#it's almost impossible to picture a world where hannibal would reject will but bryan said so i tried to envisioned it

[suchawrathfullamb]

Prompt: Will Graham’s Broken Mind.

Season 4 Will being so out of his mind that Hannibal refuses to engage romantically with him. Prompted by what Bryan Fuller said about Season 4 Hannigram (ages ago, he has since changed his mind).

Will's body seems weightless, seconds stretched to feel like hours as he soars through the air, lost in a vast emptiness. The gentle caress of the breeze and the distant sound of waves envelop him, a sensation heard but never fully felt against his body. Is he dead? Did they die? Are they still together, wherever they are now? Instant regret fills his entire body as he considers the possibility of an afterlife without Hannibal. The jolt of realization electrifies him, wrenching him from the airborne void... back into the secure embrace of Hannibal's arms. They never plummeted. They are safe. Battered, bruised, but alive, still entwined. He feels divinely enchanted, empowered, fortunate, firmly grounded in the present, in life. Gazing up at Hannibal, relief floods him like a miraculous rewind of time. Closing the distance, he seeks the kiss he had avoided moments ago, knowing in his heart that if he got a taste of that, he wouldn’t have the strength to pull them over the edge. Now it’s all gone, he doesn’t care. Any trace of hesitation fades. The altered reality grants him insight, infusing him with newfound confidence. Hannibal carefully tilts his head, waiting for Will, so unsure, so scared of being rejected, again. So Will grabs him by the neck and merges their lips together.

It’s a surreal sensation of experiencing something entirely new, yet utterly familiar, like a reconnection of what has never truly parted. They kiss for what feels like an entire life, at the same time that he knows it’s only been a few seconds. Hannibal breaks the kiss, cupping his face with both hands. “We have to leave, now.” 

Reality intrudes, the urgency of the present snapping back into focus. They do have to leave. They have to leave immediately. And that’s exactly what they do.

That night went by so fast, yet torturously slow, like it would never end and they just wanted to make it to the next day. To see the sunrising as if it meant they prevailed and all was well. All wasn’t well. At all, but the illusion was comforting.

Memory fragments linger vividly: the wind on his bruised face, the metallic scent of blood, the stickiness staining their clothes. Wine stains the floor, shattered glass, their intertwined hands clinging fiercely, so afraid that letting go meant dissipating forever, like they were both made of dust. Even when rinsing blood from his mouth at the sink, Will clings to Hannibal.

He remembers wanting to stop everything and kiss him again, kiss him forever, make up for lost time. Amidst Hannibal's frantic search for a key or something Will can't recall, he leans in, showering kisses upon Hannibal's lips, his face, his neck. Hannibal smiles softly, gently pushing Will away.

Cool night air brushes against him as they sail across the ocean. Amidst the chaos, Chiyoh appears, aiding their escape. Will recalls no specifics of Chiyoh, only them, the water, the night sky.

Though time has passed since that night, he sometimes feels suspended on that cliff's edge, held by the only arms he's ever longed for. Yet it's not been too long. They've not settled, not rested. Shadows linger, trapping and pursuing him.

Yet that doesn’t stop them. In fact, Will feels like he got high and can’t come down. In the whirlwind of events, it feels like a fevered dream—a dizzying rush entangled with slow-motion haziness. Will finds himself in a lavish dining room, enveloped in Bedelia's overpowering amber scent, almost suffocating in its intensity. It mingles uncomfortably with the metallic tang of blood, unsettling his stomach. Blood droplets dance in the air, vivid and crimson, painting a surreal scene, the chilling touch of the blade the only sensation he registers. His heart thunders in his ears, the lights blinding, an inferno simmering within. This creation is unlike any other—planned, chillingly perfect. Their design.

As the color leaves her complexion, Will drops the knife and closes the distance, pushing Hannibal against the big dinning table, getting their clothes all stained, running his bloody hands through his neck and hair. Lust, desire, and an inexplicable love overwhelm him. Brief relief floods his heart before he's gently pushed away. Eyes shut, he reaches for Hannibal, met with silence. When he opens them, he stands alone. Hannibal swiftly orchestrates their exit, preparing to leave.

“Come on, we have to go,” Hannibal calls from the door. Will stands, numb and hollow, before snapping back to reality and approaching him.

Assigned the role of driver, Will obeys. The night feels crisp and vivid, the breeze a welcome caress on his skin. He glances to his right, spotting a lone figure on a bench. His rearview mirror reflects darkness, emptiness. He slows the car, stopping it further ahead. Hannibal, puzzled, steps out after Will.

“Will?” Hannibal's voice barely registers. Will's mind fixates on the man on the bench. He stands, a safe distance away, fixated. Hannibal follows his gaze, then looks back, questioning. “Will?” he gently touches his hand, but there's no response. Will's gaze burns with intensity, a fire simmering within. He strides toward the man, eyes locked, a predator's intent in his gaze.

At closer inspection, the man is no pushover; he's robust, exuding an air of authority as he lounges, puffing on a cigar. Upon noticing Will's approach, he frowns, unimpressed. Before he knows what is actually happening, Will is seeing red, splashing drops everywhere, as he pushes the man, throwing him backwards from the bench to the ground behind him, his head hitting the concrete, and he’s on to him in no time. Mounted on the man he attacks his throat, teeth slashing, like a vicious animal. Bloodlust consumes him, barely registering the taste. Hannibal's shadow looms closer, intervening by closing the man's mouth, locking eyes with Will.

From that brutal and beautiful spectacle, Will recollects little beyond Hannibal pulling him away, throwing him into the car. Then, only the blur of streetlights and wind racing past. He hears Hannibal's voice but cannot recall his own. His mind swirls with colors and lights. Unreal yet vividly present, he feels the pulse of every sinew, every rush of blood in his veins.

He passes out on the couch that night, and when he wakes up, he’s cleaned up and tended. But doesn’t remember any of it. Yet an instant tug in his chest forces his stomach to empty its contents—blood, wine, and parts of Bedelia splattered across the carpet. Hannibal appears, stands there for a second, watching him, then comes up and begins to gently stroke his back, soothing and pulling his hair back from his sweaty forehead. The scent must be awful to his sensitive nose, but he doesn’t show if it is. Just disappears and reappears with a glass of water and gently brings it to Will’s lips. He takes a sip and immediately feels the cool relief. Perhaps he passes out again, because he suddenly wakes up on the couch again and it’s dark outside. Hannibal is sat next to him, hands on his feet, but seems to be sleeping.

Silence fills the air, yet unseen presences press upon him; invisible restraints grip his wrists. The shadows cast Jack's haunting eyes through the kitchen window. Overwhelmed by anxiety, he ventures outside their remote refuge. The safe house, cloaked in darkness, secluded and in the middle of nowhere. If they were to be found, they already would have by now. He stands by the car and can see the crimson stains in the back seat, memories of the man on the bench returning—tasting flesh, witnessing life ebb away. His senses amplify, a god-like vision dawning, instincts surging, a blend of deity and beast. Horns seem to sprout from his reflection, an illusion melding with growing pressure upon his head, though nothing is there. 

He went back inside, retrieved the keys and suddenly he was back on the streets, lights passing by, wind caressing his face. He felt so free, so calm, yet so fierce. Half god, half beast, his soul dancing gloriously through a world he owned. He knew exactly where he was going, although if someone asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell exactly. Like he was being guided by his body. Half beast, half god. 

Passing sounds like music made of thunder and waves, fog and vivid but glossy colors danced through his eyes and then, seated on a cold white tile floor, crimson splashes around him, artistry against white walls and floors. The scent of blood fills his lungs, empowering. Fear and anxiety vanish, replaced by absolute freedom and primal might. A towering figure appears, evoking an instinctive response, like his body recognized his mate, and he gave him a smile that spoke of accomplishment. Hannibal kneeled, words unheard, but Will's instinct led him to pull Hannibal closer, a kiss met with resistance.

“What have you done?” Hannibal inquired calmly, cupping his face. Will, unable to articulate coherent sounds, merely smiles. Hannibal picked him, cradling him like a child or a little monkey, carrying him away. Memories blur; the drive home brings only the sensation of wind against his face.

Reality crashes in as his body immerses in hot water. The bathtub reddens before turning clear, the scent of blood replaced by cypress and bergamot. Gentle hands tenderly cleanse him. Tilting his head to meet Hannibal's gaze, he breathes in his essence, drawing closer for a kiss, his soaked arms reaching Hannibal’s neck. When he tries to slide his tongue in, Hannibal pushes him away. His body complains with an automatic “hmmm” noise and a frown. Hannibal just turns his head away and places a soft kiss on Will’s temple.

He ends up falling asleep on the tub and wakes up naked on the bed, body covered in silky sheet. Hannibal is sat beside him, on the edge of the bed, gentle hands stroking his hair, eyes gleaming, filled with waters that never dare to come down. He falls asleep again. Dreams of lights, and colors, and something chasing him, and him, chasing something.

He doesn’t remember eating, at least not sitting on the table and having dinner. He remembers hunting, and filling his body with the flesh of the unworthy and vile, consuming their darkness unto him, making it holy, purifying. He’s full and satiated, not interested in whatever Hannibal prepares for them. Knows Hannibal would get annoyed at this, yet, he doesn’t seem to. Just keeps looking at Will with intensity and maybe worry, but Will isn’t sure if Hannibal worries at all.

His body revels in the satisfaction of his hunts, yet a primal craving for mating pulses within him, electrifying his loins to a point of painful urgency. Despite his attempts, each advance is met with tender but resolute rejection. His mind, clouded by intoxication, begins to ground itself, allowing the reality to seep through as he voices his confusion from the kitchen island where he sits, watching Hannibal wash something in the sink.

“Why?” It’s the only question that manages to escape him. Moments ago, he sought a kiss, an invitation, but once more, it ended in a gentle push and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Hannibal halts, shutting off the tap to regard him, his chest moving steadily with each breath. “Not like this,” he replies calmly.

“Why?” 

“I don’t desire an affair with you,” Hannibal responds softly, his eyes carrying a hint of tenderness.

“No?” Tears well up in Will's eyes unexpectedly, his vulnerability surfacing like a that of a child, easily triggered. Hannibal notices, swiftly positioning himself in front of Will. He takes Will’s hands resting on his knees, kissing his knuckles.

“No,” he smiles gently, cupping Will's face with a hand, “I want more.”

Will stares. He fails to comprehend how this explanation changes anything. In his mind, they were already mated, united and married in every significant sense.

“Why can’t we just enjoy each other?” He offers, a sentiment he instantly regrets as it fractures something in Hannibal. His eyes avert, faltering.

“You’re deranged.” Hannibal retorts, his voice and expression suddenly cold. “When you wake up from this trip you’re in, you’ll regret all of it.” he resumes slicing fresh figs, his demeanor unyielding. “I do not intend to be a part of those regrets.” 

#i tried okay #my own prompt again lol #pls use it and tag me cause i'd love to read your take on this #it's almost impossible to picture a world where hannibal would reject will but bryan said so i tried to envisioned it #i know he wouldn't actually do this tho cause he's too in love and too proud to feel like he's being “used” by a feral will #i mean he's already madly in love he KNOWS after they f* the love will explode him so i dont think he'd risk getting his feeling hurt #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal #will graham #hugh dancy #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #mads mikkelsen #fanfic #fic rec #writing prompt #fic prompt