FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU

16

Will was back in the Hobbs's house, his pistol falling to the floor with a clatter as he stared at the dead body of Nicholas Boyle. His vision was dotted with red, nausea rising up inside of him. The room was suffocatingly hot.
     To his dismay, the body stirred. Nicholas, despite the gaping wound in his head, slowly began to sit back up, his body limp like the limbs of a rag doll. It took a massive effort for him to lift his head up and look at Will.
"You," he hissed, "are revolting. You're no better than me." Blood spilled from the hole in his temple. "You didn't find me fast enough."
"Cassie was innocent. You're not." Will bent down and picked up the pistol again. He knew it wouldn't work on Nicholas, not anymore, but it gave him comfort to have it.
"But neither are you. When does the cycle end, Will Graham?" He spit out Will's name like it was something disgusting. "When is it okay to kill, and when is it not? Why am I the evil one, but you can do whatever you please?"
Will's eye twitched, his muscles stiff and sweat trickling down his forehead. "I never said I wasn't a monster."
"You're a menace. We both are. Monster is the wrong word— there's only one monster that you know." Nicholas shifted his gaze to something behind Will, his face contorting with fear. Will resisted the urge to turn around, as he feared what he would see.
A freezing hand settled on the back of his neck. Nicholas laughed mockingly.
"Oh, I get it. He's got his claws in you, and you're letting it happen!" He shouted, becoming maniacal. "What is wrong with you?"
Will didn't respond. He didn't know what to say; Nicholas was telling the truth. The hand moved from his neck to wrapping around his body, resting on his chest. It pulled Will backwards until he was leaning against someone else— no, leaning against Hannibal, who was staring at Nicholas with contempt. He turned to whisper in Will's ear.
"Kill him."
Without a moment's hesitation, Will raised the gun and pulled the trigger once more.
And then he bolted upright in bed, his blankets and clothes drenched in sweat. He looked down at his hands, relieved to see them bloodless and empty, not holding a pistol. He was home, but it wasn't comfortable.
He downed the glass of water by his bed before lying back down, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. He'd learned quickly how well Hannibal's imprint worked— too well, in fact. When he closed his eyes at night, it took less than ten seconds to knock him out. He wasn't sure he wanted to sleep again right now.
He wasn't completely ignorant; he knew Hannibal had ulterior motives for him. He just wasn't sure what exactly he wanted. He'd only spoken about Will revealing his true self, coming to terms with his identity and finding peace. That was incredibly vague— he'd already "come to terms with his identity" about three boyfriends ago. That could mean anything.
He certainly wasn't going to find peace through murder, not like Hannibal seemed to. Nightmares, post traumatic stress, and suffocating guilt didn't constitute as peace to him. Hannibal had the wrong idea if that's what he was going for.
He ignored the minuscule thought worming around in the back of his mind. You liked it, it whispered. You liked killing him.
It was something he hadn't admitted to Hannibal yet, but he was sure he sensed it. He had done his best to display disgust at Hannibal's crimes, but under that mask he remained stone faced. There was a portion of his psyche that either blocked out the emotion, or it simply didn't care. He didn't know which was worse.
He wanted to talk to Hannibal.
The thought came out of nowhere, but once it was there it wouldn't leave. In spite of the ungodly hour, he reached for his phone, planning on leaving a message and ending it there. He'd probably regret it in the morning, but his feelings were too distressing to try to sleep on.
The last thing he expected was for Hannibal to answer on the first ring.
"Hello?" Hannibal's voice was unbothered, as if he'd expected Will to call. His voice paralyzed Will, erasing any ideas of what he wanted to say. The dream was pushed out of the way, any questions about why he was awake— that little thought hiding in the corner suddenly lunged out, overcoming Will's common sense. He'd learned to trust that voice, and his secret spilled out instantly.
"I liked killing Nicholas Boyle," he said softly. He felt a weight lifting off of him just after saying it.
There was a long pause, and Will was left to wonder what he'd just done. Was admitting it a huge step that he wasn't aware of? Would Hannibal use it against him? Oh, God, what if he turned him in—
"I know."
Will exhaled.
"I was hoping you'd tell me soon."
"What am I going to do?" He rested his forehead in his palm.
"We'll talk more about it tomorrow, Will. I suggest you get some rest before you begin to spiral."
Will was an expert at spiraling. "I don't want to be a bad person. I don't want to go to Hell." Hell had become an all-encompassing fear now, so much more threatening to him now that he knew the truth.
"You were defending yourself. Your actions weren't criminal, and thoughts are never criminal. You've done nothing wrong."
"I just..I shouldn't be feeling this way."
     "How did it feel?"
     "Like I was..I was taller. We were fighting, and I had won."
     "What does it feel like to win?"
     Will gave a shaky sigh. "Powerful. I don't ever have control over anything. I could control what happened to him."
     "You have control over how you see yourself, Will. It won't help you to hate yourself for what you've done— the past is already past. Once you drop a teacup on the floor, it shatters, and you cannot reverse that."
     "I thought you were trying to fix me? Aren't I shattered porcelain?" Will quipped.
     "I can mend the cracks, but I can never make you the way you were before you fell. Not all the way."
"That's bleak."
"I find a beauty in it. It allows us to appreciate the present even more. It is your job to fix yourself as much as it is mine."
     Will set the phone down, Hannibal's voice coming out of the speaker, and began picking at the skin on his fingers. A painful scab opened up again. "How can I fix myself?"
     "Go to bed, for one thing. I want to talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
     "Yeah. I'll be there."
     "You had a bad dream? Is that what facilitated this?"
     "About Nicholas. Yes."
     "Before you go to sleep, picture yourself somewhere peaceful. Don't think of Nicholas, or any other ghosts. You'll be left alone then."
     "..Okay. Thank you. I'm sorry."
     "Never apologize for needing me."
     Will hung up, leaning forward and burying his head in his knees. He finally found the courage to lay back down, and when he closed his eyes he thought of himself fishing. He was wading in cool water up to his knees, the sun warming his skin. The breeze rustled green trees, birds soaring above him. He smiled.
     He stayed in the creek all night, unbothered and peaceful.