Plagued By An Imagine

Part 4

From the deep of the night The Great Red Dragon materialized, taking up the space that had once belonged to Hannibal. Will instinctively took a step back and a handgun with a suppressor fitted to it was pointed right for his chest.

"Don't run," the dragon warned in a raspy voice and Will stilled. "I'll catch you."

Hannibal had pulled himself across the floor and out of the way, using the lyre post to support himself by pressing the middle of his shoulder blades into it. His other hand was busy holding pressure to the wound down by his right hip. He was breathing hard, like he had just finished an extraneous run.

Will closed his eyes with a deep breath, doing his best to still his face into something emotionless. Something that wouldn't tell the dragon exactly what had happened between earlier that day, though it was highly possible they had been watched the entire time.

"Hello, Francis," Hannibal gasped out and Will was curious if he was putting on a show or if speaking really took that much effort.

The gun was lowered as Francis regarded his prey. "Hello, Dr. Lecter."

Not really knowing what else to do, but knowing that if he were to keep playing the part, Will brought his glass to his lips, sipping at the wine as if he couldn't care less. But something deep in him was aching, tugging at him, begging him to step in and do something, though what he was at a loss for.

"I'm so happy you chose life, Francis," Hannibal pressed on, voice nowhere near the suave and collected it normally was. He had to be putting on a show. He was gasping and huffing for air with pain in every breath and Will sucked on his teeth as he watched the performance, certain that he had never acted in such a way when he had been shot. "Suicide is the enemy." Another pained inhale. "You were seized by a fantasy world..." The words must have struck a chord because Francis lowered himself to the floor, setting the gun on the ground and pulling a pack from his shoulder that Will hadn't been able to see with how dark the room had been. "...with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood."

Francis' attention was captured up so tightly by the strained words that Will nearly dared to make a move, but all the logic in him held him glued in place. He held to the wineglass for grounding and watched as the situation continued to unfold before him.

"It took you a step beyond alone," Hannibal finished.

"I'm going to film your death," Francis stated slowly and clearly, his eyes never leaving Hannibal's face as he pulled a camera and tripod from his bag.

He would rewatch it, Will concluded. Over and over again. His greatest victory. He would get drunk off of the kill until it finally wasn't enough and like a druggie, he would start looking for his next fix. He would evolve, grow, escalate too far and devolve. Will hoped that they were more towards the devolving part of the cycle. This was where the mistakes would be made, the cockiness so easy to manipulate and use to their advantage.

"Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon."

Delusional. He had always been delusional, but if he really thought that he would obtain any sort of strength or skill from Hannibal's death, he was sorely mistaken. But it wouldn't stop him from trying. It was like the angel maker. He could only sleep with the angels of his own making, praying and protecting him. What a grave misconception.

"It's a glorious and rather discomforting idea." Hannibal's gaze finally went to Will who met it head on, silent in the mess that surrounded them. His face was cold, but his eyes glistened in the dim yellow glow of the lamp light. They held more in them. A pleading for any solution to get out of this in one piece.