A/N: I feel conflicted and nervous writing this one. I shipped Hannigram starting this season, but never in a "true love" way- it was always that I just knew the writers were going there and I accepted it. I see Hannigram as dark and manipulative and don't necessarily condone it. I am just telling their story as I think it would be post-finale. But I am worried I might have bungled the characterization or plot development, and I'm worried I made it too disturbing. If any of those are true, I am very sorry. I always get nervous writing for new fandoms. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

During the fall, Will has just enough time to regret what he's done, and then convince himself again that he was right.

The water is hard, which he hadn't expected. It feels like glass, piercing his skin and sending agony through his body. The shock leaves him breathless.

As a wave soaks his hair, Hannibal asks, shouting so Will can hear, "Will, what have you done?"

"I've either saved us, or killed us," Will answers without conscious input, and then he realizes the truth of his words. Either he's saved them from jail or the asylum, or he's killed them- but even then, saved them from jail.

"Let's hope for the former," Hannibal grunts. "I'm barely able to tread at the moment."

Will looks around and sees a sand bar under the cliff. It wouldn't be visible from the top- it's perfect.

"Just try to support your own weight," Will instructs, grunting in pain as he wraps an arm around Hannibal. The salt water stings the fresh wound- though he imagines it must be worse for Hannibal given that his own wound is submerged- and he feels the hypovolemic shock getting worse. It's only adrenaline keeping him awake. He's lightheaded, dizzy, faint, but he manages to get them to land.

Hannibal is unconscious by then, but breathing. Will hopes he stays that way. Hopes they both stay that way, because the world then vanishes from under him and sends him collapsing at Hannibal's side.

Will doesn't dream. It feels strange to wake up calm.

He gazes at the early morning sun and takes some slow breaths. He feels desperately, maddeningly thirsty, as though every inch of his body has been sprinkled with salt.

He licks his lips, dry and chapped. It reminds him of the new… revision to his face. He and Frederick are matching again.

As long as Will doesn't ever add graft scars to that collection, he supposes he can tolerate that.

He looks over at Hannibal, still unconscious. He lifts the soaking shirt- he probably should have done that first, to prevent hypothermia, but hindsight is 20/20- and looks at the stomach wound. It's still bleeding sluggishly. He wrings out the shirt until it's damp, and then presses it to the injury. Hannibal moans faintly.

"Sorry, Hannibal," Will says. "But I've decided I'm saving us, after all."

Will manages to get them to another beach, a fair distance away. He hears police sirens from above, signaling that they can't return to the house. He picks the lock on another person's house, and drags Hannibal inside and to the bed.

Hours later, and Hannibal has hardly stirred, and even that only twice. Will begins to worry.

But Hannibal seems to know, as always, when Will is in emotional distress. A soft and questioning noise slips past Hannibal's lips as his eyelids flutter. He gazes up at Will, breathing hard.

Will smiles thinly. "Hello, Hannibal."

"Hello, Will." Hannibal cringes, becoming aware of a raw sensation in his throat.

"I'll get you some water." Will retrieves a glass, and then returns and gives it to him.

"Thank you." Hannibal's grasp isn't all that steady, but his hand isn't shaking either. In Will's non-expert opinion, Hannibal will be okay after some time and rest.

Will is interested to see that Hannibal can still feel pain. Like a normal human, he can still feel it, despite his insistence he's something more.

The Bible says that Lucifer is being punished in Hell, instead of ruling over it.

"Do you enjoy my injured state, Will?" Hannibal asks as Will prepares to sanitize Hannibal's wound again.

Hannibal's pain fascinates him. He keeps touching Hannibal's stomach, not hiding his intentions. He doesn't see the point anymore in hiding what he is. Freeing him of any pretense had been what Hannibal wanted before making a space for him in his world.

"Yes," he says. "I feel… powerful."

"As though you have finally become my equal," Hannibal says matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Will says, untwisting the cap. "I've enjoyed my becoming."

"The only one equal to me." Hannibal's face is set, preparing himself to take the pain stoically, but Will can see fondness underneath it.

Will thinks of Bedelia, and smirks. "Yes. Now be careful, this'll hurt. Want a drink first?" He holds out the bottle of scotch.

"I am aware," Hannibal says. "No, I do not want a drink."

With that, Will pours the alcohol on the wound, and Hannibal gives a restrained hiss.

"We're still made of the same stuff as everyone else," Will says softly.

"But our minds are superior," Hannibal says, looking at Will curiously.

"Yes. They are." Will touches Hannibal's throat. Strokes over it, feeling Hannibal's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"You don't want to kill me," Hannibal muses.

"No. Nor do you want to kill me. Not for a long time." Will feels quite calm as he says that. "Not too long ago, Bedelia called me Frankenstein's bride. But I never was. I was Dracula's."

"Frankenstein's bride was created for him," Hannibal says. "In that sense, you are her."

"But Dracula's brides turned to sin willingly. And in that sense, I am them," Will says. After a brief silence, he adds, "I am a… hybrid, then, meant for a certain role, and taking it willingly."

"Did Frankenstein's bride try to resist her nature?" Hannibal asks.

"She was horrified at Frankenstein's; I would believe so," Will says.

"Just as Frankenstein's bride, you were horrified to see your own nature reflected by someone else," Hannibal says.

"And like Dracula's brides, I came to welcome our true natures, imitating but never being a part of humanity. We are what humanity wants to cleanse themselves of." Will takes in a sharp breath.

"And they think they have," Hannibal says. "They are searching for our bodies at this very moment."

"Some will learn the truth sooner or later," Will says. "Before they don't know anything at all."

"And you will be participating this time," Hannibal says, and breaks into a smile.

"Dracula's brides are vampires in their own right, willing to drain the life from others the same as Dracula himself. Sometimes they even seek out those pleasures without him." Will licks his lips.

"Would you?" Hannibal asks, tilting his head.

"Not until I learned to hone my… instincts," Will replies.

"I will teach you how to do it," Hannibal promises.

"I've no doubt you will. As you've done for years," Will says, looking down at the blood on his hands. It's Hannibal's, but for a moment he imagines it to belong to many others. And he doesn't mind it in the least.

After a silence falls to signal the end of the conversation, Will calmly wraps the bandage around Hannibal's wound. Hannibal gives another hiss, and looks relieved that he will be left alone for several hours.

Or so he thinks, until Will touches the spot again. Hannibal's pain is just as sweet to him as his happiness.

Sleeping beside Hannibal is strange in that it isn't at all strange. He's just another human figure, like Molly, like Margot. His body is harder and stronger, but in a pleasant way. Will enjoys the companionship of the only person like him.

Hannibal's breaths are slow and deep. His heart rate is slow, and rarely changes. Will keeps a hand there as he tries to fall asleep, letting the steady beats anchor his mind. He closes his eyes. He wants to sleep, but he finds this just as restful.

Eventually he does manage to sleep, his body too exhausted to resist. Once again, he doesn't dream.

Indulging in his psychopathy is leading to unexpected results.

"Will, what you are doing is-"

"Risky, foolish, stupid. Yes. I know. That changes nothing." Will folds his arms over his chest. "I want my dogs."

"Will, they are still searching for us. If you reclaim your dogs, all the benefit of our fake deaths is null and void. There is no one would else who would want your dogs."

"We can run. You and Bedelia did it," Will argues. "I am not doing this without my dogs, Hannibal. They are my family."

Looking wounded, Hannibal protests, "I am all the family you need, Will."

"No. You are not." Will is well aware of how this will hurt Hannibal, but he doesn't care. "You will accept my dogs as a part of our lives, and that's that."

Hannibal surrenders, for the first time. The first time in their time knowing each other, at least, and quite possibly in his life.

Will goes to his- Molly's- house, staying off to the distance until he's sure the house is not occupied. Walter should be at school, he thinks, and Molly at the police station, trying to help them discover his whereabouts. This is his only chance to retrieve his pack.

Whistling, he steps onto the deck where the dogs are tied. They usually allowed the dogs to spend their days outside, when the weather allowed. He spots Winston and goes to him first, raising a hand to pat his head.

Winston whines, high-pitched and loud.

"Hey, Winston, it's me," Will whispers, gentle but firm. "No need to be afraid." He sets his hand on the top of Winston's head, and scratches his ears.

Winston growls. One by one, he goes to the other dogs. They all have their own reactions, but the same sentiment as Winston- eying him suspiciously, barking, and in Buster's case, backing away with his head lowered.

And just like that, in a single heartbeat, Will Graham no longer has dogs.

They're Molly's and Walter's now, their only reminders of him- not his. His dogs have sensed the change inside of Will, and they may as well have never known him. His new dark side is overpowering the love they used to have as a pack.

Will returns home alone, and accepts that Hannibal is his only family now. Hannibal isn't just the only human who can understand him- he's the only living being who can.

"I had my own becoming, decades ago," Hannibal informs Will over a drink of wine. It's expensive- a million tiny hints of flavors seem to dance on his tongue. "As I did not leave the womb a murderer."

"Oh?" Will says, looking up with interest. He wonders how much of Hannibal's past he'll come to know. He still knows so little, after all this time.

"When I began my killings, I still had a family. My aunt warned me to stop while I still could, but I knew I couldn't. After she witnessed one of my killings, she told me that there was nothing human left of me for her to love." Hannibal's face is impassive, yet Will knows that it had to have wounded him for years.

It might even have sealed his fate. If Reba McClane's love could delay Francis Dolarhyde's descent into madness, who knows what the love of Lady Murasaki might have done for a younger Hannibal?

Hannibal, of course, would insist that he was always meant to be what he is as Lucifer was always meant to fall, and as Will was meant to join him.

Seeing that Will has nothing to say to that, Hannibal continues, "As I did decades ago, you have forfeited your humanity, Will, to become what you were meant to be. We are not human. We are the only two of our kind."

"Yes," Will breathes. "And that is why we have become so blurred. I understand."

"Do you?" Hannibal questions.

"Yes," Will says, voice firmer. "I do now. It is just you, and me… no one else."

"I hope to provide all the company you need, Will," Hannibal says, taking a sensuous sip of wine. "I hope that you will have all you need."

"You will," Will says, feeling something settle inside him. The last ties to his old life are gone. All that is left is this new creature Hannibal has awakened from dormancy.

He wonders when this creature will demand to be fed.

That answer, it turns out, is as soon as they are well enough. They try to decide who should provide their first meal, and decide that it can't be anyone prominent in their former lives yet. Bedelia Du Maurier will have to wait.

Hannibal goes back to his house, managing to get the essentials over a period of a week. The first trip yields several bottles of Hannibal's favorite wine, and his collection of business cards.

"Grant Edwards was so very impolite to me in Canada. He has taken residence in New York City," Hannibal says, tapping one finger against a card.

"Well," Will says. "By all means, let's put an end to his squealing."

Grant Edwards goes down just like a pig, as Will had thought, squealing and running wildly. The blood looks less beautiful by sunlight, but Will enjoys the act. The adrenaline, the cooperation with Hannibal, the challenge. He enjoys seeing the look on Grant's face when he realizes he is going to die, and enjoys panting and regaining his breath as Grant loses his forever.

Hannibal begins to disarticulate the body. Pointing at Grant's large face, Hannibal says, "Someone once told me the cheeks are the best parts of an animal."

"I trust your sense of taste," Will says. "I am eager to try."

"One cheek for me, and one for you," Hannibal agrees, finishing cutting the body into small, transportable parts.

They return to their hideaway. Will finds that human meat does not smell that differently from animal. He has never been around while Hannibal cooked before- Hannibal always instructed his guest to wait in his living room while he cooked, and this had held true even after Will knew what the meat really was.

But Will is no longer a guest.

It takes a few hours to cook. Hannibal cooks the leg in clay, telling Will how much he likes the effect that provides.

Will takes his first bite with gusto, before Hannibal gently instructs him to set down his fork. Will does.

"I would like you to focus on other aspects of dining than you are currently, Will," Hannibal says.

"How do you mean?" Will asks, looking down at the plate.

"You are looking at your dish, and thinking about what the meat looked like when it was part of a person. I would like to redirect your attention," Hannibal says smoothly.

"How?" Will asks cautiously.

Hannibal holds up a large cloth, and gently sets it over Will's eyes. "Like this," he says, voice soft and gentle. "May I blindfold you, Will?"

Will swallows. "You may," he says, mouth dry. He is surprised to find the fork lifted to his lips by Hannibal. Being fed is almost too much. But he allows it to happen, only because Hannibal wants it. He opens his mouth, focusing on the tastes and textures. In a moment, after he remembers that this is a human, he comes close to gagging, and fears that he does not have Hannibal's apetite after all.

But then he remembers Grant's squeals. And he swallows.

"You see, Will," Hannibal murmurs, "it is only cannibalism if you are equals. Grant would not have this reaction eating a chicken."

"No. He wouldn't," Will agrees quietly. "And so neither will I."

He almost sees Hannibal's smile through the blindfold as a cup of wine is held to his lips. "Attaboy."

Will laughs. It sounds so odd coming from Hannibal's lips, and he feels a swell of fondness for the other. It doesn't feel like he's here solely because they can't survive separation. He enjoys this new relationship for itself.

"Hannibal," he says quietly. "I think that now… we are… completely blurred. I can't tell where one of us begins, and the other ends."

"Yes," Hannibal agrees, and affectionately pets Will's hair. "I lost our borders sooner than you, but now I don't feel they exist to be lost."

Will nods, and accepts another sip of wine. He enjoys this new experience. He enjoys the flavors, enjoys allowing Grant to become a part of himself. The wine allows him to feel heavy and relaxed, enhancing the experience.

Silence falls until Will has eaten and drank his fill, and then Hannibal removes the fabric and returns to his seat. "How did you enjoy dining as you should, Will?"

"I enjoyed it, Hannibal," Will affirms, blinking up at Hannibal. Hannibal's face changes again, as it did in Florence. Hannibal becomes himself becomes a combination of both becomes Hannibal again. Will's heart races a mile a minute.

Yes, he decides. Yes, he does hunger for Hannibal, and could be nourished from seeing him. Seeing them.

"H…" Words fail him. How can he find words for the feelings inside him? He can't do it any easier than Hannibal can recreate Donatello's David with Play-Doh.

Though Hannibal just might be able to do that, if he set his mind to it.

Cunning man.

"I am glad you have joined me, Will," Hannibal says, oblivious to Will's struggle- or perhaps overly aware.

"I am too," Will says quietly. "I… I want to spend our lives together."

"And we will." Hannibal continues eating and drinking. He doesn't offer anything more.

Will feels like he is about to explode, full of emotion he can't put into words or actions. The silence hurts Will's ears, and his thoughts feel like shouts drilling into his skull.

Just as Will thinks he can't take it anymore, Hannibal finishes his meal, setting his cutlery down with a clink. He takes a last sip of wine, sets that down as well, and stands in front of Will.

"You are troubled."

Will laughs weakly. "No more than I used to be."

Hannibal sets his hand on Will's cheek. Will hesitates, not leaning into it, but not shying away. After a while, he ends up leaning closer anyway.

His eyes close. He breathes slowly and comfortably, taking in these sensations the way Hannibal had just showed him to enjoy food.

Suddenly Hannibal's face is practically touching his. Their breath mingles, and Will opens his eyes, looking into Hannibal's.

"Jon Harker was very surprised to hear that Dracula can love," Hannibal says. "Are you surprised, as a Bride of Dracula, to hear that I can love?"

"No," Will says, shaking his head. "I… I was surprised, when I realized it and Bedelia confirmed it. But I am not now. You don't leave any doubt."

Hannibal nods, and sets his hand on a button on Will's shirt. That one touch reveals so very much about Hannibal's intentions. Will begins to feel both excitement and nervousness building inside him.

"My love, our love, is not like that of others," Hannibal says, and Will nods along, mouth dry. "But some features remain the same, as you will see."

Will shivers. The shivers get only more intense as Hannibal asks softly, "Will, may I… stimulate you sexually?"

It's too much. Too overwhelming. He feels positively dizzy, but he manages to nod, heart beating out of his chest.

Sex? With Hannibal?

Terrifying as the prospect is, it's also exciting. As is this entire relationship.

Hannibal strips Will gently. His own clothes stay on, making it clear that this is about Will's pleasure. Not understanding why, Will still goes along with it. His body feels hot, to the point of a pleasant burn, as Hannibal begins touching his bare skin. He keeps it chaste at first, massaging Will's shoulders and back, his calves. He leans down and cups Will's face in his hands. Will wants to withdraw, but Hannibal doesn't allow him to, caressing the scar that has caused his disfigurement.

There is another aspect that guarantees the pair can only be with each other. Molly could never find his face bearable again, let alone handsome. Hannibal can, and does.

"Your body is perfect as it is, Will. The new ugliness of your face is counterweighted with the strength and courage it took to slay a dragon." It's as though Hannibal isn't even speaking a language, as though the pure emotions are flowing from his mouth. Affection and comfort and concern. The words nourish him like the sight of Will nourishes Hannibal.

Hannibal touches the healing wound. Will cringes at the bitter pain, but it's only fair after he did the same to Hannibal's stomach, transfixed by the protective tensing of his muscles and faint sounds Hannibal had made.

"Your body still does what is important. You can eat, hunt, and give and receive pleasure." Hannibal brushes his thumb over Will's left nipple. Will barely keeps from whimpering. Noticing this, Hannibal gently scolds, "Do not hold back, Will."

Swallowing again, Will rasps, "I won't."

Hannibal is satisfied with that answer, and he sets his other hand between Will's legs. Will is just starting to get hard, and Hannibal doesn't want to rush the process, so he keeps his hand there without any pressure. "You see, Will? Your body, your existence is still as beautiful as it was."

"Yes," Will breathes, panting. He feels overstimulated already. It's always been a problem for him during sex with Molly. He fears he will orgasm with humiliatingly little stimulation from Hannibal.

Coming to some decision, Hannibal sets the cloth over Will's eyes again. Not having his sight makes the sensations even more intense, but Will loves every moment.

Hannibal barely touches Will's cock, wanting to remind Will that this pleasure is still very much his, a gift given by Hannibal. He watches Will lose himself in bliss, back arching, noises turning desperate.

And then finally, at last, Will reaches his orgasm, covering Hannibal's hand in warm fluid that Hannibal drinks happily while once again removing the blindfold.

Once again, Will's vision changes, making Hannibal's face change between himself and Will's.

"We… are one whole…" Will barely manages, eyes closed.

"Two parts of the same being," Hannibal agrees, stroking Will's hair to calm him from his orgasmic high. "And that will not be affected, Will, by any circumstance."

"Yes… I feel it," Will says. "And yet…" In his mind, he reflects on a person toeing the line between nuisance and threat. "May I ask you for a… favor?"

"Anything, Will."

Will smiles.

That night, Will dreams for the first time since being wounded. The wendigo is walking beside him. Will turns to look at it, only now able to appreciate the inky black shape up close. He looks down, but when he tries to straighten to his full height, something holds him back.

He looks at the creature, which seems to be smiling, somehow, without moving its face. It touches Will, making him feel as though he has plunged into ice. As he watches the wendigo's arm retreat, he sees that his own arms are now just as black as the other's, and reaching up, he finds he has his own rack of antlers.

It isn't the body he is supposed to inhabit, and yet it feels so right that it is hard to accept that when he wakes, he will have a human's flesh again.

"What is this?" Bedelia Du Maurier demands as Hannibal restrains her.

Preparing the hypodermic, Will says, "this is your due, Doctor."

"I see," Bedelia says, and Will sees it in her eyes when she accepts her fate. It looks the same as the other deaths he has caused, even though Bedelia hasn't lost a drop of blood yet. In her head, she knows she is doomed, the same as the others did only after slipping into shock.

Bedelia is quickly sedated; awake enough to feel pain, but so drugged that she won't care. Will takes on the task of divesting her of her right leg, while Hannibal reminisces about the relationship the two had shared.

"It was meant to be this way, Bedelia, as we both know. You were meant to die by my hand." Hannibal holds a spoon of acorn to her mouth.

"Yours… not my replacements," Bedelia says. She would be glowing with fury were it not for the drugs.

Will had worried it would affect her flavor, but Hannibal had said he had used the drug on some of his victims before without alteration. The drug, Hannibal had said, would cause far less damage than stress hormones.

"I am sure you are aware by now that to be killed by Will is to be killed by my own hand," Hannibal says.

"Hmm," Bedelia says. "I suppose you are right." She closes her eyes, clearly exhausted by the drugs.

Will doesn't mind. She'll wake more later, and be conscious of her situation.

"We have both been Frankenstein's Brides, Doctor," Will says softly. "But I evolved into Dracula's while you continued to cower. And that is why I have been allowed a place in Hannibal's world, and you have not."

"You are... a pathetic little man," Bedelia snarls.

"That was rude, Doctor Du Maurier," Will says through gritted teeth. To establish himself as the one in control, he finishes sawing off her leg, lifts it, and drinks a mouthful of the blood beginning to escape it. The blood covers his lips, and he licks them to chase the last of the metallic flavor.

Across the table, Hannibal beams with pride. "Your bloodlust rivals my own, Will."

"Dracula's Brides were vampires in their own right," Will agrees, and licks his teeth. "And they often had hungers of their own that they satisfied without Dracula." He looks back to Hannibal. "This is what you wanted for me."

"Yes," Hannibal says, taking a sip of wine.

Will grins. "The world is so much more interesting with you here, Hannibal."

"Oh? I've been told I'm not interesting." Amusement is clear in Hannibal's eyes.

As Bedelia begins to shake, Will laughs, "Whoever said that is quite deluded."