?"

"Rosemary. You know I don't like rosemary," Morgan grumbled, arms weak and unable to hold to his father any longer. His bed was soft beneath him as he was laid in it and he couldn't remember Hannibal having entered the room.

"Was there anything in the stir fry?" Hannibal pressed.

"No. And nothing in the rice."

"Then why did you throw it away?"

Morgan could feel his hair being brushed back, but his vision was already black and Hannibal's voice far away. "Rosemary." There was a small laugh from Hannibal.

"You only took a small bite from each, right?"

"Yes." Morgan could feel the way the word slurred from his mouth.

"I'll be in to check on you in a little while. Ketamine and Codeine can be extremely..." Hannibal's voice faded away.

---

Walter's pencil tapped on his desktop and he shifted uncomfortably in his uniform. He hadn't thought about what he would be wearing everyday now that he was shoved into a private school. If he had known that it would be this bad, he wouldn't have complained when Hannibal wanted him to wear nice jeans and a button-down shirt.

The tie was suffocating, and the jacket was a thick and scratchy fabric that did not bear in mind that they were currently in the end of summer or that the building did not hold an air conditioning unit.

Walter pulled at the knot against his throat and looked out the window at the sunny day that he would have loved to be playing soccer in more than sitting in the classroom. But this was what he wanted. He had wanted something normal. He had wanted to get out of the house more. He wanted to be away from all of the darkness that lurked in the corners of that beautiful villa.

But he couldn't seem to exactly escape the claw of either Will or Hannibal. He saw far too much, could observe far too much, imagine situations far too much. He saw each of these people far deeper than he wanted to because of Will. Will had taught him empathy, reopened his imagination from where it had been closed off in baseball. He could pick apart people's minds because of Hannibal. Hannibal had shown him all of the psychology tricks that Will was always so horribly conscious of whenever he spoke with Hannibal about something serious.

And there was always a bully. Walter had been able to pick the kid out the first day. Had tried to be nice to the kid the first day. Some fourteen-year-old who thought he ran the school because his father made the largest donations to the school. Walter was certain that Hannibal could have matched an easily exceeded any check that the kid's dad could write, but there was no point in the world knowing that.

His black hair was perfectly gelled back and his eyes reminded Walter of coke with how dark they were. Skin tanned from spending days in the summer sun. He had two other goonies that trailed behind him and Walter guessed that they only liked the boy because of the money he had. The others were nowhere near as well off if the wear and tear of their uniforms was anything to go off of.

Ivano was his name. But there was nothing holy or gracious about him unless you were a teacher. Teachers looked past the physical violence that he liked to show to anyone around him, even his two goons.

And the physical violence was nothing like what David had done to Walter back in Germany. This was different. Slamming hands in door jams, stapling fingers with the staplers when the line for the stapler became too long and he didn't want to wait anymore, burning people with the metal strip in rulers that he would heat up with friction and the sole of his shoe. He was creative, Walter had to give him that. And it got the boy exactly what he wanted. He ruled with fear and Walter was curious if Hannibal would be proud or if he would find the boy extremely rude just like Walter did or probably, sadly dull.

Ivano reminded Walter a bit of Danny. It had been a long time since he had thought of the boy and what possibly befell him, curious if he was still just as mentally gone as Walter felt he was becoming, wondering if Jordan had taught his son everything that Hannibal and Will were now teaching him. Would he end up in a corrections facility for children like he had been? Would doctors slowly pick apart his mind? Not like one didn't do that already.

The class was finally dismissed and Walter snatched up his books, hurrying from the room to head to his gym class. As luck would have it, they were in the middle of their soccer unit and Walter was finally enjoying something other than math for once. At least those two things were the same when it came to the language barrier he was still navigating, though he was faring far better here than he was in Germany. There was a small comfort in the idea that math and soccer would always be the same no matter where he ended up.

In the locker rooms, Walter changed to his dark blue gym shorts and gray shirt that had the school logo on it. He had just shoved his shoe back onto his foot when there was a loud, metallic crash.

Walter glanced up just in time to see a boy, who was incredibly small and underweight for his age, tumble to the floor. He most likely suffered from some form of ADHD, Walter concluded. Medications with Methylphenidate used to handle the neurodevelopmental disorder often led to an affected appetite and slowed long-term growth.

Ivano picked the child from the ground and his back was slammed up against the row of lockers, medium colored curly hair bouncing with the force as another loud clanging filled the locker room. Other kids passed by, not saying a thing, most far too afraid to stand up to Ivano. But the fear in those stormy blue eyes pulled at something in Walter, though he couldn't exactly name what it was that made him feel protective of the kid he didn't know.

"Give me your lunch money," Ivano ordered in Italian. Such a cliche role for him to play. Normally he was far more entertaining than that. Walter sighed and pulled his foot up onto the bench he sat on to tie his shoelaces. "Now!" There was another crash and a whimper as the small boy's head slammed into the locker.

Walter's eyes once more flickered up to the scene that was still going ignored and he bit his bottom lip, Hannibal's words from his first day of school once more replaying in his head as they so often did.

You need to learn how to control yourself when Will and I aren't there to guide you. There will be many situations in which you will feel the urgency of being involved, but the safety of all of us relies on as low of a profile you can manage, Mangustėli.

Walter inhaled deeply, something almost painful as he finally placed exactly what made him want to help the kid. He looked like Morgan and the idea of protection that had been drilled into him was working the way that Will and Hannibal had always meant it to. But the idea of another restart for their family, especially for Morgan, and losing the possibility of attending a real school made up his mind. He straightened himself up and left the locker room, turning a blind eye like the rest of the school.

He found himself out on the field with the rest of the boys, most of whom were fooling around until the teacher called the attention of the class. He grabbed a ball from the large crate at the edge of the field and dropped it to his feet. He kicked it away from the group and made himself busy on his own. He didn't really have friends, not that he cared. It was only his second week, so there was still time, but he wasn't honestly sure what he would do with a friend who wasn't Morgan.

It wasn't like he could introduce them to his family. His parents stayed as hidden behind closed doors as they could while feeding into their hobbies as they liked to call it. And he would have to lie about everything. Well, he wouldn't lie. That had been drilled into him too. No lying, just carefully constructed truths.

No one would actually know him. No one else had parents like his, no one else was in his same situation, no one else could understand him like Morgan could. So it was just better off for him to stick with the kid and be alone. It was safer for everyone.

Class started off without a hitch, running drills which Walter didn't mind, even with the blaring summer heat, wishing he could just go relax in the fountain in the backyard before starting to work on that tree house that Morgan had wanted built.

Hannibal had been more than happy to obtain the supplies and had offered to help Walter construct the house which was slowly coming together. Walter was meant to draw out the plans for Will to approve and until such a time, the wood and all of the tools sat waiting in the backyard. And it wouldn't so much be a treehouse as it would be a fort of some sort. The only trees they had in their backyard were peaches, lemons and an olive tree, all of which would never be able to hold up a treehouse, but Walter was certain he could figure out some sort of stilts so there would still be a ladder for Morgan to climb.

Walter was pulled from his thoughts as a ball raced past him. He followed it carefully and watched as it met with curly haired boy's ankles and sent him careening into the ground. There was some snickering from Ivano and Walter frowned, hands clenched as he tried not to engage.

Instead, he made his way over to the kid who had sat up and was looking over his knee that was scraped up and bleeding lightly. He held out his hand and the kid looked up with those pale blue eyes in question.

"You're alright," Walter assured in Italian with a small shrug. "You won't bleed out or anything." The boy stared at his hand and didn't make any move to take it. Walter rolled his eyes. "It doesn't have teeth. It's not going to bite you."

"You talk funny," he muttered, finally taking Walter's hand and being tugged from the sun burnt grass. "People don't talk like that here."

"I'm not people," Walter muttered, reaching out to dust dirt and grass from the kid's shirt. "I'm Grant."

"Giovanni," the boy replied, eyes turned down. "You really aren't from here, are you?"

Walter gave another shrug. "I'm from all over. Are you alright?"

There was a hint of a smile on Giovanni's face. "You didn't have to help me. No one else does."

Walter didn't answer, just glanced up to where Ivano was busy with his two goons, most likely planning something else. The three were huddled closely together in line for their turn to run the drill again. He pulled the ball towards him and took Giovanni's arm, pulling him back in line so they wouldn't get in trouble for not participating.

There was a whistle that called off the drills and the class was separated into two teams for a scrimmage. Giovanni had taken a rather close stance next to Walter back at the goal and Walter didn't mention the way the boy hovered. Walter was probably the first person who had ever been nice to him, which was a shame, but Walter couldn't dwell on that now. He had other things to worry about, namely a ball that was coming for him.

Being goalie hadn't been his first pick, but he supposed he was fairly good at it as he was always shoved into that spot. He seemed to be taller than the other boys and could jump higher to block the ball, which was just fine with him on a blistering hot day like that day was.

Walter lowered his center of gravity, hands up and ready to snatch the ball from whatever angle that it was sent in. Only, the direction that Walter had thought the ball would go was in a different direction completely.

Ivano's leg reeled back and his foot made contact with the ball. Before Walter had a chance to react, the ball collided with Giovanni's chest and sent the kid back to the dirt, moaning and gasping from the wind being knocked out of him, a feeling that Walter knew all too well.

Walter dropped his hands to his sides and raced out of the goalie box to the collapsed kid, kneeling beside him. He pushed Giovanni onto his back to try to open up his airway and did his best to ignore the way that tears were pouring down his cheeks from terrified eyes.

"Sit up," Walter commanded softly, taking Giovanni's shoulders and dragging the sputtering child upright. "You need to focus on your breathing," Walter instructed, a hand pressing to Giovanni's diaphragm that was spasming. "Inhale deeply, come on." There was a sharp gasp and the boy shuttered. "Exhale fully." Giovanni obeyed, though it was just as jittery as his inhale. "Good. Again."

By this point a small group had formed around them and the teacher was pushing himself through the crowd of boys to kneel beside the two of them. He glanced over the situation for a moment, clearly unsure what exactly to do to help.

Walter rolled his eyes. What a pathetic person to have on staff. A physical education teacher who didn't know basic first aid. Not that a temporarily paralyzed diaphragm was anything to worry greatly over, it would right itself in a minute or two, but the sentiment still stood. The teacher was incompetent.

"Grant, will you take him to the nurse's office, please?" the teacher asked with a small sigh.

Walter gave a nod, though he was still focused on the finally breathing Giovanni. "Are you ok?" he asked softly.

"Boys, give them some space," the teacher instructed and slowly the crowd dispersed.

"Fine," Giovanni got out, voice rough. He wiped at the tears on his cheeks and Walter hoisted him to his feet.

"Let's get you to the nurse's office. They can at least clean up your knee and get you some water," Walter muttered. Giovanni simply nodded, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. There was a laugh and Walter's eyes flashed up to where Ivano was high fiving one of his group and the boiling that Walter had been trying to keep down was finally overflowing. "Get going. I'll be there in a moment."

Giovanni gave a confused look, but nodded and started the walk back to the school. Walter used his foot to pop the nearby ball up and into his hand, eyes tight on Ivano. He walked over to the group, not even sure he dared to say anything. It wasn't until he was nearly next to them that he called that name.

"Ivano."

He turned around and Walter took a few quick steps, drop kicking the ball as hard as he could. There was a satisfying ping from the ball connecting with Ivano's face and Walter let out a deep breath, body tense with adrenaline.

Ivano dropped to the ground with a bright cry, hands over his face and Walter stepped closer, simply watching as his two friends scurried back and away from him. Walter lowered himself next to the groaning Ivano whose fingers were slick from blood and Walter nearly laughed at the idea that that perfect little nose was going to be just as broken as his had been not long ago.

"You touch him again, I promise it will be much worse for you," Walter hissed lowly, ignoring the shouts that were coming from the teacher. Walter pushed himself back to his feet and placed the teacher's words somewhere so deep in his mind they were muffled. Giovanni had stopped and was staring with wide eyes. Walter caught up with the kid and snatched up his arm, hauling him back towards the school. "If he touches you again, you tell me," Walter instructed, jaw tight. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

---

"Mr. and Dr. Sorensen," the headmaster, a rather old man and greying man in his 70's, greeted with a firm handshake given to both Will and Hannibal. "Thank you for coming down here."

"Of course," Hannibal answered.

Will didn't say anything. Instead, his eyes wandered to the window in the headmaster's office where outside, Walter sat in a chair, looking bored out of his mind while two other boys sat beside him. One with curly dark hair that was rather small and another who was holding a bloody rag covered ice pack to his nose.

"If you would please take a seat," the headmaster motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk and it took Hannibal's hand on Will's shoulder to pull Will from the window to join Hannibal in the chair beside him.

"What is this about?" Will questioned when the headmaster opened his mouth. The man closed it again and leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his chest. Will followed the man's gaze once more to the three boys outside of the office. There was no remorse that Will could read off of Walter. Nothing but annoyance. From the curly haired kid was a mellow gratefulness and the injured child might as well have been screaming for how in pain he was.

"Let me get straight to the point," the headmaster, Will returned his attention to the desk, reading over the nameplate, Leonardo Russo said. "We have a strict no bullying policy at this school and your son was seen by one of his teachers and several of the students, purposefully kicking a ball into Mr. Ricci's face. He then threatened Mr. Ricci that he would inflict more harm."

There was something nearly hilarious about the concept and Will had to hold back a smile, especially at the look of disapproval over Hannibal's brow. Will knew Walter. He knew exactly how Walter thought, knew exactly what they had taught him, exactly what the situation had called for.

Will once more turned his eyes out of the pane of glass and studied the three boys carefully. Walter was now speaking quietly with the curly haired boy whose hair held grass in it, and whose cheek had a smudge of dirt over it. He was still in his gym clothes and his bandaged knee could be seen clearly from his shorts.

The third boy was a Ricci. Will knew the name well. The Ricci's were a prominent family and rather active in the school. Emilia Ricci was on the school board and her husband owned a decent stake in Marriott International and had grown up in this academy as one of the top students. They liked to show their devotion with large sums of cash when things ever got sticky and Will was nearly certain that that was what Hannibal would be doing to get Walter out of this situation.

If Walter really had done just as the headmaster claimed, then Emilia would make sure that Walter was expelled for the damage inflicted on her son. But Will was positive that he wouldn't be upset if that were the outcome. He knew that the kid with the scraped up knee was the reason behind all of whatever this was. Walter had only been doing what he was taught to do. Protect someone much smaller than him.

"I see," Hannibal acknowledged, a hand reaching out to rest on Will's knee, pulling Will's attention back to the conversation at hand.

"At the moment we are looking at a minimum of a week's suspension, possible explosion."

"Do you know what caused the fight?" Will asked, his own hand moving to cover his husbands with a reassuring squeeze. They would be discussing this later; he knew they would. Hannibal would see this as irresponsible and want to teach Walter a lesson instead of seeing it as it was, Walter trying to be a good person.

"Neither your son nor Mr. Esposito will tell me." Headmaster Russo gave a small shrug. "I only have the word of my staff and the other students at the moment."

Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, but Will sat up a little more in his chair, speaking before Hannibal could. "And what was Mr. Ricci's explanation?"

"He told me exactly what everyone else told me. You son picked up the ball after Mr. Esposito had accidentally been hit with it. He was supposed to take Esposito to the nurse's office and instead hit Mr. Ricci. I'm still not honestly sure what Mr. Esposito has to do with all of this, other than your son ignoring the teacher and escorting Mr. Esposito to the nurse's office as was originally asked of him."

Hannibal's grip tightened on Will's leg and Will hid back the hiss at the pain. There would be bruises there now, but he could admire them later.

"Headmaster-"

"Can I speak to my son?" Will interrupted Hannibal and Hannibal glared at him. Will ignored it.

Russo's lips pursed and he glanced out of his office. "I don't see why not," he finally answered, pushing himself from his chair and went to his office door. He opened it and stepped outside, closing it behind him. The moment it was shut, Hannibal removed his hand from Will's knee and turned in his chair.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal asked back in a low voice. "What are you trying to prove here?"

"What?" Will asked back with a small and disbelieving laugh. He shook his head, hand rubbing at the sore spot on his knee. "You're really going to take some pompous asshole and some pompous asshole's kid's word on this over your own son's?"

"What he did-"

"Will be punished," Will assured. "He knew better than to do that, but he isn't in the wrong."

Hannibal gave a small sigh. "What did you see, my love?"

"Nothing that you couldn't see if you would just look," Will replied snarkily, though his smile was dazzling. "Trust your son."

"Stand up straight, boy," Russo ordered as Walter stepped into the room.

Walter stood at Hannibal's side, eyes looking between his parents and Will watched the boy's expression carefully. It was still annoyed, but held a bit more somberness to it when Hannibal cleared his throat. Walter straightened himself up just for Hannibal and frowned.

"Tell us what happened?" Will instructed kindly and brown eyes gave a curious look as if they were surprised that he was being allowed to voice his side of the issue at all. When Walter didn't speak, Will prompted once more. "Grant, what happened today?"

Walter swallowed and Will could feel the hesitation roll off of the boy as he once more looked over at Hannibal. He inhaled deeply and sighed, shoulders deflating. "Ivano kept beating up Giovanni. Slammed him into the lockers multiple times and kicked a soccer ball at him more than once." Walter pointed out the window, brows furrowed up and he licked his lips. "He picks on everyone and I was just tired of it so I hit him with a ball right back."

Will's brow raised and he looked over the back of Hannibal, trying to read the man's emotions, but found them blank. Hannibal wouldn't let him in, not after accusing the man of trusting someone over his own family. Will would have to chip at Hannibal's icy walls when they got home.

"Can anyone confirm your story?" Russo grumbled from behind his desk.

Walter's hand fell back to his side with a thud and he rolled his eyes, mouth open in the same way it did when he was about to bite out something he hadn't fully thought through yet.

"Careful with what you're about to say, son," Hannibal warned tightly and Walter's mouth snapped shut once more. It took another moment or two before Walter finally begrudgingly answered.

"You can ask Giovanni, sir." Walter nodded his head out the window, something more composed on him now. "He will tell you everything."

Before anyone else could so much as think of a response, Will was on his feet and moving to the office door, knowing all eyes would be on him curiously or in shock. He didn't care. He opened the door and glanced around the corner where the curly haired boy had distanced himself from the bleeding one.

"Giovanni," Will called and the curly haired boy stiffened before slowly looking over at Will. "Would you mind coming in here for a moment? Grant's father and I would like to speak with you, if that's alright."

Giovanni gave a single nod and got to his feet, slowly coming over to Will. He stopped by Will's side and glanced over Will with cautious blue eyes that reminded him so much of Morgan. Will's body straightened at the thought and he turned back to where Walter was still standing by Hannibal, hands fists at his sides. That's what this was about. He saw his brother getting hurt and couldn't not help the boy.

"You talk differently, like Grant," Giovanni muttered and Will gave a small nod.

"I'm not from here," Will explained gently with a small smile back at the boy. He stepped out of the way of the door and beckoned Giovanni to follow him into the headmaster's office. Will closed the door and went back to his chair, sitting down, gaze meeting Walter's. "I want you to stay quiet, do you understand?" Walter gave a nod, always obedient. No questions asked. There didn't need to be any questions, he knew the reasonings. It was to try to prove that they hadn't made up the story together, to allow Giovanni all the room to talk. "Giovanni, would you please explain to us what happened today?"

There was another stiffness that entered the boy's body and he froze up, eyes flickering around at everyone in the room, looking as if he were being led to the slaughter. Terrified, small, battered and bruised. Will's attention shifted to Hannibal when the man inhaled deeply and straightened his shoulders. Will wasn't sure what Hannibal smelt, but it obviously lingered enough around the child that it gave Will a good indication that something was wrong at home.

Giovanni didn't look abused by any means, but Will hadn't either. Money in place of love then. His mother was most likely a drunk and spent all her time with friends, and the father was never there and always working. Hannibal had probably smelt alcohol or cigarettes on the child. That was the most common thing Hannibal picked up here in Italy. Granted, everyone did drink and smoke, that's just what this city was, but this had to be excessively if Hannibal had picked up a bit more clearly on it.

"Son, you're not in trouble," Hannibal spoke up, voice much softer and Will assumed there would be a warm smile on the man's face. "We just want the full story."

Giovanni turned his attention to Walter who rolled his eyes in a similar way as he did when Morgan would look to him for clarification. "Just tell them," Walter instructed with a small exhale. "I already told them."

Giovanni looked a bit surprised by that and Will couldn't help but wonder why they were trying so hard to be silent. Maybe Giovanni hadn't wanted the fuss. Or maybe he didn't want his parents to know that something had happened. Will could sympathize with that. He did everything in his power to make sure his dad was never in his life because it would end with a belt.

"Ivano," Giovanni stated, but seemed to stop, head lolling forward and hands wringing themselves together nervously. "In the locker room he tried to take my lunch money and shoved me into the lockers. And then when we were in class he kicked the ball at me and knocked me over several times. Grant was just helping me."

"Where were you hit?" Russo asked.

Giovanni seemed to shrink back even further.

"It's alright," Grant assured, head tipped to the side. "You can tell them."

With a deep breath, Giovanni took the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Will looked over the boy's torso that had an angry red Y in the middle of it from the seams stitched into the ball as well as blossoming purple bruising.

Hannibal sat up a little fuller, if that were somehow possible and stuck a hand out to the boy, who once more looked to Walter. Walter gave a nod and Giovanni stepped over to Hannibal, who took one of the boy's hips to pull him closer.

"I'm a doctor. Are you having trouble breathing?" Hannibal asked, fingers gently touching at the bruising.

The boy hissed in a deep breath and shook his head. "Not anymore."

Hannibal nodded. "Grant, would you have the school nurse get some anti inflammatories as well as an ice pack for Mr. Esposito?"

"Yes, sir," Walter answered without a moment of hesitation, and went for the door.

"I did not dismiss you," Russo stuttered out, looking utterly bewildered.

Walter stopped and turned back to the room, glancing between the headmaster and Hannibal for a moment. Will gave a small smile as Walter once more turned from the room without a word, obviously finding Hannibal far more in charge than the headmaster. Walter left the room and Will got to his feet, heading over to Giovanni. He knelt down next to the boy with a kind smile.

"Where are your parents?" he asked softly.

"My dad's at work and my mom is out of town. She travels a lot."

"I see." Will gave a nod and stood up, turning to Russo. "Has his father been contacted at all?"

"Uh." Russo's brows furrowed. "N-no."

"Then I suggest you get him to come down here this instant," Will instructed. "I know that I would want to know immediately if my child has come to harm by way of another student. Zero tolerance for bullying, isn't it?"

"Ethan," Hannibal scolded sharply, before turning back to the child. "Can you take a deep breath for me? I want to make sure none of your ribs are broken."

Will's eyes were dark as they narrowed on the headmaster who had yet to move from his surprised stupor. Russo met his gaze and the old man nodded. "I will make some calls," he stated. "As for your son-"

"My son is not your concern," Will cut in, a hand resting against Russo's desk. "It is very clear to me that my son was merely protecting Mr. Esposito from another one of your students. Now, my son should not have engaged in physical violence, and he will be disciplined greatly for that by his father and me when we get home, but I am certain that when the school board hears of how you have conducted yourself in this situation where only one child was checked for injury and another was blamed, then they-"

"Mr. Sorensen," Russo interrupted and Will bit back his shout. "Please, let's handle this rationally."

"Rationally?" Will demanded, forcing himself to not laugh incredulously. "How dare-"

"Ethan," Hannibal cut in, a strong hand clasping Will's shoulder. Will inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, holding the breath and allowing himself to fall submissive to the grip around him. "I would like to speak to the headmaster alone. Would you escort Giovanni out of the room and make sure that both injured boys take some medicine to help with the pain and swelling?"

Will let out his held breath and let his eyes open, falling on a rather red-looking Russo. He turned to face Hannibal. "Of course," he muttered. Hannibal gave him a patient smile. "Behave." It was whispered and Hannibal's eyes seemed to flash with the warning. Will pulled from Hannibal's grip and stepped over to the boy who had readjusted his shirt over his body. He took the boy's shoulder and guided him from the office, closing the door behind him. "Let's get you taken care of, shall we?"

"I can't believe you stood up to the headmaster like that," Giovanni whispered. "No one ever says things like that to him."

"Well, I'm not everyone else," Will mumbled. Giovanni sat back down in the chair that was away from Ivano and Will glanced over the child who was teary eyed and still clutching the ice pack to his face. He patted Giovanni's shoulder and slowly stepped over to Ivano. "Have you been given any medicine?" The child shook his head and Will sighed. "Have your parents been called?"

The answer was muffled and barely understandable. "My mom is supposed to be coming."

"At least one thing was done right," Will grumbled, looking up when Walter once more entered the room. Will held out his hand and Walter stepped over, placing the items he had gotten from the nurse. "Sit. We'll be discussing this further when we get home."

"Alright," Walter whispered, obeying and taking a seat.

Will looked over his son once more before getting to work. He went to Giovanni first and tucked the pack of pills into his palm before activating the ice pack. "Put this on over your shirt," he instructed, holding out the pack.

Giovanni took it and placed it to his torso with a small amount of discomfort. Will nodded his approval before heading over to a water cooler and pulling two cups from it. He filled both up and then opened the pack of pills, splitting the two up. He gave one to Giovanni and the other to Ivano whose nose and under his eyes was a spider's web of purple and blood when he removed the ice pack.

The silence that filled the room was no longer quite as tense, but Will could feel the hate melting off of the three boys as they sat in those chairs in a line beside each other. Will folded his arms and looked back into the office where Hannibal was clearly more calm looking and composed than the headmaster whose words were muffled by the walls and glass, but whose face was just as red and angry as one could probably be.

A few more minutes passed in a dull silence as Will did his best to brush off the other emotions in the room when the unmistakable sound of upset heels clacked down the hallway. Will inhaled deeply, steadying himself and standing up straight as an angered looking woman entered the room.

Her dark hair was windswept, and her face flushed from her hurried walk and irritation. Her whole presence screamed money, but what in this place didn't? Hannibal looked like he bathed in it each morning, so Will assumed that after all this time he looked the same, though he didn't want to admit it.

She looked over the boys, eyes finally stopping on her son. Her hand snatched up his shoulder and she tipped his head back, looking over the injury and Will watched as her spine tightened up. She stood upright, eyes aflame and Will took a small step forward as she pointed her finger between the two other boys, Italian spit at them.

"Which one of you did this?"

Walter slowly pushed himself from his seat. "I did," he admitted. Before Will could react, a hand came down and across Walter's face. Something hot bubbled inside of him and raced forward, snatching up Emilia's wrist before she could bring it down once more.

"Touch my son again and we're going to have bigger issues than this," Will hissed, receiving burning dark eyes on him. She was trying to be frightening, but nothing scared Will anymore. Nothing like her anyways. His children being hurt was a far worse fear than anything this woman could possibly try to do.

"Dad," Walter warned in English, a hand rubbing at the red mark over his cheek. "It's alright."

"I should have known it was your son," Emilia spit out and Will's attention went back to her as she pulled her wrist from his grip. She straightened herself upright and brushed some of her hair behind her ear. "Your child would be someone to cause trouble like this."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Will demanded. A hand took the sleeve of his suit coat and he glanced down at Walter who wore a begging look on his face. "Stay out of this," he ordered, but there was a sharp look from Walter.

"I'm the reason all of this started," Walter argued.

"No, you're not, and you know you're not," Will shot back, English just as sharp as his Italian. "Sit down." Walter's face scrunched up at the order, obviously disliking it, before he obeyed and sat back down, hand still gingerly rubbing the slap. Will turned back to the woman. "If you have something against me, say it, but do not think for a moment that I am going to allow you to drag my son through the mud with you."

"I'm going to make sure your son is expelled!"

"I would love to see you try."

"You low class-"

"Ethan," Hannibal's voice called from the office door, eyes flickering around the scene. Will turned to his husband and could see the shift from something calm and collected to something angry when his eyes landed on Walter, whose cheek was a shiny red. He stepped from the room and over to the two of them. "Emilia, you would do well to never raise a hand at my son again. Do I make myself clear?"

There was something in the way the words were said that sucked the air from the room, something that Will still couldn't exactly seem to copy. A command that demanded absolute respect with an underlying threat that didn't need to be hinted at.

Emilia gave a nod, but didn't say a word. A word didn't need to be said.

"Would you two please join me in the headmaster's office?" Hannibal said, tone again back to its normal level of kindness. "We have a great deal to discuss." Will motioned for Emilia who eyed him harshly before stepping around both men to head for the open office door. Will met Hannibal's gaze and Hannibal gave a knowing nod to show he understood. Will exhaled and composed himself a bit more before following Hannibal's instructions.

Hannibal watched his husband pass him before he looked over at Giovanni. He knelt beside the boy's chair. "How are you feeling?" he asked and the little boy shrugged.

"Cold."

Hannibal gave a small chuckle. "Your father should be here shortly." The boy winced at the words and Hannibal patted his knee that wasn't bandaged. "I assure you that he knows exactly what happened and understands completely. You have nothing to be worried over." Giovanni gave a small nod and Hannibal stood, heading over to Ivano, kneeling once more. "And how are you feeling?"

"It won't stop pulsing," he muttered out from beneath the ice pack.

"I wouldn't expect it to for a bit." Hannibal reached out and lowered the boy's hand to look over the injury there. "You will most likely need to get that looked at, at a hospital. You can ask Grant what recovery looks like. He's just barely starting to heal from his own broken nose." There was a breath from Walter, but Hannibal didn't acknowledge it. "How long have you had ice on that?"

"I don't know?"

Hannibal nodded. "I would let your injury breathe for a moment. That medicine should be helping with the pain in a bit." Hannibal rose back to his feet and straightened his coat and tie, eyes on Walter who met his gaze, knew better than to shy away. He waited silently for whatever Hannibal was going to dish him, but only the same sentiment that Will had given him earlier was said. "We will discuss your punishment at home, young man."

"Yes, sir," Walter muttered. He stayed silent until Hannibal was back in Russo's office and then let out a breath, deflating in his chair.

"Your dad is scary," Giovanni whispered over to him.

"Which one?" Walter asked lazily, fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt as a way to ignore the rather loud voices that were coming from the office.

"Both of them."

Walter gave a small laugh, the smile hurting his hot cheek. His hand reached up and rubbed at it gingerly. "They have their moments," he agreed. There was a moan from Ivano and Walter looked over to see the kid touching his nose. "Don't do that. They have to reset it."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Ivano hissed, but he lowered his hand as instructed.

"More than you could possibly understand. Just let the doctors deal with it. You're just going to make it worse." Walter rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry I drug you into this."

"Just as long as my dad doesn't take it out on me," Giovanni laughed, before wincing slightly, adjusting the ice pack against his body. "Do you really think they'll expel you?"

"I can only hope," Walter teased. "I promise that will be the very least of my worries."

"Are your dads really that bad?"

Walter glanced up to find Ivano looking over him curiously, but Ivano quickly turned his attention to the ice pack in his hand. Walter focused his attention back on the window of the office where Will's jaw was held tightly in a hot silence and Hannibal looked rather disappointed at whatever was being told to him, though Walter knew it was going to be more about him than whatever Russo was saying.

"They have high expectations," Walter explained with a small shrug. "I knew what was expected of me and I disregarded it. I'm sure it's not different from what your parents expect from you."

The office door opened and Will stepped from it, followed by Hannibal. Walter straightened up in his chair, waiting for an order to follow. Before one was said, Ivano's mother forced her way from the room, her same hot irritability in her heels as she snatched up her son's arm and pulled him from the room.

"Home," Hannibal stated. "Now."

Walter stood without a word and tossed a glance over to Giovanni who gave a small smile. Walter left the room and started down the large empty hallway and passed classroom doors where students were sitting quietly and learning. Walter glanced down at his shoes and looked back up, turning around and towards where his parents were following.

"My uniform-"

"Leave it," Will instructed, motioning for Walter to keep going. "You can retrieve it later. You have more at home."

Walter bit his bottom lip, but nodded and started on his walk again, the sound of heels disappearing down the hallway in the opposite direction. "Where's Ezra?"

"With the babysitter," Will replied. "Walk."

The babysitter was a rather nice old lady who lived down the street from them that often would watch the children when Will and Hannibal went out. She was kind and lonely, her children having moved far away and hardly came to visit. She enjoyed showing Walter an annoying amount of pictures and loved teaching Morgan how to cook. All in all, she was better company than most and Walter enjoyed visiting with her on the odd nights he had to.

Walter stepped outside and into the heat of the day and the scent of the ocean as it lapped at the edge of the school. He was about to start up the walkway, but stopped at his name. He turned to look back at Will and Hannibal with a tipped head.

"You have been suspended for the rest of the week," Hannibal stated and Walter closed his eyes with a small nod. "I expect to see you up and ready for class in the morning. You will resume your studies with me until you are permitted back into school."

Walter's brow furrowed in confusion, but he knew better than to question. "Yes, sir."

"As for your punishment," Hannibal continued, receiving a questioning turn of Will's head and Walter immediately knew that they hadn't discussed a punishment and he was about to get the full brunt of whatever Hannibal had planned. "We're going to play hide and seek. Do you understand?"

Walter's mouth opened, but he closed it, glancing around at the canal to one side of him and the bustling city to the other side of him, unsure exactly what he was meant to do. "We're not near any forests or fields or-"

"You will not always be in a forest or a field, Walter," Hannibal explained calmly as if this were any other conversation. "In fact, those are rather unlikely scenarios. A city is where you will most likely be found. You have a five-minute head start. I suggest you use it."

Walter turned to Will whose expression was cold towards Hannibal, but he didn't argue. Didn't say anything actually.

"But I-"

"You're wasting time, son," Hannibal interrupted Walter, making a show of looking at his watch. "In the real world, you will not have leeway. Please use it wisely."

"Why hide and seek?" Walter asked cautiously. It had never been used as a punishment before. It was strictly for training and always done at home where Walter knew every inch of the place. This city was never ending with so many hidden passages that not even a born and raised Venetian could possibly know them all. Walter would get lost if he tried to escape into the city.

"If you are grown up enough to handle the situation as you did, I believe you should be perfectly capable of managing things as your age dictates. You have four minutes."

Walter didn't say another word. Instead, he turned and broke into a sprint up the side of the canal in the direction that he knew. He would have to go home. It was the smartest bet. Home advantage was what he would have. He didn't know this city well enough yet to use it. He knew where the grocery stores were and the movie theaters or small restaurants for when his parents asked him to do the shopping, but he had no hope of hiding there.

Hannibal would never attack him in the open. It was far too much of a threat, but Walter had to return home sometime and the game would be in full effect when he did. It would stay in full effect until one of them was victorious and he knew the only reason he had been given five minutes was so that Hannibal and Will could have a private discussion about what had occurred.

He opened the front door and slammed it shut behind him, locking it. He found a chair from the front sitting room and shoved it under the door handle, stepping back and breathing hard. He couldn't rest though. Not yet.

He raced into the kitchen and grabbed the knife block and any other sharp objects he could and took them out to the backyard. In the corner was a large pile of plywood, two by fours, bags of cement and tools waiting to be made into something else and Walter shoved the items behind the large stacks of wood.

He rushed back into the house and into the front sitting room, opening the piano bench and digging through it until he found one of Will's guns. He let the lid of the bench slam shut and he raced to the study where Hannibal's scalpel was on the desk. He snatched it up and took both of them to the stairs, setting them on the bottom step before racing up them and to his parents' room.

Will's gun was pulled from under his pillow and Walter did a quick sweep of the drawers in the bedside tables and fetched the hunting knife from Will's boots before rushing back down the stairs and taking those gathered items out to the backyard as well.

Walter went back for the house and made it into the kitchen when the front door handle turned and was attempted to be opened. Walter's steps froze and his heart jumped in a way it hadn't in a long time. His head was scrambling for what to do, where to go, where to hide.

This house wasn't like the other two they had lived in. It wasn't expansive with rooms to get lost in. There were no hidden dumbwaiters or windows that allowed one to climb out on the roof. There were the main rooms of the house and that was it.

With a deep breath, Walter slipped back into the back yard and glanced around. Did he dare fetch one of Will's guns? Guns had been against the rules. Guns were used as a last resort, they were not meant to be an end all be all. He would be in further trouble if he used a gun.

And while he was comfortable with knives, he was nowhere near as skilled as Hannibal. He wouldn't stand a chance. He hurried over to the stacks of wood and pulled Will's knife to him, shoving it into his sock and then grabbed the shovel that was leaning up against the fence.

With a deep breath he stood upright and made his way back to the door just in time to see it burst open and the chair skitter across the floor. He broke into a sprint around the corner of their house and pressed his back up against the side of it. He didn't have a way out now. The fence on the side he currently was, was flush with the canal and he could hear the movements of the water over whatever was possibly happening in the house.

The other side of the fence was right up against the house beside theirs, not to mention that it was lined with the fruit trees. The back fence was one he could possibly climb over, but he had never really paid attention to what was on the other side of it. He didn't know if there was a place for him to land in another backyard or if it was a sidewalk between the houses. He would have to check once all of this was over.

Walter's breathing had calmed a bit and his hands had grown sweaty on the shovel as he waited... and waited. After what felt like an immeasurable amount of time, he couldn't stop the confused look over his face. What was Hannibal waiting for? It wouldn't take a detective to find him. Hell, Walter was sure that even the little old lady babysitter would have found him by now.

He was playing hider as was instructed, where was the seeker? He closed his eyes and willed his impatience to dissipate. It wouldn't do to get ahead of himself. He just had to wait. This was a punishment after all. Hannibal wasn't going to be gentle about anything and sweating him out was always an option.

The sun beat down on his face and he was grateful that he was in his gym uniform rather than his school uniform. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to sit outside in heat like that. He would have tried to go inside to at least cool down, if not get a glass of water.

He had to keep his guard up. Letting Hannibal get to him like this wouldn't do him any good. He had to stay focused. Stay in the moment. Stay right here where he was as safe as he had been able to make himself. He didn't know what was around that corner and he wasn't going to find out. The only problem he had was being right handed. He was going to have to step away from the wall to give him enough room to use the shovel.

With a deep inhale, Walter slowly glanced around the wall, unable to see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. He pushed himself back up against the house, unable to keep the confused look from his face. Maybe he was just being waited out. He wasn't sure what else could have possibly been taking Hannibal so long to come after him.

There was movement to the left of him and his heart jumped. He reacted without thought, pulling back the shovel and swinging it. Hannibal merely stepped out of the way with a rather amused look on his face. The effort in the swing shoved Walter forward a few steps and he stumbled past Hannibal, before being able to catch his balance.

Walter turned around, confusion stronger on how the man had gotten past him. He wasn't wet, so he didn't use the canal and climb the fence. There was a flicker of fabric through the open kitchen window and Walter glanced from it, back to Hannibal.

"The window?" he asked with a huff, making sure to angle his body for another hit.

"The gun in the piano bench?" Hannibal asked right back with a slight smile. "You know I don't like guns."

"Still a viable weapon," Walter muttered. Hannibal gave an acknowledging nod. "How long is this going to keep going? Until one of us drops?"

"Until I feel you've learned your lesson."

"You know I didn't do anything wrong."

Walter jumped forward, swinging the shovel once more. This time Hannibal caught it and the movement was so swift that Walter didn't even know what was happening until his back was slammed into the ground and the air was knocked from him. He gasped, a hand going to his chest, shovel lost to him. There was a burn in his hip from a kick and he blinked in the sunlight as Walter tried to figure out how easily Hannibal had been able to throw him over his shoulder.

Hannibal stepped into view while Walter caught his breath, forcing his body to take his own advice to Giovanni earlier that day. The shovel was in his hand and Hannibal tossed it aside, somewhere out of view. Walter coughed and rolled onto his hands and knees.

"There was nothing wrong in protecting someone who needs help," Hannibal agreed. "The means by which you achieved it were immature and reckless."

Walter watched as Hannibal reared back and brought his leg forward. Walter sat up fully and moved aside just enough to capture Hannibal's leg in both of his arms. He pulled as hard as he could and sent Hannibal to the ground. He scrambled up and over Hannibal, planting himself on Hannibal's chest, hands at his throat, adding pressure to them, but not enough to do any harm.

If you're brought to the ground, do not attempt to get up, Will's voice called somewhere in the back of his head. Instead focus on taking their balance, bringing them down to your level. Much easier to pull them down than fight your way up.

Walter gave a smile and saw it reflected back at him in those intense amber pools. Hannibal was proud of him. It wasn't often that he felt that sort of sentiment from the man and it flooded over him, nearly drowning out anything else. He could usually keep his empathy under control, turn it on and off, unlike Will, but today had just been far too much for him to leaf through and organize yet.

"Am I getting better, or are you just incompetent, Hannibal?" Walter asked before he could stop himself, voice low.

Those red depths quickly went blank and he knew he had hit a nerve. "Just because you've pinned me doesn't mean the fight is over," Hannibal scolded. "Do not think that getting the top hand gives you the fight. You're not focusing, I can throw you off."

"I'm not about to asphyxiate you, Hannibal."

Walter could see the predatory heat in Hannibal's eyes and could feel his control stretching thin and oddly enough wanted to see what happened when the man snapped.

Hannibal surged upwards, knocking Walter off of him and pinned him against the side of the house, hand at his throat, the other against Walter's right wrist so the boy couldn't grab for the knife that was so clearly visible in his sock.

Walter's legs kicked, heels digging into the grass for some purchase, but couldn't find any. His left hand went to Hannibal's wrist, nails digging into the man's flesh as his air was restricted from him. He knew that Hannibal wouldn't actually kill him, but he had been left unconscious more times than he could count and probably more times than what was healthy.

Hannibal released Walter's hand and Hannibal's dipped to his sock and the hunting knife was pulled free. Hannibal flicked it open to look at it with an interested gaze.

"What were you planning to do with this exactly?" he asked, wincing slightly at a deep enough scratch to his wrist that it drew blood. Walter's right hand was clawed into his arm now as well and he frowned. "I had hoped you would be able to get out of a hold like this by now."

Walter sputtered around his grip, but Hannibal didn't loosen in. Instead, he pulled the boy to his feet and slammed him back against the house, attention again going to the knife. The blow hurt, drove something sharp up Walter's spine and into his head as his lungs burned.

There is no fighting power against power in this hold, Hannibal whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. You have to make the other person as weak as possible. There are plenty of ways to do this, but it depends on the person. This includes height and arm span.

Hannibal was far too tall. He had no chance in reaching Hannibal to strike him. And he was too strong. Walter would never be able to force his hand from his throat, even if he attacked the elbow. He could try for the thumb, but in all reality, the wrist would have been easier to hit from this angel.

Walter stuck his arm straight up and turned his body towards Hannibal, arm thrown down against Hannibal's wrist. It broke contact and Walter raced from Hannibal's grip. He snatched up the fallen shovel and swung without looking.

There was a clang and Walter gasped for a much needed breath as he watched Hannibal tumble to the ground, a deep gash in the bridge of his nose bleeding freely. Walter dropped the shovel and tried to move past Hannibal, but a hand snatched up his ankle and tugged.

Walter gave a surprised sound as he was dragged to the ground, knee hitting the edge of the shovel. Walter gave a cry, something hot shooting up his leg and something sticky poured from it. His hands reached for his knee and came away bloody. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he knew it wasn't over. Knew that as long as Hannibal had a grip on that knife, this game wasn't done.

Walter rolled himself onto his stomach and pushed himself up to his good knee, the other unable to hold his weight. There was a small moan behind him and Walter turned fast enough to catch Hannibal's wrist, knife clutched tightly in his fist.

"If you were that alert five minutes ago you would have seen me in the window," Hannibal huffed out, spitting at the blood that was surely filling his mouth from where it dripped down his face like a faucet. Hannibal bore down his weight on Walter and Walter's arm struggled to hold up Hannibal's, hand slipping with blood, muscles trembling.

He blinked as blood dropped down into his face and his mind lit up. His other hand was still free and he swiftly let it connect with Hannibal's nose. Hannibal's balance shifted and Walter used it to shove Hannibal off of him and onto his back.

Walter straddled Hannibal's body, making sure his knees were against Hannibal's arms to pin them there and he pulled the knife from Hannibal's grip, flipping the blade so the tip was pressed into Hannibal's suprasternal notch, harsh enough to allow blood to pool in the dip there.

He was breathing hard, knee screaming at him from the pressure he was forcing onto it and his tears rolled down his cheeks. Hannibal's dress shirt was stained with crimson and covered in dirt and grass stains, but he didn't look upset by it. In fact, there was another wave of pride that caught Walter off guard and he let out a small sob.

"Hush, Mangustėli," Hannibal whispered. "That's enough. You've done a good job."

Walter shook his head, the knife dropping from his hand and finding its home in the grass next to Hannibal's head. His knee, slick with blood, slipped from Hannibal's arm and he let out a pained squeak at the movement. "Shh," Hannibal once more instructed, in just as soft a voice, his now free hand reaching up to caress Walter's cheek. "It's alright. I think you've learned your lesson."

Hannibal carefully sat up and scooped Walter up and into his arms, Walter surprised that the man could still hold him when he was nearly fifteen. Hannibal got to his feet and Walter let himself be carried from the back yard and into the house that was much cooler and sent a shiver through his sweat drenched body.

"Will," Hannibal called as he rested Walter on a barstool at the kitchen island. "My medical kit, if you would."

Walter wiped at the tears on his cheeks, but could feel only blood smear his skin, tacky and hot. A trail of blood went out the back door and there was a decent amount starting to puddle under his foot as it dripped down his leg, into his sock and shoe before finally falling.

"You got yourself pretty good, didn't you?" Will asked Hannibal as he entered the kitchen with Hannibal's large black medical bag in tow. He let it drop onto the counter and stepped around the bar stool to look carefully over Walter.

"He's getting better," Hannibal answered with a nod, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

Walter looked up into his dad's blue eyes and Will gave a half smile. "We'll get you cleaned up. Don't worry."

Walter nodded, not wanting to say a word either way. He just wanted the pain in his knee to stop. He wanted the swelling to go down and the pulsing to come to an end. But he supposed that this was what he deserved for what he had done. Hannibal was right. He had gone about it all in the wrong way. He had damaged their chances of living here and if he was old enough to do that, then he was old enough to deal with the consequences of them possibly being found because of his stupidity.

"Walter, would you mind letting me know where all of my kitchenware has run off to?" Hannibal asked as he dug through his pack and pulled out several items. "I do need it to make dinner."

"Backyard, by the wood," Walter replied softly.

"Maybe while you're stuck home this week, we can work on the plans for that," Will suggested, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Walter's sweat damp hair. "It will make Morgan incredibly happy." Walter gave a small nod and Will stepped back. "I think I'll go get Morgan."

"He'll probably be just waking up," Hannibal said as he stepped around the chair, face washed clean, though the cut on his nose was starting to bead with blood again, and entered Walter's space, kneeling and disregarding the blood he had set his knees in. "He'll be a bit disorientated and perhaps a little nauseous. Be gentle with him."

"Alright." Will gave Walter another small smile and patted his shoulder.