Chapter Text
Hannibal Lecter creeps silently by his uncle’s library. It's an easy enough task as the boy never makes a noise; be it spoken or otherwise. Except at night, when he screams out for his sister Mischa in a tormented tangle of blankets. This behaviour is terribly worrying for both Robert Lecter and Lady Murasaki which explains the intervention of sorts they are hosting right now. Hannibal presses an ear to the closed wooden door and listens intently to the conversation in French.
“I don't think this is a wise idea,” Lady Murasaki says firmly. “It's much too soon after Mischa’s disappearance to even contemplate bringing another child into the household.”
Robert lets out a harsh breath, running an anxious hand through his hair. “Hannibal's not coping well. He needs someone he can trust and open up too and he's not receptive to either one of us. I don't think there's another option.”
“This will only make him withdraw from us further!” Lady Murasaki argues hotly. “He will think you're trying to replace Mischa! He will never forgive you for attempting such a thing!”
“Damn it!” There is a loud bang and Hannibal can only assume that his uncle has slammed his fist onto a table. “I'm doing the best I can to raise my brother’s son!”
Through a small gap in the door, Hannibal can see Lady Murasaki purse her lips. “Tell me more about this orphaned child then.”
“His name is Will Graham. He's polite and well behaved. His father came to Lithuania in search of work and because he was American, he was thought to be a spy by the Nazi's and….. ” Robert makes a cutting motion across his throat. “It’s a truly terrible series of events but it means that there will be no legal dispute about the boy in the future because he has no other relatives who can appear and demand custody.”
Lady Murasaki opens her mouth to protest but Robert holds up a hand to halt her.
“But best of all he doesn't stop talking which means he will compliment Hannibal's mutism perfectly.”
Lady Murasaki reigns in her annoyance and taps her fingers against her knee gently in a calming gesture. “He is your nephew. If you believe this will be beneficial to him then so be it but if Hannibal doesn't react well to Will’s presence, I want him gone. Immediately.”
The thirteen-year-old boy blinks to himself as he processes the news. Hannibal does not utter a single sound as he is filled with a powerful rage. He stalks off to his room quietly, always quietly.
----:----
“Hannibal!” his uncle anxiously calls from the bottom of the grand staircase. “There's someone I would like you to meet!”
The boy purposely ignores him and remains stoic, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He hears the sound of graceful footsteps on the stairs and knows instantly that the owner is Lady Murasaki. She knocks hesitantly before entering his room.
“Hannibal?” she implores. “Your uncle has gone to a great deal of trouble to offer you a companion of sorts. It would be rude to not at least acknowledge his efforts.”
The boy’s maroon eyes narrow imperceptibly at his bedroom wall. His irritation rising at the very thought of acting in an improper and impolite way.
“Please, Hannibal?” She sighs heavily. “If you dislike him as I'm sure you will then I will convince Robert to send him away. Just try to appear open minded.”
The Lecter heir rolls onto his right side, blocking her from view as he deliberates and makes his decision. It's not easy. To be rude or not to be rude? A few minutes later, Hannibal sits up soundlessly and follows his aunt into their sitting room. Besides his uncle on the plush velvet sofa is a little boy. Hannibal takes in curly brown hair, dull green eyes and a guarded facial expression and feels a connection between them grow at the sight of his pain. An acute understanding of orphan life and loss. He instantly berates himself for it. He doesn't wish to like this stranger who's supposedly meant to replace his beloved sister.
Robert Lecter lets out an audible sound of relief at the sight of his nephew.
“Hannibal, this is Will,” the man introduces in a proud tone as he claps the orphan on the back. Will visibly flinches. “He's ten and will be living with us for a little while.”
The Lecter heir just blinks at his uncle and hopes the disdain on his face is easily recognizable.
Robert ignores the look. “Please be nice to him. He's been through an awful lot.”
That’s when Hannibal notices that Will is not a French orphan but one from Lithuania, his homeland. His uncle must have transferred him over which would have cost him a fortune. Hannibal would bet a franc that he's also from the same orphanage that he himself spent two miserable years of his life in. Perhaps Robert was hoping that they would bond over being locked in the same God forsaken place? That both he and Will would be tethered together by their wounds of war? Hannibal internally scoffs at the thought.
Robert doesn't heed the tension filling the room as he suggests casually, “Hannibal, you should show Will to his room and around the grounds. He'll be staying in the room opposite yours.”
Great. Hannibal wonders as they leave together if anyone would notice if Will “accidentally” lost his footing and fell down a flight of stairs.
“H-hello,” the little boy mumbles softly, a failed attempt at small talk.
Hannibal refuses to so much as crane his head in the orphan's direction. He's through with being well mannered.
“Oh, right.” Will smacks his head with one hand. “Duh. You only speak French. Bonjour.”
The Lecter heir internally huffs in frustration. Will fumbles in his frightfully small bag of belongings for a French travel dictionary and quickly skims through the pages.
“Pourquoi suis-je ici?” Why am I here?
“Es-tu ma nouvelle famille?” Are you my new family?
“Pourquoi ne me parles-tu pas?” Why aren’t you talking to me?
Hannibal raises a dubious eyebrow. Surely, his idiotic uncle has not forgotten to tell the new boy that his nephew is mute? Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.
“Je ne comprends pas ce qui se passe.” I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Arrête de m'ignorer!” Stop ignoring me!
Eventually, Will tires out and stops spouting terrible French. They keep a metre distance between them and avoid eye contact throughout the rest of the tour. When they finally reach their rooms, Will lets his anger overtake him. He barrels into the older boy and shoves him into a wall.
“S'il vous plait! Je ne peux pas le prendre! Dis quelquechose!” Please! I can’t take it! Say something!
Hannibal blinks and feels adrenaline course through his body. He strikes as fast as a snake and flips them around. One hand pinning both the boy’s hands above his head while the other rests threateningly on his throat. It’s a clear warning; Look at what I can reduce you too. Do not provoke me.
Will swallows thickly and nods jerkily in response. I understand now. Please let me go. I won’t bother you anymore. And it’s nice for someone to understand what Hannibal is saying with his actions alone and to reply through physical means also. It’s as if Will is speaking Hannibal’s own personal form of language.
The Lecter heir slowly lets him go and the little boy stumbles away, slinking down the stairs. Hannibal thinks he’s about to be tattled on. He feels immense disappointment at the thought. He had assumed Will was smarter than that.
Hannibal slowly walks over to his bed and lays down, closing his eyes. He hears the high giggle of his sister and sees her bright, brown eyes behind his closed eyelids. It makes his heartache.
A loud knock many hours later breaks him out of his dozing. Hannibal moves to his feet and cautiously opens the door. He mentally steels himself for the verbal assault from his uncle about the mistreatment of the new child in his care. He is, however, surprised at the sight before him. Will stands in his doorway, staring at his feet with a guilty expression on his face. He fidgets awkwardly.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers softly, looking regretful. “I didn’t know you don’t speak. Your uncle didn’t tell me.”
Obviously. Hannibal stifles the urge to roll his eyes. The boy takes the accompanying silence and Hannibal's blank look the wrong way.
“Oh, your uncle said you know English so I just thought you were fluent enough to understand,” Will rambles as way of explanation. “I can go and get my French dictionary if you want and -“
Hannibal holds up a hand to stop him and shakes his head to indicate no. He would rather jump off a building than be subjected to that horrendous mispronunciation and downright clumsy attempt at such a beautiful language.
Will bites his lip. “I’m so sorry. I feel really bad.”
Hannibal wants to tell him to shut up and leave already. Unfortunately, that requires using his voice and Hannibal hasn’t consciously spoken for three years now.
“Okay, I’m going to go now,” Will decides after another another tense moment has passed. Thank God.
“Bye, Hannibal. I hope we can be friends.”
Friends? Hannibal's nose wrinkles in disdain at the very suggestion.
----:----
Will wakes to the sound of panicked screaming. The voice is unfamiliar and the little boy is suddenly struck with the intense fear that he's back in war torn Lithuania. It takes him a couple more seconds of rational thinking to understand that the noise is coming from nearby. Will opens his door, breath quickening as he realizes that the sound is coming from Hannibal’s room. He stalks onward, sneaking inside with quiet footsteps. His gaze falls on the sight of Hannibal gasping heavily and lashing out in his sleep.
“Mischa! Mischa!”
Will quickly rushes over, shaking the sweaty male awake with urgent hands. Hannibal’s eyes fly open, still filled with fear and horror as the remnants of his nightmare linger. Will jolts at the look, pity curling around his heart.
“Shh,” he whispers softly as he sits beside the distraught boy. “It’s okay. I have scary dreams about the war too.”
Hannibal remains silent, jaw tense and forehead shiny with droplets of perspiration as he stares unseeingly ahead.
“I-if you want, I could stay?” Will stutters anxiously, jumping when maroon eyes fix on him with a savage glare. “Or not! I can go! Yeah, I should go!”
The little boy bolts, leaving the room in a flurry of movement. Hannibal is still in shock at being awoken. His uncle and aunt usually ignore the night terrors after a particularly horrible incident where Hannibal accidentally punched Uncle Robert in the nose. Even if they had wakened their nephew, they would leave him soon after, never offering him a hug or verbal niceties. Then Will comes along and suddenly gives him everything. His own family outdone by a complete stranger. Hannibal feels his eyes soften slightly as he stares at his open bedroom door. He contemplates going after the orphan. He instantly hates himself for it. Will is not and will never be Mischa.
----:----
“I want to get to know him better,” Will laments to Robert three weeks after he has moved into the Lecter Estate.
“Then talk to him,” the man murmurs as he sorts through a pile of paperwork on his desk.
Will gives him a skeptical look.
“Just because Hannibal can’t speak, doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen and reply in his own way,” Robert wisely explains as he jots something hastily down with a fancy pen. “Look at his face, read his emotions.”
Will hesitates. “His face is always blank. It’s hard.”
“Hmm,” he hums to himself. “Try following him to my art studio. Hannibal spends quite a lot of time there. He expresses himself through drawings and paintings just like his father did and I still do.”
Will makes a note of Robert’s advice and follows Hannibal to the studio the next day. He stares hard at the older boy’s face, trying to discern what he's thinking from his body language alone. He thinks the tightening of Hannibal’s lips and the stiffening of the muscles in his back are a bad response.
Regardless, Will enters the room kept under lock and key and his mouth drops open in awe. A canvas leans against every available inch of space in the room. Some are filled with rough pencil outlines, others are half painted works and most are completed and magnificent artistic pieces. There is colour everywhere the younger boy looks, invading his brain and taking him to places he has never been before like the sparkling ocean in the Caribbean, the view at the tippy top of the Eiffel tower and… Lady Murasaki and Robert’s bedroom. The orphan splutters at the particularly graphic painting and hastily covers his eyes with his hands.
His cheeks burn with mortification as he peeks through his fingers at Hannibal, hoping the older boy didn’t notice his reaction. No such luck. Hannibal appears to have paused in his own charcoal sketch, the smallest of smirks gracing the corner of his lips. Will takes that as an encouraging sign and goes in search for his own seat. He gazes at the daunting blank canvas in front of him uncomprehendingly. He closes his eyes and tries to find inspiration but all he sees is dead bodies littered along the side of roads and all he hears is rapid gunfire and the terrified wails of innocents about to die. The orphan jostles himself out of his morbid thoughts and decides instead to browse at the paintings scattered around him in closer detail for inspiration.
Will’s eyes are drawn towards the back of the studio where he sees red and black and dark, twisted things. So similar to the images that plague his own mind. The orphan feels a sense of familiarity with the artist. He wonders over and sees the war in the wide, fearful eyes of the women. He sees war in the torn, broken remains of the Lecter Estate-turned-orphanage. He flips through carefully and pauses on a painting of a little girl with dancing brown eyes and straight blonde hair that falls across chubby cheeks. She practically oozes joy and happiness. She's such a contrast to the other darker pieces that Will pauses on the image, savoring its innocence. He's suddenly hauled away by clenched fingers and gritted teeth. The unexpected movement causes Will to accidentally drop the painting and it collapses on the ground seemingly in slow motion, the cotton ripping at his feet.
A loud smack echoes around the quiet room and Will’s head jerks with the force of the slap.
The orphan looks up at Hannibal, mouth gaping open in shock as he rubs the burning pain away. Hannibal looks positively murderous towering over Will, maroon eyes burning with so many emotions that the boy becomes dizzy.
Robert Lecter was right. All Will has to do is look into Hannibal’s eyes to truly see him. However, after the brief sneak peek he has just been granted, he isn’t entirely certain he wants to know him anymore.
----:----
Lady Murasaki takes Will and Hannibal to town with her the following Tuesday. She needs to shop for some grocery supplies at the market.
The orphan is completely astounded by the new sights and smells of France and gapes at everything he sees, occasionally tugging on Hannibal’s sleeve and pointing out objects for the older boy. The Lecter heir tries to maintain his uncaring demeanor but Will’s joy is so infectious that he struggles to maintain his distant air.
“Oooh! Look at that, Hannibal!” Will practically vibrates with excitement as he gestures towards a beautiful water fountain carved out of stone. Little pigeons flit around the bottom, bathing in the cool water trickling down from the mermaid perched above.
The older boy nods absently and notices that they have lost sight of Lady Murasaki. He tugs Will’s hand off his arm and then straightens the material of his jacket. Will openly pouts while Hannibal sends him a disapproving scowl.
Will hastily retreats into himself. “S-sorry. It’s just so new….”
Hannibal just shakes his head and stalks off in search of his aunt, beckoning for Will to follow. He finally finds her at the fish stall, bargaining with the owner between ten francs and twelve francs.
“Ah! There you are, Hannibal,” Lady Murasaki murmurs distractedly as she watches the man carefully wrap the fish in newspaper. “I trust Will is behaving.”
Hannibal internally laughs and turns around to pin the other boy with a disagreeing look, only to realize that he is gone. His mind goes blank. Then the aggravation begins to slowly settle in. Lady Murasaki, seemingly noticing the dark shift in mood, spins around and notices the lack of Will.
“Oh God, Hannibal!” she speaks aghast with a hand pressed over her heart at the very thought of how a lost child could damage her reputation so profoundly. “What have you done?!”
And frankly, Hannibal is rather offended. He has not done anything wrong. Will is the brat who can't follow directions. He should be the one receiving the disappointed frown from his aunt, not Hannibal. The two split up and go off in search of the orphan. The odds are not in Will’s favour. He's in a new country with minimal knowledge of the language and has no sense of direction. As the hours drift by, the Lecter heir begins to feel his annoyance morph into something else entirely. Panic. It's somehow worse than the blinding rage he previously felt because now Hannibal is being forced to confront the fact that he may not completely loathe Will’s existence.
He finally stumbles upon the orphan, curled up in an alleyway with his head resting on his bent knees. Hannibal grabs Will by the arm and pulls him roughly to his feet, maroon eyes roving over his body in a search for any injuries. When he finds nothing, a look of fury tightens his facial features. He raises an eyebrow and waits expectantly. Explain.
“Leave me alone!” Will snarls and tries to dislodge himself from the older boy’s steely grip. It’s impossible.
The Lecter heir shakes his head firmly. No, I am not going anywhere. Not until I have a reason for this strange behaviour.
“Just go! Tell Lady Murasaki you couldn’t find me!”
Will shoves at Hannibal again and the older boy moves his hands to the orphan's shoulders, giving him a vigorous warning shake. Tell me what's going on!
“Stop acting like you care!” Will’s voice suddenly breaks and his eyes fill with tears. Hannibal’s fingers are under the boy’s lower eyelids, gently wiping away the gathering moisture before he can realize what he's doing.
“Stop that!” Will slaps his hands away as he accuses miserably, “I know you don’t want me to be a part of your family! I know you hate me!”
Hannibal finds himself shaking his head.
“Stop lying!” Will moans hoarsely, stomping his foot in warning of his approaching hissy fit. “You don’t ever look at me or even let me touch you! It’s like I don’t exist in your life!”
Hannibal suddenly becomes aware that his tactic of avoiding Will, while aiding in his own survival, has caused a detrimental impact to Will’s psychological well-being.
The Lecter heir grabs Will's wrist and gently coaxes his hand towards him, palm up.
I am sorry. He traces with light fingers on the soft skin. It's easier not to care.
Will stares up at him, green eyes intently scanning that cold mask of a face.
“It’s because of her, isn’t it? Because of Mischa?”
Hannibal’s grip on the orphan's wrist tightens until it's unbearably uncomfortable. Will winces but doesn’t attempt to escape the grip. He places cautious fingers on top of Hannibal’s own.
“I know. I understand,” Will breathes out softly. “Just try to let me in. Please, Hannibal. Being alone hurts more than caring for other people.”
----:----
“Why don’t you stay Hannibal so we can have a nice long chat?!” the local boys sneer as Hannibal walks by them in town. He ignores them, long used to their vile and impolite ways. Will, who is tagging along beside him as he completes the errand of posting Lady Murasaki's mail, does not.
“Are they your friends?” Will’s eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, still not able to decipher sarcasm yet.
Hannibal's jaw clenches. He never wanted the younger boy to be exposed to this kind of bullying through association with him. That's part of the reason why he keeps Will so far away from his heart.
“No, Ansel. He can’t talk to us because he’s a mute freak!” another boy chortles, slapping his friend on the back.
Will freezes, ignoring Hannibal’s insistent tugs away from the group. The orphan spins around and faces the significantly taller and bigger boys with a frown.
“That’s not very nice!” Will scorns them all with his hands on his hips. “You should say you’re sorry to Hannibal!”
Hannibal facepalms.
“Oh and whose this?” Ansel sneers, the ever-confident ring leader of the teenage delinquents. “Is this your lover? I always knew you were a pédé!”
Will scratches his head in obvious puzzlement at the new term. “I don’t know what a pédé is but it doesn’t sound like a very nice thing to say!”
“Aw, would you look at that. The little chienne is defending you,” Ansel croons in a degrading manner, adding extra french to purposely confuse Will. “How cute.”
The other boys all chuckle and high five each other.
Hannibal closes his eyes and counts to ten in his mind in Lithuanian. He then releases a deep breath and feels instantly calmer. He clicks his fingers, snapping Will’s attention towards him again. The older boy gestures with his head towards home. Will shakes his head defiantly, stepping closer towards the group with angry eyes. Hannibal grabs him by his shoulders and steers the orphan in the right direction.
“Yeah, you better run! You lâche!” Ansel spits out, turning around and bowing as all his friends cheer him on. Will huffs furiously under his breath and twists out of Hannibal’s grasp with a particularly sharp movement. The Lecter heir runs after the insufferable boy but Will is faster, a child on a mission, said mission being kicking Ansel with all his might in the crotch.
The leader wheezes out in agony as he drops to his knees and gasps out, “You little fucker!”
Someone attempts to punch Will in retaliation but the little boy is too fast, dancing out of the fist's trajectory and bounding back over to Hannibal.
“You’re right, Hannibal. Let’s go!” Will grins as he tugs on the older boy’s hand.
If Hannibal still used his voice, he would currently be rendered speechless.
----:----
Hannibal hears running water and knows that the bath is being drawn. The smell of herbs and sweet smelling soaps drifts through the ajar door and into the corridor as he wanders past.
“No! I don’t want too!” Will screams from inside. Hannibal pauses against his better judgement.
“Will, you need a bath. It’s unsanitary otherwise,” Lady Murasaki retorts with an admirable amount of calm.
“I c-can’t!” the orphan’s voice wobbles with unshed tears and Hannibal senses a panic attack on the horizon. “Please don’t make me!”
“Will,” Hannibal’s aunt orders sternly. “Get in the bathtub.”
His fist tightens and he wills himself to calm down. Lady Murasaki isn’t trying to be cruel. She just doesn’t understand the reason behind Will’s fear and thinks he's overacting but Hannibal understands. Oh, he understands the fear all too well. He remembers sitting in the icy stream near the orphanage with his teeth chattering as he washed away the grime of the day, watching nearby as some of the older bullies dunked some poor child’s head underwater. They held them there as the minutes ticked on and the feeble struggling lessened. Finally, on the brink of death by drowning, they would let their poor victim go and they would flail to the surface, weakly coughing out the water they had inhaled. They wouldn’t dare pick on Hannibal, the child who stabbed a fork through the hand of the last person who attempted to torment him. Will though, the innocent looking little thing, would have been a prime target.
He hears the sound of splashing and shouting, feet slipping on tile as force is applied to the situation.
“Will, stop being ridiculous!” his aunt scolds for the millionth time. “Do not make me get Robert!”
Hannibal bites on his lower lip and makes a quick decision then. He opens the door to the bathroom and ducks inside. The Lecter heir tells himself that this is just his way of thanking Will for his earlier attempt to defend his dignity against the pitiful group of testosterone fueled teenagers who confronted them. That this is just a onetime occurrence.
Lady Murasaki jumps at the sight of him. “Hannibal! What are you doing in here?”
He ignores her as he steps around his aunt and writes in the steam fogging the windows with a single finger.
Safe.
Will’s fingers tremble as he reads the words over and over again to reassure himself. Hannibal barrels onward and traces something new underneath.
I will not let her drown you.
Lady Murasaki splutters indignantly as she too scans over the message, “Why would he ever believe I would do such a thing?!”
Orphanage.
His aunt purses her lips tightly as a wave of embarrassment floods her at being caught acting so uncivilly towards a scarred orphan.
“I'm terribly sorry, Will. It was wrong of me to assume that you would not be suffering from trauma after the war.” The words sound routine and bland, no real emotion or regret behind them. “I promise to be more considerate from now on.”
The little boy gives her a small smile though his eyes are focused on Hannibal when he says, “Thank you.”
Hannibal perches himself elegantly on the lid of the toilet and doesn't take his eyes off Will for the duration of his bath as per the boy’s request. He even grabs onto Will’s hand when he starts screaming hysterically after Lady Murasaki pours a bowl of water over his head to wash out the shampoo. He squeezes once to affirm. I am here, it's okay. Will squeezes back. I know and I’m so glad you get me.
Hannibal pushes down the nagging part of his brain that claims he is beginning to care. That becoming too invested in another person in a cruel world like this one is only cause for more heartbreak and pain.