A/N: Hello, people! My first singular Hannigram fic.

I don't own Hannibal.

I have no beta.

ENJOY!

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The cold splash of water roused him suddenly and Will Graham shot out of bed, feeling confused and perturbed. Wasn't he just falling to his death while in Hannibal's arms? But no... he was standing beside his bed, in Wolf Trap Virginia, with a floor full of dogs staring at him.

"What the hell?" he mumbled, ruffling his already messy hair.

The clock read six in the morning. He groaned. Could he had seriously dreamed all of that? All of Dolarhyde and Will marrying Molly?

With great reluctance, he looked for the calendar and felt his stomach drop. The date couldn't be right though, right? It was... the day he'd met Hannibal. He knew it for a fact because he had rejoiced and lamented over the day many times in the past few years. But if he was there then... did he just dream all of that up?

Was he insane now? Not the fun kind either, but the legitimate, needed help kind of insane?

Will was frustrated because the one time he could have used an errant student's homework to let him know what was going on, not one piece of paper was around. Damn his having to get it all done before coming home! What was he thinking separating work and home?

Rubbing a hand over his face, he decided to take a shower. Once clean, he'd know what to do.

Turned out that he was just as lost as when he was filthy, but he felt a little better. He fed the dogs, let them out for a while, and the returned them to the house where he locked up and made his way to work. Where it had been a while, or at least he thought it had been since he was there.

His mind ran over everything. Was it a dream he'd woken up from? Was he dreaming now? Was his imagination just too damn detailed? Did he need medical help?

Quantico was looking much the same as always and Will stared up at the familiar building of the Academy, not really wanting to learn the diagnosis of his insanity, but know that it was an inevitable outcome and knowing he wouldn't be getting out of it.

His class was like normal, his desk littered with papers. He rifled through them, recognizing the assignment he'd given. His file said he was teaching a class on psychoanalyzing today.

No.

Things like that just didn't happen.

Did they?

A small knock on the door frame caught his ear and he turned, finding a much younger Jack Crawford standing there, looking slightly impatient. Will fixed his eyes on the man's tie, still uncomfortable with eye contact. Just because he recognized his own darkness didn't mean he wanted others to see it. And Jack had points where he was alarmingly perceptive.

"Come in a little late, Will?"

"Uh... yeah, sorry."

"Well, no matter. A friend of mine who will be helping with the case has only just arrived too, so he won't mind either."

Will followed behind him, feeling light headed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

Jack's office door opened and Will's eyes landed on the solitary figure he knew he'd see. Hannibal Lecter stood before the board of victims, taking in what Will knew to be the Minnesota Shrike's work.

He turned to the door, sending a genial smile to Jack and then looking at Will like he was something of interest. Will had seen most of this before, but there was a small amount of darkness in Hannibal's gaze that wasn't there from what Will had remembered. Maybe because he knew who Hannibal was this time around?

This time.

Yes, it seemed as if he was reliving his past?

That or he was in a very detailed dream. Only time would tell.

Either way, he certainly wasn't going to just go with it. Not this time.

Not when people he liked could remain alive and people he hated could be removed permanently.

And then there was Hannibal.

What to do?

"Hannibal Lecter, this is Will Graham, a friend of mine who is deeply involved in the case of this cannibal. Will, Dr. Lecter is going to help build a psychological profile."

As last time, Will shook Hannibal's hand, but deliberately didn't look at him, instead choosing to look at the board behind him. He then took the seat he had the last time he went through this case, noting the cup of coffee waiting for him and it was to his specifications too. Jack and Hannibal were standing in front of the board, looking at the victims.

"Tell me, then," Hannibal's accented voice filled the silence. "How many confessions?"

Will could hear the slight curiosity in his tone this time. And not not because he cared about the victims or anything, but because he was interested in a fellow cannibal. He also sounded slightly disappointed and Will could imagine why. Garret wasn't going about the process with enough flair or grace, not like Hannibal did. Compared to Hannibal, Garret was a fledgling.

"Twelve dozen, the last time I checked. None of them had any details until this morning. And then they all had details." Jack moved to sit at his desk, looking annoyed and worn. "Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols' body with his cell phone, shared it with his friends, and then Freddie Lounds posted it on TattleCrime dot com."

Freddie Lounds.

"Ugh!"

He couldn't help it. While she had her uses at times, he just really didn't like her. And her constant hounding of Abigail had annoyed him to no end.

"Not terribly fond of her?"

Will looked over to his friend whose friendship had deeply affected his life. "Not at all. She's tasteless."

"Do you have trouble with taste?"

Will smirked, taking up his coffee and sipping it. "Well, my thoughts often aren't what normal folk would describe as tasty."

He'd already accepted himself. He wasn't shaking or twitching. He wasn't feeling ill this time because he knew already. He'd fucking killed a guy with Hannibal and enjoyed every minute of it! Death and crime scenes didn't seem like such a big to-do now.

"Nor mine, but we have no effective barriers."

Will scoffed, "I have barriers just fine. They come in the form of forts... and dungeons," he added as an afterthought, thinking of Chiyo and Castle Lecter. "I don't know, my memory palace may need a bit of fixing up."

Hannibal seated himself beside Will. "Associations come quickly."

"So do forts and dungeons," Will smirked, looking at Hannibal's left ear.

The man paused in taking a sip of coffee, "Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

"No," Will admitted without preamble. "I'm not too terribly fond of people either."

"Do you associate with your coworkers at all?"

"No, to them I'm some crazed teacher who needs constant watch and I'd prefer to wash my hands of the socializing. And then to therapists like yourself, I'm an intriguing piece of work that you want to unravel and study, piece by piece. I know your kind, doctor."

He couldn't help it. He was still minutely bitter over the Encephalitis. Had he known he wasn't losing his damn mind, he probably would have accepted himself much sooner. With less pain and jail time.

"I'm sorry Will, observing is what we do. I can't shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off."

Will placed his coffee on the desk and leaned in toward Hannibal, looking him dead in the eye and saying, "I would advise against psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Lecter. Dozens of other therapists have done what you are doing and never made it far enough before what they found had terrified them. And I don't like being psychoanalyzed."

He stood, knowing it was good a moment as any to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture... on psychoanalyzing."

He swept from the office, sighing at himself. This would be tedious, but probably a little fun to.

He could tell that he'd shocked Hannibal with his answers.

Seeing the foreigner so off balance was a rarity and Will liked it.

Going with the motions wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He remembered how things went. His reactions just weren't as twitchy as the last time. He couldn't find it in himself to give a damn about people's opinions this time. He'd do his job, nab Hannibal's attention, get the Encephalitis treated quickly, and just go about his life.

Having already been awake on that Saturday morning, he had been expecting Hannibal to come to the door.

He opened it, fixing his eyes on Hannibal's right cheekbone. "Hello, Dr. Lecter, what can I do for you?" he asked, voice light and teasing.

He could do many things.

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?"

"Why not?"

He stepped aside, allowing the man into his motel room.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, just passing the time with some light reading," he said, gesturing to the book on the table. One that Hannibal had recommended for him once. He'd never read it just to spite the man, but he found himself interested now. Now that this cannibal was not the same as his cannibal.

His cannibal?

Hannibal wasn't his by any stretch of the imagination.

Or was he?

Hannibal smiled when he saw the book, "You have good taste in literature."

"A friend told me about it once. I'm just, honoring his memory."

Hannibal's gaze lingered on the book for a few seconds, before he sat at the small table provided by the motel and began pulling tupperware form his bag.

"I'm very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage."

Made out of people.

Will knew that he was staring at a bowl full of the remains of Cassie Boyle's lungs. He also accepted the bowl and began eating straight from it, wondering if he was going to hell for being so brazen.

"It's delicious," he complimented, noticing the small smirk flit over Hannibal's lips. "Thank you, I hadn't realized how hungry I was."

"My pleasure."

I bet it is.

And so they were two men, sitting down for breakfast and dining on a woman's lungs. And only Will knew that both of them knew it. It was ironic and hilarious all at once and he had to withhold his grin at the thought.

Such morbidity so early in the morning, shame on him.

"I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you'll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly."

Will shrugged, "It doesn't really matter. With my overactive imagination, I tend to look at people and place myself in their shoes until I know things about them I rather wish I didn't. It happens, nothing I can do. Nothing you can do. Not that you'd want to stop, I imagine. Empathy disorders are a rarity, doctor, and I'm sure you'd like to get all you can out of your association with me."

Hannibal considered him for a moment. "Do you always try to push people away by pointing out hard facts about them in hopes of deterring them?"

Will smiled a slightly askew smile, knowing it didn't speak well for his sanity and not giving a fuck either way.

"Why, Dr. Lecter, who said I was trying to push you away? In fact, I know that everything I'm saying is only drawing you in more closely and that is exactly what I want."

Hannibal's head tilted like it always did when he was interested/amused. "And why would you want to draw me in, good Will?"

"I'm not that good, doctor. As for why I wish to draw you in, you'll have to reason that out yourself."

"We may have to socialize more than you feel is comfortable, to do that. Become friendly."

"I can socialize with people I like or tolerate. However, you have to be interesting for me to like you and no offence doctor, but you aren't anything I haven't seen before, so I hope you'll try to keep my interest."

Will had already gotten to know a narcissistic cannibal. Another one - with basically the same body - wasn't any different and therefore not so surprising.

It was a bit sad. This Hannibal wasn't like the one Will had pulled over the cliff. Even if they were to become friends, he wasn't the Hannibal Will had begrudgingly grown fond of. There would always be a difference. He regretted that fact. He was also astonished at how much he regretted it.

"Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for monsters."

Will scoffed, "The Shrike didn't kill the girl in the field, that was simply a copycat."

"What gave it away?"

"Everything," Will admitted. "The cannibal is targeting young girls of a particular age group and appearance. His daughter, who resembles all the victims, is his golden ticket, as I told Jack. She's growing up and will be leaving soon and he can't stand that idea. So he's making substitutions and he takes great care in killing them and even greater care in consuming them.

The copycat held now positive feelings or even respect for the girl. To him, she was simply a means to an end. A pig. Rather reminiscent of the Chesapeake Ripper, actually."

Now that he had more information, he could easily make that connection. And he could help it because it was so fun to briefly see Hannibal's eyes dilate in shock.

"So what kind of problems does he have?"

"Separation Anxiety is the main one. It's why he's doing all this."

"Do you have any problems, Will?"

"Not really, I'm pretty straightforward. Nothing about myself for me to feel horrible about."

Hannibal was regarding him curiously. "That's not what Uncle Jack thinks," he finally remarked. "I think Agent Crawford sees you as a fragile teacup made of the finest china. And you can only be brought out for the most special of guests."

"Yeah," Will laughed. "Those serial killers might take a bite of of me though. I might be shattered beyond repair if that's how he sees me."

Like last time.

"I don't think you're a teacup, Will."

"Oh really? What do you see me as, Dr. Lecter?" Will asked, shoving a forkful of Cassie Boyle and egg into his mouth.

"The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by."

Will had always wondered how he resembled a long bodied, wannabe rodent.

"Finish your breakfast."

Finding Garret didn't take as long this time. Will wasn't playing nor was he giving anyone a chance to run. He leafed through some files, lying about none catching his eye until he came to Garret's.

"Garret Jacob Hobbs?" he asked aloud.

"He's one of our pipe threaders," said the secretary.

"Does he have a daughter? Eighteen or nineteen, wind chafed, pretty. Auburn hair, not too tall."

"Maybe, I don't know. I don't keep company with these people."

"What is it about him that you find peculiar?" asked Hannibal.

"Up and quits for no reason. Left a number but no address. Everyone else had an address. Suspicious. Can we get his address please?"

The woman sighed predictably and went about looking it up. Will discarded all of the other files, standing by and waiting.

"Are you sure he is the one?" Hannibal asked.

"Yeah, I can just feel it. Besides, we have the piece of pipe and he's a pipe threader. Too many coincidences."

The execution of the Hobbs' went down a little differently.

Knocking on the door and meeting the wife had been different. But the moment she had called out to her husband and mentioned the FBI, things changed. When no response was immediate, she asked Will to come inside and wait a moment, before going to fetch the man who was the Minnesota Shrike.

The loud scream of terror and the blood splatter that appeared from around the corner though, was what got him.

Drawing his gun, he stepped around the corner carefully, already knowing that Garret didn't have a gun of his own. The wife was a lost cause, she wouldn't make it and the only person with medical expertise on hand wouldn't do anything to help her either.

Will could take it this time. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't terrified of the blood or the fact that someone had just been murdered ten feet from him.

However his emotions raged when he entered the kitchen to see Garret holding a knife to Abigail's throat. That was not done.

With a steady hand and absolutely no remorse, he shot Garret in the right shoulder first, making the man lose grip on the knife. When Abigail fell forward, Will followed up with a second shot to the man's kneecap, downing him instantly and giving him nowhere to go. He wouldn't die, but he'd be in a lot of pain.

He wouldn't get off from this. This time, he'd suffer trial and jury for his actions and for making Abigail help him.

Will didn't really care that he killed people. Will cared about Abigail's involvement.

Speaking of the teenager, she scooted away from her's father's fallen body, shoulders shaking from the unexpected fear at the fact that she could have just died. She looked up at Will, breathing ragged and uneven. Eyes filled with worry.

Hannibal walked into the kitchen slowly, taking in the scene. "So, he is the Shrike?"

"Yes. I need to call Jack."

Garret was placed in the hospital along with several watchers. Until he was well enough for a trial, he'd have twenty-four hour surveillance.

And who was the first to jump the gun at taking care of Abigail? None other than Will's own fuzzy cannibal who was allowing himself to feel for somebody else again.

Will did believe that in some way, Abigail reminded Hannibal of Mischa. Alone now, lost, in need of guidance that Hannibal had no issue in giving, whether it was good or bad. A traipse through the past basically.

When Will allowed himself to be corralled into meeting Hannibal for unconventional therapy, he had wondered over what would change. Garret wasn't dead this time. Would Hannibal view it all as the same as what happened the first time or would that small nuance make a completely different conversation?

Not too different apparently.

He was still rubber stamped for the field.

"Jack thinks I need therapy."

The familiar walls of Hannibal's office were like a comfort despite how much manipulation had gone down inside of them. Despite the mind twisting games they had played with each other.

"What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there."

Will scoffed, "I'm in a dark place constantly and there is no difference between those dark places and the ones in my mind. I'm inundated in darkness, I don't need therapy to make a 'way out'. Whether I bring new things in or out doesn't have much effect on the outcome either."

"Bringing in new things… like a surrogate daughter, perhaps?"

"Ah yes, how did you know I'd be okay with that?" Will asked, genuinely curious. He'd never asked Hannibal about why he even added Will on the adoption papers. Literally adopted Abigail as the surrogate daughter of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. It was like Hannibal was trying to tell him something. Murder Husbands seemed a little to truthful.

"Abigail's home has been sold and the money given to the families who suffered because of her father. She had nowhere to go and nothing to live on. She needed someone.

The amount of care you feel for her was obvious in the fact that you constantly inquired after her health and even purchased lunch for her in hopes of making her feel better. Empathy disorder aside, you seemed very attached to her already, in a fatherly manner. I figured allowing you more time with her would be beneficial to you in many ways. Especially where socializing is concerned. But also in broadening your horizons and emotional depth.

You feel responsible for her."

"You were there too, do you feel any kind of obligation toward her?" Will countered.

"Yes. I feel a staggering amount of obligation, for many reasons. She speaks of you. Does not fault you in what you did. Wants to see you more often."

Will's heart stuttered a bit. He'd like that.

"If you came to dinner tomorrow evening, you'd get to see her."

And who would we be eating this time?

He doesn't say it aloud, because that would just give it away. But he thinks it. And how could he not when he knows what he knows?

"I guess."

"Wonderful! I'll give you the address."

Will descended the opposite ladder, putting he and Hannibal on even ground, so to speak.

"Abigail has expressed a desire to leave the States for a while. Perhaps travel once she has managed to earn enough to support herself. While I offered to take her, she refused because it would feel like a 'hand out', her words. She doesn't want to go alone, but feels uncomfortable asking for help.

Tell me, Will, if you would travel, where would you go?"

This was twist he hadn't expected. Go. Where to go?

"Am I alone or with someone in this question?"

"Either."

"Italy," he answers easily, earning a double take from Hannibal.

"May I ask why?"

Will grinned, though he wasn't feeling any amount of joy or humor. More like dry bitterness. "A friend wanted to show me Florence, but we didn't get a chance to explore last time."

Hannibal stared for a moment longer, because continuing to write on a slip of paper. "I have been to Italy many times. I even suggested taking Abigail. Perhaps she'd like to go if you made mention of your interest in joining us?"

"We wouldn't be able to go anywhere as of yet. Jack thinks Abigail helped her father kill those girls."

"And how does that make you feel?" asked Hannibal with the old therapist trick that everyone knew.

"How does it make you feel?"

"I find it vulgar."

"Obviously, but that doesn't mean there isn't an amount of truth in it."

Hannibal looked up as he moved around his desk in order to hand the paper with his address to Will. "It is, entirely possible," he said almost reluctantly.

"Completely actually. Garret needed information in order to get close to them and a forty-something year old man inquiring after young girls would be suspicious. Abigail hasn't killed anyone yet, but that doesn't mean she hasn't partaken in the hunt."

"Will you tell Jack your thoughts?" Hannibal asked, already looking worried, though controlling it well. Having known Hannibal so deeply, Will could pinpoint his emotions better than anyone else. He felt a little pride at that.

Will met his gaze and boldly stated, "No."

"Why?"

"Protecting that which is already unstable."

"My thoughts exactly," nodded Hannibal, already smiling. "Should Abigail ask you about her father, what would your response be?"

"I don't know her father."

"Of course you do."

"No," disagreed Will. "I know the Minnesota Shrike. I've stepped into his mind. I've become him as easily as I can become anyone else. I know the cannibalistic serial killer, but I do not know the father."

Hannibal seated himself, not in his desk chair, but in the one that sat across from Will's usual chair. He crossed one leg over the other and looked up at Will expectantly. "Remember who you are when you enter the minds of these killers, Will. It is unhealthy to get lost along the way. Remember who you are and don't let your reflection become distorted by those you empathize with."

"Aah, yes," Will smirked, remembering the following line so well. "The mirrors in my mind can reflect the best of myself and not the worst of someone else."

Will was facing the bookcase now, eyes trailing over the spines, though not seeing. Feeling a little lost in uncertainty.

"Where did you learn that?" came Hannibal's voice from behind him. The chair creaked. Hannibal was drawing nearer. He always liked pushing the boundaries of Will's comfort.

"A friend of mine. He's... he's gone now."

"Will?"

He turned, flinching back when he found Hannibal standing directly behind him. A tanned, well manicured hand rose, pushing against Will's abdomen where Hannibal's mark no longer existed. With enough pressure he was pinned to the bookcase, Hannibal leaning over him with his left hand beside Will's head.

"What the-"

"I claimed you here," said Hannibal, pushing a little harder on Will's abdomen. Will's breathing halted.

Hannibal's free hand brushed against Will's right cheek. "Francis stabbed you here."

No.

With slow movements, Hannibal pulled at Will's hands until they perfectly mimicked the hold he'd had Hannibal in when he pulled him over the cliff. "And you held me like this as we fell."

Will swallowed convulsively and bit his lip. "Please… tell me this isn't some really messed up dream?"

"I wouldn't know, but if it is… at least we're together."

"Then we're really here?"

Hannibal smiled, "It would seem so."

Unable to help himself, Will pulled Hannibal closer, burying his face in the man's shoulder. So his cannibal was here to, huh?

"And here I'd been feeling bad because you weren't the same man I knew," mumbled the profiler.

"Upon awakening, I had lamented the fact that you weren't my Will."

His Will.

So Will wasn't the only one using possessive pronouns. The thought made him grin madly. How long had they laid claim to each other but never said anything? It was disturbing, which was perfectly okay because he wouldn't have them be any other way.

"This time…" Will began. "No killing my daughter."

"It wasn't like I enjoyed it. One of the few things that I genuinely regretted doing."

"Hm."

Slowly, Hannibal pulled away and Will held eye contact easily, knowing that Hannibal would see his darkness and accept it wholeheartedly. Happily.

"So you will come to dinner?"

"Yeah. Who are we eating?"

Seeing Abigail again was nice. The young woman stood a little awkwardly in Hannibal's kitchen, looking between he and Hannibal and the obvious closeness that someone appeared form the last time the three had been alone together.

"Are you two like… a couple now?"

Hannibal looked up from his chopping and smiled, "He knows."

Abigail's face morphed from confusion to relief and she lunged at Will, wrapping thin arms around him. "Will!"

"Huh?" Will mumbled, looking to Hannibal for an explanation.

The blond cannibal smiled, "It seemed we weren't the only ones given a second chance."

So then Abigail was there...

Know what? He didn't care if this was a dream. It was probably the best damn dream he'd ever had.

Hannibal and Abigail and Will in their dysfunctional little Murder Family. How… apropos.

"Still though, are you boyfriends yet, or…?"

Will laughed and Hannibal smiled.

"I think it goes far beyond that and much deeper than any of us know."

A/N: DONE!

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