It took until the afternoon sun had died away and the air had cooled for the hole to be finished. Walter had been instructed to rest and eventually Morgan was hoisted up and out of the hole to make room for Will who made much better use of the shovel than Morgan could. Both pulled themselves out and dusted themselves off before heading back for the car that was catching the evening sunset on its hood.

Morgan sat beside Walter who had been playing with the long grass for a while now. Morgan glanced over the mess in Walter's hands and gave a small smile at the braided pattern that he had made from the tall green grass. He always had been better with knots.

"Are you going to be ok?" Morgan asked softly. Walter just gave a shrug and continued winding the greenery into itself. "I know you don't like small spaces very much."

"I'll get over it. I'll have to." Walter's eyes flickered up and he held up the braided field for a moment in front of Morgan before going back to work on it. "Just ignore it and you'll be fine."

"Do you have any idea how to climb out of a grave?"

"Not a one. I'll figure it out." Morgan was about to comment on Walter's normal stubborn detachment from situations, but Walter once more held up the item in his hands and Morgan blinked as it was set on his head. Walter gave a small smile that held worry in it. "You look like a prince."

Morgan's nose scrunched up and he brought a hand up to touch what had been placed on his head. A crown made from weaved grasses. "A prince?" he asked back, trying to pull the crown from his head, but Walter's hand stopped it. "You're being stupid again, Wally."

"Perhaps I am," he muttered with a small sigh, looking back at his dirt covered hands that were both now in his lap. "Forgive me."

"Wally-"

Morgan words were cut off as the grass beside them was displaced by a large wooden box. He simply watched as Will pushed the lid off the rest of the wood with his foot and pulled tools from inside of it. He turned back to both Walter and Morgan with a deep breath and nodded towards the box.

Walter licked at his lips and pushed himself up to his feet, stumbling just slightly as he put weight on his knee. He made his way over to the coffin and climbed into it, lowering himself until he lay flat in it and Morgan pushed himself up onto his knees to look over the side and to where a blank faced Walter lay.

"You should have upwards of two hours of oxygen if you keep your breathing controlled," Hannibal explained as if this were an everyday occurrence. "Once you are completely buried we will give you twenty minutes to get out. If you are not out by then, we will unbury you. If you need something, text one of us. I trust you have your phone."

"Yes," Walter muttered, eyes dead set on the blue sky above him as if trying to burn it into his memory, as if he were never going to see it again.

"Morgan, move out of the way please," Will instructed kindly and Morgan obeyed, getting to his feet, and stepping back to watch as Hannibal and Will lifted up the wooden lid and placed it over the top of Walter.

"Wait," Walter's voice called, muffled through the wood. Both Will and Hannibal paused, and Morgan could hear a sharp breath in the coffin. "I'm not ready."

"You're not going to be ready," Will scolded lightly, but Morgan could see the pain in his dad's blue eyes.

Will didn't like this in the slightest. The large tests were always ones that Will disliked, but that Hannibal insisted in. Morgan couldn't exactly tell how Hannibal felt about the process, but there was leniency in his movements, tipping the lid of the wood open to look over Walter, whose hands had clawed into the wood under him and whose eyes were squeezed shut tightly.

"Breathe Mangustėli," Hannibal instructed kindly. "If you remember your breathing, you will be fine. Vires acquirit eundo." (He gains strength by going.)

Morgan took a curious step forward and as if called directly to, those golden eyes opened to look at him, terror flooding them. He hated that look in Walter's eyes. Hated how deeply Walter took everything while somehow still being as cold as stone. They wouldn't be sleeping separately tonight. There was no way that Walter would let them sleep separate. Walter needed Morgan just as much as Morgan needed him. There was simply nothing else to it.

"Ok," Walter whispered with a small nod, letting his head rest back against the wood beneath him with a small thud. He licked his lips, eyes falling closed again. "This can't be worse than the lake, right?"

Morgan shuttered at the idea of the lake. He hated water. Had since he was a child, always would, he was sure. He hadn't been able to do that exercise, nearly throwing up with how much he hated being near any body of water larger than a bathtub, and even that would cause his skin to crawl.

He hadn't been tied and gagged and thrown over the side of a boat with a weight tied to his legs. The water hadn't been too horribly deep, and Will had been ready to jump in if anything went wrong, Morgan clinging far too tightly to Hannibal's legs to allow the man to move. They knew Walter's lung capacity. They knew how long he could stay safe under the light waves. Safety was always put in place. One or both of them were ready to react in an instant, but that hadn't stopped the way that Walter came back above water, sputtering and gasping and coughing. The way Walter was trembling from the cold and how, the moment he was back on-board Will's boat, he was tied up again, this time with more complicated knots and given a moment to catch his breath before he was tossed into the water once more to do it all again.

Walter wasn't given an answer. The wood lid was placed over him once more and Morgan could only watch as both Will and Hannibal began to nail the lid down. The thumps filled the evening air, sometimes the ring of metal on metal, but they wouldn't be bothered. Hardly anyone came down this road. Morgan was certain he had only seen one other car besides his parents' that whole day. No one would interrupt. No one would come out here wondering why a teen boy had been closed into a wooden crate and lowered into the ground with the task of getting out.

It wasn't until the third or fourth thudding of a shovel full of dirt over the wooden box that Morgan could finally feel and hear the panic from inside of the grave they had dug. A cry, a plea, a beg to be let out. Small whimpers that stilled Will's hands more than once before the man found a determined strength to press on.

"You need to learn how to get out of there," Will pressed as if trying to convince himself and Morgan licked his lips, a hand reaching up to pull the small crown from his head. He worried at it as the cries got louder, nearly screams, until the carefully crafted grass fell apart in his nervous fingers.

Hands pounded against the wood, echoing Morgan's heart beats and he stepped closer, letting the ruined crown drop from his hands. "Stop," he ordered, causing the sound of metal on dirt to come to a halt. Both sets of his parents' eyes came to rest on him and he glanced between them before looking down into the hole that was partially filled back in. "Bring him back up."

"Morgan-"

"Bring him back up," Morgan interrupted Hannibal.

Hannibal frowned, eyes narrowing, but Will was swift to jump down into the hole with a hammer. Will pushed at the dirt over the wooden lid and then began to slowly work the nails free until the lid could be lifted fully.

Morgan leaned over the edge of the grave, looking into the box where a tear-stained little boy lay, sobbing. He could see Walter trying to compose himself, wiping at the tears on his cheeks and breathing deeply.

"You said we would revisit this?" Morgan asked, looking over at Hannibal who was watching the situation in a silence that Morgan couldn't exactly place. A nod was his answer.

Morgan didn't reply. When something was set, it was set. It didn't matter how much they begged for it to be changed, they were going to learn this lesson. Even if they weren't buried, they would be shoved into something else just like it until they learned to control their anxieties in the way that Hannibal and Will wanted.

Morgan inhaled deeply, hands feeling a bit sweaty, but that didn't stop him from dropping down into the hole beside Will who gave a curious look at the young boy. Morgan looked over Walter for a moment to see confusion on his face. Walter was always strong. Always embodied strength. Morgan could be that for Walter too. Walter had helped him through the forest as they found their way back home, had carried him across the river and kept him calm. Morgan could help Walter swim this metaphoric sea.

Morgan carefully climbed up and over the side of the coffin and sat down, causing Walter to shift from the middle of the coffin and more towards the side. Morgan lied down next to Walter and closed his eyes with a deep breath.

"It's going to be harder for the two of you to get out," Hannibal informed, no sway either way in his voice.

"Twenty minutes?" Morgan asked, receiving no answer from either of his parents. The answer was yes. He didn't need the confirmation. He opened his eyes and looked over Walter who had shifted to his side to regard Morgan with wet eyes. Morgan gave him a small smile and watched as those golden eyes faded when the lid was placed over the top of them.

Each sound was thunderous, a God filling the sky with the angriest of storms. A pattern of sound encasing them through the darkness. It didn't take quite as long as Morgan thought it would for Walter's hands to clutch at him, pull him tight like a stuffed animal.

Walter's breathing was stuttered in his chest, his heart so incredibly loud in Morgan's ear that was pressed to Walter's chest. Whimpers pulled from Walter and Morgan hugged Walter back, hand gently caressing over Walter's back.

"You're going to use up all the oxygen if you keep breathing like that," Morgan tried to tease, but it did nothing to settle Walter. "Slow, Wally." Morgan's hand moved to rest on Walter's chest, feeling the stammering rise and fall. There was a pressure settling in around them as dirt continued to be shoveled over them, though the sound was slowly growing more distant now. "You need to slow your breathing, Wally. Come on."

"How the fuck are you so fucking calm?" Walter demanded in a ragged voice.

"They won't let anything happen to us," Morgan replied, adding a bit more pressure to Walter's chest with his palm in hopes that it would help.

"I don't fucking think you're quite grasping the fucking point of this bullshit exercise." Walter's words were tormented, broken apart by whines, hands nearly painful on the grip that held to Morgan.

"Hum a song, Wally," Morgan offered gently, hand petting over Walter's chest. "A song always makes me feel better. Hum something."

"Stupid." There was another loud gasp and sob from the boy and Morgan gave a small breath.

"Hum something. It will help your breathing."

Morgan went silent after that. There was only so much he could do for Walter. Walter had to do the rest on his own. Walter had to control himself on his own. It took another moment or two for Walter to steady his breathing enough to hum out a small note, hiding his face in Morgan's hair as he did so.

"Good, Wally," Morgan soothed gently. "Everything's alright."

Soon the thundering of the earth above them fell silent and all that was left were Walter's broken notes of a song that Morgan was sure he would be able to place in any other situation but couldn't at this precise moment name.

Morgan let the moment sit a bit longer before he carefully pulled from Walter's grip and lied on his back, hands reaching out to feel how far away the wood above them was in the dark. His hands immediately hit the wood and he frowned. There wouldn't be much room to maneuver, but it was doable. And now with Walter no longer hyperventilating, air could be conserved long enough to either escape or to let them be unburied, even with the two of them instead of just one of them.

Morgan blinked at a sudden bright light, and he glanced over at Walter who had turned on his phone's flashlight. He kept humming though, the tune much clearer now. Something from Lynyrd Skynyrd if Morgan had to guess and the tune was more contemplative and thoughtful now than it was afraid.

Walter's hand reached up and gently pressed to the wood above them, some of it splintering a bit under the weight of the dirt, but that was good. It would make it easier to break out, even if they had six feet of dirt to fight through.

Walter inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, finally able to push past the riddling anxiety attack and get the job done. He licked his lips and nodded. "Ok," Walter said, voice still cracking with fear. "Our legs are going to be stronger than anything else. The two of us should be able to get through this."

"What about the dirt?" Morgan questioned, his head tipping back to look at the grain in the wood. His finger traced some of it in thought. "It'll fall in on us. How do we breathe?"

Walter was quiet for a moment and Morgan glanced over to see his mind working a million miles a minute, eyes flickering over the coffin lid. He bit his bottom lip and ran a hand over his face in the cramped space.

"We're going to pull our shirts over our heads and tie the bottoms off. It'll be like using handkerchiefs when we went on that trip through the Błędów Desert and got hit with that little sandstorm."

"Alright." Morgan went to work then, grateful that he had worn a t-shirt that day. He lifted his hips and pulled at the hem of the shirt, lifting it up and over his head, making sure the neck was still around him. He tied off the bottom the best he could, ignoring the heat from his breath getting trapped in the fabric. That would be better than trying to breathe in dirt.

"I'm turning out the light," Walter explained before the world around Morgan was drenched once more in consuming darkness. Morgan was nearly certain he could feel Walter's body trembling through the wood of the box as he shifted beside Morgan, following Morgan's example with his own shirt. "Don't let the dirt cover you," Walter's muffled voice called out to Morgan. "Try to push it under your body."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Hurt?" Walter asked with a small breath.

"The pressure from the dirt. Won't it hurt?" Morgan tipped his head to the side as if he could see, hands once more reaching out to feel at the wood, jumping when his finger hit a sharp splinter.

There was a thoughtful breath from Walter and a hum in agreement. "You have to shift the way the dirt's gonna be on you. You don't want to lay out flat. The second you're able to, straighten yourself upright like a pencil. It won't hurt your ribs as badly."

"You think we're going to break some ribs?" Morgan licked his lips.

He hadn't ever broken anything before. Not like Walter. It seemed like every few months Walter had something else broken on him. Granted it was usually a finger or a toe, his nose as of late, but Morgan really didn't want to experience the pain that would come with such an incident. Walter always played big, but he knew how badly it hurt Walter. How any touch to his elbow would somehow jolt his finger and nearly bring him to his knees.

"It's a possibility. Just try to pack the dirt under you so you can get out. The more you pack, the easier you'll be able to get leverage."

"But..." Morgan lowered his hands back to his sides, feeling Walter's hand brush against his. "That will make it harder for you to get out."

"You always come first, Einstein. Always have, always will."

"But Wally-"

"Don't argue with me," Walter grumbled, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Clearly not wanting to be in this place any longer than he had to. Resigned to make sure Morgan was fully and completely safe before he could think of himself. "When we kick at this wood, it's going to break. We're going to push it up enough to give you room to sit up and then you are going to push yourself up to the surface. Do you understand?"

"Wally-"

"Do you understand?"

Morgan sighed with a nod, though he knew it wouldn't be seen. "Yes." His heart was starting to stutter in his chest, and he jumped when he heard the first pounding of Walter's feet against the wood. There was a pained moan. "Wally?"

"Are you going to fucking help me or not?" was Walter's answer. Morgan did his best to pull his legs up and position them. "On three. One. Two. Three."

Morgan took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly even though he couldn't see. He kicked at the wood as hard as he could and could hear it splinter and crack. Dirt fell onto his legs. Morgan did his best to shift on top of the dirt and could feel Walter doing the same beside him. It would pin them if they weren't careful.

"One. Two. Three."

Morgan kicked again and the wood gave way. Dirt dropped over the top of him, and he did his best to shove at what was pouring over his face under himself. Morgan reached out blindly until he found a piece of board and he pushed at it as hard as he could, creating enough room for himself to sit up before more dirt was knocked into his lap.

A strong pressure filled his chest as the weight of the dirt came down around him and a sense of dread set in. He was trapped. Couldn't move. His arms felt tapped to his sides and he could barely get enough air into his lungs, the world feeling crushing and dizzy around him even in the darkness.

It was only six feet. That wasn't very tall, Morgan reasoned. That was Hannibal's height. If he stretched out his arms, he could reach Hannibal's shoulders. It wasn't much higher than that. If he could just somehow get upright and find a hold for his foot, then he could push himself up. It would be like rock climbing in Costa Brava. Or he hoped that was what it would be like.

Morgan did his best to shift his body and created enough room to pull his arms up and he did his best to use this to his advantage. He could push with his arms, using them to pack down enough dirt to allow him to fully stand up.

There was a sharpness in Morgan's side that began to set in almost immediately as he angled his body in the right direction. It was unnerving the way that the strain pulled at his chest, making him nearly want to cry out. Had he broken a rib? It wasn't nearly as blinding as he had thought it would be, so he doubted it.

It wasn't comfortable though. It was more like what Morgan would guess swimming through dirt felt like rather than it was like climbing. Just shifting dirt to make enough of a packed place to push up on.

His lungs ached and he was nearly certain that he might have been trying to move down rather than up until the evening's cool air licked at his fingertips, making his heart jump. He was right there. So close. It was enough to keep him sane. Enough to let Morgan know that he could make it.

With his arms free up to his elbows, he reached around to find purchase on anything stronger than loose dirt. Tall grass brushed at his fingertips, and he grabbed for it, snatching it up like his life depended on it, tearing at it. It was slow work and his arms ached, but when the cold air blew through his t-shirt and into his face, he cried.

Tears poured down his cheeks sticking the dirty shirt to his face as he struggled to free the rest of his body from the suffocating ground. Once he was free and on solid ground, surrounded by tall grass, he took at the fabric around his head, pulling it off and into the grass, greedily gulping at the night air, the summer breeze drying the tears on his cheeks.

He could panic now if he wanted to. He could cry and neither of his parents would tell him to relax or that it wasn't ok. This moment belonged to him as all moments after success did. The pain and the dread were his and he could own and explore them for a moment. He could sob uncontrollably, gasping as if he still couldn't breathe.

Morgan's hands seized up fistfuls of the grass, trying to anchor himself to something solid. Something that wasn't going to swallow him. He wasn't sure how long it took, but he finally had full control again. He could breathe. He could think. He stared up at the stars above him through damp lashes, taking in the empty quietness around him, the only sound being the wind blowing through the field. Nothing was out of place, nothing was wrong, the world was still turning and hadn't noticed that he had been trapped underground.

"Wally," Morgan whispered, pushing himself upright. He groaned, his ribs protesting, and his hand wrapped around his middle. He rolled to his knees and looked over the disturbed dirt for a moment, before his eyes flickered up to where Will and Hannibal stood, watching. Waiting. A steadying hand was on Will's shoulder to keep him in place and stop him from helping until their allotted time ran out.

Nausea made Morgan's head spin and he forced himself to keep the contents of his stomach down. Walter's fingertips had just barely appeared at the surface of the earthy lake and Morgan moved closer, digging at the dirt without a second thought. Each breath and each movement were excruciating, but he couldn't stop. There was something in him that refused to stop. Something in him that would do anything to protect.

He kept digging and every now and then did his best to get under Walter's arms to pull him free. It was slow work, but finally Walter was dragged from the dirty depths and collapsed on the ground, exhausted. Trembling hands pulled his shirt free, and Morgan lied down beside Walter who was gasping for air, legs still trapped in the dirt, but he didn't seem like he cared much.

Morgan released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and relaxed into the earth that was once more beneath him and no longer on top of him, the grip of sleep tugging at him.

Hands scooped him up from the ground, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They were gentle, safe. They held him close in the car ride back into the city and then a hand clasped his as he was led numbly through the city and back to their villa. It wasn't until they were entering their home that Morgan was finally able to put the hand in his as Hannibal's careful and guiding grip.

Morgan glanced back and over his shoulder to where Will was carrying Walter carefully, a streak of blood trailing through the dirt on Walter's shin, the bandage around his knee dark with it.

Morgan was ushered through the house and to the bathroom where Hannibal turned on the shower, causing Morgan to flinch slightly. Hannibal ran a hand over Morgan's head kindly. He knelt and took Morgan's arms in his strong grip, eyes flickering over Morgan's body.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly. Morgan's lips pursed and he gave a small shrug in answer. "You're breathing alright?"

"Yes," Morgan replied with a nod. "My ribs hurt a bit, but I'm ok."

Hannibal's eyes once more dropped down Morgan's body, calculating and checking over Morgan carefully. "You're not bruising. I don't think you broke anything."

"Just more achy than anything else."

"Shower, kleiner hase. I'll have dinner ready for you when you are finished," Hannibal instructed before leaving the bathroom. Hannibal made his way back out and into the kitchen where Walter was once more sat in that kitchen chair. Will was on his knees, carefully removing the bandaging from Walter's knee, leaving the teen boy inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hannibal stopped beside Walter, a hand taking the boy's shoulder and Walter jumped, looking up at Hannibal with dirty cheeks and nose, the dirt so thick it hid his freckles. "You did very well, Mangustėli," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Walter's dirty hair. "We're going to get you cleaned up and get you to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Walter asked curiously, unsure if they had ever once been taken to the hospital before other than his broken leg. Hannibal had always fixed anything that could have possibly been wrong with them, though he always offered it as an option if the boys wanted it.

"I want some imaging done on your knee," Hannibal answered, hand caressing Walter's bare shoulder. "Would you like your dad or I to help you get cleaned up?"

"Dad."

Hannibal nodded and looked over Will who was gently dabbing gauze over Walter's torn stitching. Will rose to his feet and threw the gauze away before turning back to Walter, helping the boy from the chair.

"Are you having any issues breathing? Any pain in your chest, lungs, or ribs?" Hannibal questioned as he went to work on dinner. Something easy and light. Some fish would be best, and Will had recently caught some lovely cod the day before.

"No Sir," Walter replied softly as he was carefully led towards the stairs by Will.

"Is there anything else besides your knee that we need to take a look at?" Hannibal tried again.

"No Sir," Walter repeated.

"Hurry down and we'll go get you looked at."

Will gave a small breath through his nose, the air hot with a frown. He said nothing as he helped Walter up the stairs and past the boy's bathroom and into their master. He sat Walter on the edge of the tub and busied himself with turning on the shower.

"I'm happy you two are alright," Will said, trying to break up the silence. As odd as it felt or sounded, he wasn't entirely sure he knew how to speak to his children anymore. Both were pulling so harshly in two different directions that Will wasn't clear on which he should follow or if he should stay in place and let them come back to him. Walter didn't reply, just stared at the floor. Will stepped closer and his hand took Walter's chin, pulling the boy to look up at him. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," the boy grumbled with a small shrug. "I just got buried alive. Who wouldn't be fine after that?"

Will frowned at the bitterness in Walter's tone and he gave another small sigh. "You understand why we-"

"I understand," Walter cut in with a nod. "Of course, I understand. That doesn't mean I have to fucking like it."

"Language," Will corrected lightly, helping Walter back to his feet. Walter rolled his eyes, jaw tight. "I hate when he does this to you." Walter's person seemed to lighten up at that and Will could easily pick up the confusion from Walter's skin. "You know that I don't like the extremes. Don't act surprised."

Walter couldn't help it though. He didn't think that he would ever hear those words from his dad. He didn't think he would hear the admittance that something Hannibal did was disliked. Hannibal wasn't perfect? Well, of course Walter knew that, but he had figured that his dad had long ago gone blind to the imperfections that made up Hannibal Lecter.

"Can you do it yourself or do you need help?" Will asked when Walter didn't say anything.

"I can shower myself."

"Kay." Will nodded and turned from the room, heading back to the kitchen where he could smell something being made, though his stomach was in far too many knots for him to be truly hungry. "Please don't make them do that again."

Hannibal didn't even turn at the statement. He simply kept his back to Will, focus held on the stovetop. "They were successful. I don't see a reason to return to such a situation. They're smart boys," Hannibal assured, grabbing a bottle of white wine, and pouring some into the pan he was using. "Could you get some basil, love?"

Will obeyed with a nod that he knew Hannibal couldn't see. He stepped over to the window seal where the plant sat happy and green, picked a decent number of leaves from it, rinsing them in the sink before placing them on a cutting board beside Hannibal.

"I have something I need to discuss with you," Hannibal announced. "Before the boys return."

"And what would that be about?" Will asked, leaning against the counter, and watching his husband begin to chiffonade the basil.

"I have a feeling that I will be leaving town coming up here in a week or so."

Will's brows furrowed and he folded his arms over his chest catching Hannibal's blank eyes. It wasn't often that Hannibal hid things from Will anymore, but Will knew that whatever it was must have been weighing heavily on the man if he didn't want to give Will any hint towards what was possibly happening.

And even if Will hadn't had to exercise his empathy to the extent that he used to, that didn't mean that he was rusty. He had been debating teaching the boys how to use it to their advantage if there was such a way to explain the empathy disorder to them in a better way than he had previously.

Will took Hannibal's cheek in his hand and Hannibal paused in his knife work and met Will's gaze. Will studied Hannibal carefully for a moment, eyes flickering over the man's face to take in every inch of it and what it could possibly be holding in it.

A tick in Hannibal's brow from worry or stress. A slight frown in his lips. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes from long hours spent in thought over the issue at hand. A tiredness from the bags under his eyes and Will wondered if Hannibal hadn't been sleeping well. He hadn't noticed and he felt guilty at the fact that he had been sleeping fine while Hannibal struggled with this internal puzzle he was trying to solve alone.

"It's about that girl, isn't it?" Will finally asked, the only issue he could truly come up with that would keep Hannibal up at night. Walter had long since ceased being such an issue for Hannibal. "The one back in Germany."

"Yes." Hannibal pulled himself free and went back to the cod he was cooking, adding in the basil and some tomatoes he had already cut up with a splash of more white wine. "I promised I would be there for a medical procedure if she so wished to have it done. I haven't received any information on it, but I-"

"Alright," Will agreed easily with a small nod, stepping up behind Hannibal and hugging the man from behind. He nuzzled his nose between Hannibal's shoulder blades. "But once she's healthy, please let it go. We can't still be attached to our life there. If they find out that we're here we'd have to leave again, and I don't think the boys could handle another uprooting quite so soon."

Hannibal pulled the food from the stove and set it aside on a cool burner before turning to face Will. He tipped Will's head up and pressed a kiss to Will's lips. "Not a moment longer than needed," he agreed with a nod.

"You better come home to me, Hannibal. I'm far too tangled with you to live with you gone." He pushed in closer until Hannibal kissed him once more. He moaned against the touch and let his eyes slip closed. "Can you sleep tonight? I hate the thought of you not resting."

"As soon as the boys are safe in their beds." Hannibal gave Will's forehead a kiss before turning back to the food. "Will you go check on them?"

"Sure." Will went for the stairs but stopped with his hand on the banister. "Did you want to take Walter to the hospital or should I?"

"He's more than welcome to choose."

Walter limped into the house with a huff and Will looked up from the lure he was busy tying with what looked like some bright yellow feathers. He sat upright in his chair taking in the boy who had a brace over his knee, and who looked utterly annoyed as he went for the stairs.

"Walt-"

"Night," Walter grumbled out under his breath as he awkwardly stumbled up the first few steps, his knee unable to bend from the brace he had on.

"Sleep well?" Will called after him, unsure of what else to say before he turned his attention to a tired looking Hannibal who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and closing the door with the other. "Is he ok?"

"Sprained knee. He's just upset he has to wear a brace," Hannibal answered, the door clicking as he locked it. He turned back around with a worn smile and stepped over to the desk Will was at, reaching out to run his hand through Will's curls. Will's eyes slid shut as he leaned into the gentle touch. "He continually complained that it was like when he broke his leg."

"How long does he need to wear the brace?"

"A week or two depending on pain levels. He needs to ice it several times a day as well."

"Should we go to bed?" Will tried to get up, but Hannibal's hand slipped down to his shoulder and stopped him.

"I don't want to interrupt your work, mylimasis," Hannibal whispered, leaning down to grace Will's curls with a kiss. "Please continue." Before Will could say a word, Hannibal stepped away and directed his attention to the bar. "Whisky?"

Will snorted out some laughter and shook his head, turning back to the lure and reaching out for something orange instead of yellow. He put the orange in place as a boone duster and began to slowly tie it off. "Walter complained that much, huh?"

"He is your son, Will."

"Our son," Will corrected in a loving tone, accepting the glass of whiskey that was set beside him.

"Our son," Hannibal agreed before taking a long sip of the caramel liquid.

The brace was ripped from his leg and Water threw it to the floor in anger, the metal clanking as it hit the ground. His hands ran through his hair, and he groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. A small sob left him as his hand grazed over his nose that was still healing and a pain shot through his cheeks.

Why did everything happen to him? Why was it always him? Morgan was never hurt like this. Morgan had never had to have a bone realigned or wear a cast. He had a wrist brace once but that was the only real injury that Walter could recall Morgan having ever received and it was because Morgan had tripped in the yard, not because Hannibal had chased him down across the city and then buried him alive. Why did it always have to be him?

Walter lay in his bed for a long while, staring up at the ceiling, unsure if he had actually fallen asleep or not until he sat bolt upright in a cold sweat, his shirt clinging to his body and his knee pounding out in pain.

He gasped, his hands desperately pulling the shirt from his body and tossing it to the floor. The summer air that had come in from the open window only made Walter's body feel sticky and he let out a small sob, trying to push away the pictures of dirt falling on top of him as the sound of nails being pounded into wood creaked through his ears.

He wiped the back of his hand over his nose and sniffled a bit before his fingers found the dampness of tears across his cheeks. Walter let out a pathetic sobbing laugh and shook his head. The nightmares never went away. Just when he thought they were finally beginning to dissipate something new and horrible came into being and sent Walter right back over the edge. He cursed that he knew what would help him. Cursed that he had become so dependent on the kid.

Walter pushed himself from the bed and stifled a pained noise as he put pressure on his pulsing knee. He limped from the room and across the hall to a closed door. Under the door a soft glow of light poured out and when Walter pushed the door open the small boy jumped in his bed, startled.

The book slammed shut before Morgan let out a sigh of relief. His eyes flicked over Walter curiously. "Bad dream?" Walter could only nod, closing the door behind him. "How's your knee?"

"Fucking hurts," Walter grumbled as he limped his way over to the kid. Morgan set the book on the bedside table and scooted over in his bed, creating enough room for Walter to join him. Walter carefully lowered himself beside Morgan and turned off the light. "Come here."

Morgan shuffled closer, doing his best to be mindful of Walter's knee and was scooped up by the older boy and hugged. Walter's face hid in Morgan's hair, and he hated how the smell of strawberries from Morgan's shampoo sent a fuzziness to his mind that relaxed him.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Morgan asked carefully, more feeling Walter shake his head than anything else.

"You weren't asleep," Walter whispered, eyes shut tightly.

"I wasn't."

"But you didn't come to my room."

"You said we needed to start sleeping alone," Morgan reminded and Walter fell still, even his breathing halted for several beats of the clock on the bedside table before he exhaled. What an idiot he had been. Of course, they needed to, but it was obvious that Morgan hadn't been able to sleep without him and Walter only ever had nightmares if he were alone. "Didn't you?"

"Tomorrow," Walter begrudgingly grumbled, though he knew it was a lie the moment the word left his lips.