Blood and Breath: Our Becoming (Hannigram)

2

"Can't live with him, can't live without him."

"You righteous, reckless, twitchy little man."

"He might as well cut all of our throats and be done with it."

"This is all I ever wanted for you, Will."

The next time Will woke up, he was affronted by white light that blinded him. For a moment he forgot that he had survived the fall, and wondered if he was in heaven - but as quickly as that thought came, it disappeared again, because he remembered who he was and what he had done. If heaven and hell existed, he was sure he'd end up in the latter eventually.

When his blue eyes managed to focus past the invading source of light, he was no more comforted by his true location than he would have been by heaven.

The hospital room was completely white, with only a red stripe of paint crossing the centre of the wall all around the room. A single bed room, he observed sleepily, gaze casting over the fake-plastic wardrobe and the large window to his left. When he looked in that direction, he found Hannibal asleep on what looked like a very uncomfortable chair, head lolled forward, likely putting strain on his neck.

Will watched him for a moment, wondering how such a messed up person could look so peaceful, but he figured he couldn't judge the messy insides of Hannibal Lecter's mind, when he himself was just as bad, possibly worse.

"Will."

So high off the morphine drip attached to his arm, the brunette wasn't sure if he had imagined Jack Crawford's voice saying his name. He lifted his head, turning it to look towards the voice and seeing the hazy outline of his once boss standing by the hospital room door, hands in the pockets of his beige trench coat.

"Jack?"

"How are you feeling, Will?" Crawford stepped closer to his bed and Will recoiled on instinct, wondering if he was real.

The edges of his figure were still fuzzy and he couldn't see his face but it felt like he was standing there. He fumbled for bed rail that was still lifted, realising he was handcuffed to it.

He knew then that Jack was real, and he and Hannibal had been located. They would send them both to the cell that Hannibal had once spoken to him through. No. They would likely separate the two men so they didn't have any contact to plan an escape, or maybe just to break them down so they would apologise for their actions.

Will couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at the thought of Hannibal apologising, or himself apologising for that matter. It would never happen. No matter how much the FBI, or Baltimore, or Jack Crawford tried, they wouldn't apologise.

"Well done, Jack. You caught us fast. How long do you think you can keep us?"

He observed the tightening of Jack's lips as he spoke.

"We didn't catch you fast, Will. You've been in this hospital for a week. Quite a lot of injuries you had, you and Hannibal. Care to tell me what happened to you both?"

Will hummed in response to that, carefully sitting up and being certain not to wince at the pain he was in. He didn't want to show weakness in the face of such righteously good people.

"The FBI, especially you, Jack, is incredibly resourceful. How did you find Hannibal and I?"

No visible reaction to Will's ignoring of his question, just the same tight-lipped appearance of his best poker face. It made Will smile, almost manically, before he heard Hannibal speak.

"Will."

He turned to him, only to see the man on the chair still asleep. Will frowned, confused.

"Hannibal..." He reached his hand out towards him, touching his knuckles lightly only to see blood start to leak from Hannibal's nose.

Panic blossomed in his chest when the same blood started dripping from his eyes. He tried to move, tried to help him, tried to reach out and wake him up.

"Will." Jack's voice again.

"Will!"

Hannibal.

He moved his neck rapidly to see the door. Jack was gone. He was alone. Almost getting whiplash from how fast he moved again, Will turned back to Hannibal. He was gone too.

There was a sloshing sound below the bed and he looked to see water rising in the room. Black liquid, like the waves of the Atlantic crashing over them as they fell to the sea from the bluff. Rising and hitting the walls and the bed, the rose of panic in Will's chest deepening in its red colour, growing thorns and stabbing into his heart, his lungs, his stomach.

"Will, wake up!"

"Mr Graham, can you hear me!?"

"Will!"

He bolted upright in bed suddenly, realising he was covered in sweat as he hyperventilated from fright.

"Will, it was a nightmare, it wasn't real. Take deep breaths." He could hear Hannibal's voice beside him, using a soothing, comforting tone that made breathing easier.

He raised his eyes to see another shadow in the room, a female nurse standing at the side of the bed. Eventually, his breathing slowed and his vision became clear again. He looked to Hannibal who smiled at him.

"Jack."

"Uncle Jack hasn't found us, Will. We're in a local hospital, they aren't going to call the police, I've made sure of it. Lie back." He told him and Will let himself be guided back against the plethora of pillows collected and stuffed behind his head.

He sunk into the comfort of their softness, sighing and looking to Hannibal.

"Did I pass out?"

"Indeed, but that was three days ago. Since then, the hospital has taken care of us very well. Though I regret to inform you that you lost teeth due to your knife wound. They've been replaced with natural implants though and your shoulder is just fine." He smiled at him, touching his cheek gently which made Will lean into him.

The real morphine drip attached to his hand took him down into the pillow, making the edges of his vision blur and darken as he started to fall asleep again.

He wondered momentarily for how long he would be unconscious again, feeling heavy like a weight and sensing the hospital blanket being lifted further up his body, placed just above his shoulders so that he was more comfortable. The darkness began to consume him as he reached out for Hannibal's wrist, completely aware of their skin contacting as he ran his fingers over the man's pulse, feeling the life underneath the thin layer covering his veins.

"Hannibal..." His voice was soft, weak, like an injured dog pleading for attention from its owner.

He needed reassurance, needed something to tell him he would be okay. That Hannibal wouldn't leave, that the FBI wouldn't catch them.

All he received was a hand over his own, the rough calluses of the older man's fingertips tracing the bones underneath his own pale skin. The thumb stroked over his flesh person suit, making him feel like he was made of nothing but jelly.

"I'll be right here when you wake up." He heard the last of his deep voice before he was swarmed by the black waves of his nightmares, cold water washing over his eyes and dragging him into the depths of sleep, his hand still held by his friend.