Chapter Text
Will for the most didn't actually like violence. It always made his eyes sting and gave him a miserable headache. There was too many emotions and too fast. That was why when much younger and still on the police force, he'd been unable to pull the trigger of his gun. It had gotten him stabbed at one point and Will had been able to change careers. He'd go home and cry every shift, unable to bottle things up for another moment. A few of the older men called him a whim or a baby, but Will had never been able to do anything but take it.
The extreme amount of empathy was a strange curse that he had to bear. Homicide detectives used to bring him with them so he could get overly emotional and connect better with a family who lost a loved one. Everyone had their own talents after all. Though they never said it, Will knew that those gruff old men appreciated that he'd take care and mourn with the families while they could ask questions if needed. Will had minded either, those shifts had been a lot better for him compared to writing parking tickets.
Just recently, Will had figured out that he'd grown past that when he'd shot down Garret Hobbs. Granted, the man was a serial killer and Will could note the complete absence of regular emotion that he struggled with. As Will had aged, so had his defenses towards others feeling and emotions. He'd grown sarcastic, off putting and in a few instances crude. There would be no crying if someone was sneering at him or even repulsed.
By 35 Will thought he'd mastered dealing with his strong empathetic emotions and functioned well as an adult. Sure he had only dated an two occasions in his life and they had both ended badly, but who cared about that as long as he was able to hold down a job which took care of him and his 7 dogs? Functional was functional, people didn't care if happiness played into that.
Will had shot Garret Jacob Hobb's ten times and his skin still crawled when thinking about it. Will had been given his gun back just 3 days later and several people had told him good job for taking a life. He moved on, even though flashes of all the Hobb's family faces filtered through his brain. Doctor Lecter had told him that was a very natural phenomena and as long as he talked about such things and didn't bottle them up, then eventually he'd been able to move past it.
Life just kept moving forward whether Will was ready for it or not. There would be no rest for the weary, (or the wicked) as people always said. Just two short days after the Hobb's investigation wrapped up, there was another case. Multiple murders, and Jack had immediately started breathing down Will's neck for help on solving the damn thing. Will had agreed pretty fast, joining a competent team to help profile. The local police force had been heavily involved with this one and seemed grateful for any help given. Will preferred cases like this, as less would rest directly on his shoulders.
It took just another week for them to have three suspects. All men of similar stature and education that were born and raised in the immediate area. From there, the one who liked to come and watch them work the crime scene and make rude comments or complaints about small roads being shut off became the natural choice. When the man pulled out a gun and shot an officer who was just trying to talk to the crowd that kept gathering before fleeing in everyone's panic, it became very obvious.
Will charged forward with his gun out, trying not to think about it being so dark that he couldn't really see. It was rather unfortunate that this was happening just after 9 in the night, when a lot of the other police officers had called it quits for the night. There has been just two other officers at the scene left to watch over it for the night shift and Will had been just about to leave himself. He'd hung back for the opportunity to have the scene quietly to himself for a few minutes, thinking it might help him think a bit better. Will had just been trying to be helpful and now he was on the front line of danger.
His hand shook from the effort and Will knew that there would be no way that if he fired that it would hold steady. He felt useless. People shouted around him as they tried to stop the suspect from fleeing. Will was tense as he charged forward, flanked by the two other remaining police officers. One was old enough to retire and the other Will was pretty sure was either fresh or just 6 months out of college. The type of people who would volunteer for a quiet night shift.
There was a thought in his mind that this was dangerous and he could die here. Will wasn't so sure that he cared about the possibility of looming death, but also tried to push the thought of his mind in this moment. He'd grappled with being mentally unstable and strange all his life, so much so that he couldn't pass the FBI field agent exam. So why was he here now? Fuck Jack and his improper use of authority and fuck Hannibal for rubber stamping him into this. And fuck himself for being a pushover.
A shot sounds out and Will wasn't the one who fired it. There's shouting from the other agents in pursuit of this serial killer who caught them by surprise. With how dark it is out, the man could still blend in and slink away if he gets any farther away from them. He could find his way to the woods and hold out for months or even escape to a different country on hidden money. It feels urgent to catch the suspect now. Will feels fucking useless, but keeps going anyways. He repeats to himself in his head that he can make a difference if this guy is stopped. That no one else has to die.
Another shot rings out and the first thing that Will feels is the cold of the ground as he slams into it. He isn't sure why he tripped, but goddamn did the motion hurt. Even his back feels like it went out, so there's a possibility that another agent that was running with him stepped on him after he tripped. Will wiggles slightly and finally recognizes the growing wet patch. Oh, he didn't trip. He was shot.
Will fades.
Will blinks awake like he coming out of a nightmare. He's grossly sweaty and trying to bolt upwards in bed but is restrained. The room is unrecognizable to him and he feels immense pain. There are hands on his body that forces him still and Will is powerless to do anything but follow direction. He gags once and then throws up into a container that is skillfully held in front of his face. Will's ears ring so loudly that he can't tell what the man is saying to him. Will trembles and cries. He's scared in this moment.
Someone else comes in and something heavy is dropped in the background. He's talked to and asked questions that he can't respond to. Will has been shot before but it's wasn't like this. Maybe this is dying. He must be administered drugs because the pain and anxiety finally begins to fade. The container with the vomit in it is taken away from him and Will can now recognize that Hannibal Lecter is standing over him.
Hannibal who looks tried and unkempt. A strange look on this man who is always so put together. They technically hardly even know each other. Hannibal had given him a rubber stamp after their misadventures of shooting Garret Hobbs. Will had gone back one other time with some smoked fish he'd just made as a thank you and had stopped for conversation. He'd left that day with a smile on his face and the happiness of having someone in his corner as a friend. He didn't have very many of those, but Will could pick up that Hannibal was a like minded spirit.
It hadn't been enough for Hannibal to come and stand over him at his dying bedside and worry. Will wouldn't have done the same. And yet Hannibal pets his damp hair with cool and soothingly soft fingers. He speaks calmly and focuses on Will. It's terribly soothing.
Will closes his eyes with the small comforts he is receiving and rests. He is going to miss Hannibal's kind touch the next time he wakes.
Will wakes up again feeling much better. It's likely that a long period of time has passed because he no longer feels like he is on deaths door. Maybe it was easier to keep him under for him to recover. He shifts slightly and looks down at himself. There's a lot of wires, cords and tubing. His heart picks up its pace and he tries not to freak out.
"Will." Hannibal sighs. "It's alright, those are just to help you recover." Hannibal brushes back Will's bangs and smiles softly at him. Hannibal has a full on beard growing in that he didn't have last time. It must have been two of three weeks since Will could last remember anything.
Will gets the impression that it's not the first time that Hannibal has had to sooth him over it. He frowns but lets Hannibal do as he pleases. He does not know why Hannibal is here every time he wakes up. He doesn't mind it though, it's honestly nice to not be so alone for once.
Will nuzzles softly into Hannibal's hand and the man seems to cave. Will gets to witness Hannibal tear up. "I was so worried Will, you'd already been in the hospital for three days when the news reached me." Hannibal is complaining but the emotion in his voice goes beyond that. He was truly upset by not knowing.
Will just listens without trying to speak. He's not even sure if he can speak at the moment. He hopes that he can remember this moment forever. Hannibal's teary eyed and sad face is one of beauty. It's enchanting to look at, even through Will's still hazy eyes.
"I should have taken better care of you." Hannibal whispers. Will doesn't know what the hell he's talking about because they barely even knew each other. There's a jolt of awareness that turns Will's brain on. The drugs aren't enough to dull him into oblivion anymore. Something about the desperate statement is just wrong to Will. He sees.
They had only met three times. But since meeting Hannibal, Will has been hearing noises outside of his house. Twigs snapping when they shouldn't, the dogs being unbothered by the creaking wood of the front porch. Hell, once there had been a camera flash in his window that Will had upsettingly written off as either an asshole reporter or Freddie Lounds! (Who he refused to acknowledge as human let alone a reporter.)
Hannibal had also brought him a portion of food to his hotel room when they worked the Hobbs case together. He'd deliberately brought it with the attention of Will eating it. And Will had, without questioning why a man like Hannibal Lecter would do so. It had tasted good but that didn't mean that Hannibal hadn't contaminated it. He could have done anything he wanted to that food and Will would have been none the wiser.
Hannibal was a man with obsessive stalking tendencies then. And now he was somehow in Will's hospital recovery room, looking like he belonged at Will's bedside. What had he told the staff? Why was this allowed? And then Will's mind deflated because who the fuck cared if Hannibal had been stalking him. It's not like Will has anything going on in his life. He might have even invited Hannibal inside if he'd known that he'd been out there.
Will hated being lonely. The amount of dogs he takes care of should be a sign of that above all else. Will nuzzles into Hannibal's hand once more and let his eyes slip closed. Maybe it would be nice if he just let Hannibal take care of him in the future. Will at the very least already knew that he was a good cook.
"Rest well Will, I'm here now." Hannibal murmurs softly. "I'll take care of everything."
Will choose to simply believe him, because it was better and easier than all other alternatives.