Hannigram Oneshots

The Red Dragon (Part 3)

Bathtubs and Station Wagons

Will didn't recall turning the shower off or going to his bed that night. He just remembered falling into an ocean of blood and organs. The sounds of screaming and crying filled his heart with a swelling drum. A tick that pushed through his eyes and bled into his throat. A constant scratching at an invisible door.

He was getting used to these nightmares though. After the panic he knew like a non-existent brother set in he was fine. The chaos was orderly in certain ways. Will couldn't control it while under such stress like one of these heart drowning moments. It always started when he heard those clicking hooves. The black stag was gliding across this tidal wave of gore in this dream. It was staring at him with empty eyes and then walking past, his hollowing hooves clicking on nothing. Will found it strange even by dream logic standards, and he had the unfamiliar thought that this deer was like a god. Walking on water the way Jesus would, always present like God, and just as apathetic to and unbothered by man's suffering.

He couldn't shake the sticky ooze trapping his feet in red. His lungs were filling with it, his mouth and eyes bleeding. People were screaming so loud it burst his eardrums; the faces of all the people he didn't save and the people he'd killed. In self-defense. Will thought. But his nightmare didn't like that. No. You did this Will Graham. You killed them and it felt good, didn't it? You liked it. You have demons under your bed, boy. How much longer are you going to hide from them? It was a booming voice. Not coming from anywhere, yet not in his head either. It sounded so familiar, but his sleeping mind couldn't place a face to the accusing voice. Accept who you are, Will. This could be your becoming, and it could be beautiful, only if you let it. Let it in Will. Let me in.

Will was awoken, to a dark room and an aching neck craned against the cold bathtub wall. Sweat soaking his hair and naked body. His bed was twelve hours away and he had work today. This week was a long drag on a cigarette laced with too many drugs to name. He got up sliding out of the tub, his feet hit the floor mat with a thud. He heard his dogs whining, scratching at the closed bathroom door. He rubbed his eyes and went for the medicine cabinet, downing god knows how many pills. He grabbed the blue shirt that was still laying on the counter from last night and put it on, wiping his sweat off with a towel beforehand.

He opened the door to all seven of his hounds staring at him. Their eyes varied in color and size but they all held the same emotions; love, concern, and loyalty.

"Hey, guys. You gonna eat me or?" he laughed and walked out the door past them. Most followed, wagging their tails, happy to see him. Winston stayed at his side like a guard dog ready for war. He pet the mutt, his favorite getting special treatment. He always made sure to give the others attention, it was just often difficult. Like caring for a bunch of chickens or little children. Though Will knew nothing of children and their behaviors, having been solidly isolated from other youth. This brought Will's mind to the lost boys' case. He'd worked it earlier this year and had figured it out but one part had stumped him. It was oddly difficult for Will, and in the end, Alana was the one that connected the final dots. What they're craving is brotherly and motherly love. Will could empathize with them but he couldn't understand it. He'd never know that form of connection and the motivations it caused.

He moved about in his country house, tending to his dogs. Will took extra time doing what he needed to before he left for his lectures at the FBI Academy. He wasn't looking forward to the drive. Quantico wasn't far per se, but his exhaustion was seeping through his eyelids and he wasn't mentally prepared for the day. He had felt so sick lately, an average state of being for him. But his thoughts and dreams keep dragging him further into the pit. They had been so off-kilter in the past month.  Everything was connected to Hannibal, in some way or another, even if he didn't consciously realize it. He couldn't pull away from him, the magnetic field was simply too strong to resist.

Will found himself in the car driving, not knowing how he got there. He gripped the wheel, breathing hard. After the original panic at the loss of time and from the location he was in wore off Will settled. It was amazing what the human mind could get used to, those blanks of time were becoming the norm. Will sighed, shaking ever so slightly. He drove, not thinking of anything but the road and sky ahead. He went on, towards the incoming war that was unknowingly awaiting him.

Where was he going anyway? He looked around the sparse road. This wasn't the way to his job; his car was driving towards Dr. Lecter's office. Fuck. Will thought. He slowed his car down to a stop on the side of the road. He twitched his eyes toward his bag grabbing his phone. He dialed Jack and waited as it rang once twice and then he picked up.

"Will? Is something the matter. You're 10 minutes late you know." Will turned his head to the dash. The time was later than he thought, he scratched at his eye and responded.

"Uh yeah listen Jack." he coughed. "I'm sick and can't come in today." he muttered a sorry at the end and hung up the phone before Jack could protest or say he was sending Alana out to check on him. He knew both of those would probably happen anyways without his consent on the matter.  Driving would help clear all this confusion up. So what if he was coincidentally headed towards Hannibal's place. It's not like his mind desperately wanted to lay eyes on the man. He did have a session tonight anyways. What could showing up eight hours early hurt?

Some ten miles away Hannibal Lecter was sitting in his office. His clock made a constant quiet ticking noise.