Fic: Guides Me Home

[shadowesque]

Title: Guides Me Home
Fandom: NBC's Hannibal
Rating: PG
Warnings: Blood
Summary: Written for hannibalkink: Hannibal/Will, Hannibal is Will's final phone call, Will is hurt on a case. He's also alone and far from help. He decides to make Hannibal his final phone call, surprising both of them., "Nothing like a life or death situation to make a few breakthroughs.", written prior to "Œuf"


His breath curls visibly upward in patterns disturbed by air currents. This is much different than all of the (many, many) times he's imagined death, through the eyes of others. It's nothing quick, and no torture involved. It's very...normal, in fact. If getting shot in a firefight with a serial killer can be considered normal.

The heavy dead weight of said killer's body doesn't lay that far away, blood congealing and cooling in dirt and grass. His must be, too, but he can't look. Just feel blood sliding out of his side, around and between his fingers, pushing down however hard he can to staunch it. He's been trying to exist outside of himself, see beyond, let the pendulum swing and be clinical. Did the bullet hit any of the more vital internal organs? Can't tell. He imagines he'd already be dead by now if that was the case, but time has a funny way of slowing and quickening in unpredictable intervals when it comes to shock.

Will glances at the cell phone in his other hand, the numbers glinting sickly with a smear of blood on them.

It's so deathly quiet save for nocturnal animal sounds, and even the sound of a phone on the other end after dialing makes him shut his eyes and swallow. It's something. Something is better than nothing.

One and a half rings before it clicks. "Will." There's a lilt to Hannibal's answering tone that indicates that this is unexpected and a little unusual (he doesn't know the half of it), though it isn't a bother. "Aren't you working on a case?"

Hannibal always seems to know everything, always so confident and calm, and to catch him unawares actually makes Will choke out a laugh that comes out gasping. He can practically feel the tension on the other end increase, like tugging a wire taut. "Um. Finished working on it, actually."

"What's wrong?" The tone is solid, concerned.

"I, uh, I've kind of been shot. It's--" His hands tremble somewhat, in a way they hadn't before. This is much more frightening than his mind had given it initial credit for, now that he's made this decision, no matter how good it is to hear the doctor on the line. "I found the guy. I was stupid. Shouldn't have gone alone, but the funny thing is, I wasn't even looking for him. Just trying to follow up on an idea I had. Caught him by surprise." He laughs again, a little wetly. "Caught me by surprise."

"Is there an ambulance on the way? Are you in any more danger?"

"Already called Jack. Gave them as much information as I could. I'm sure he's on his way." He's also sure nobody is going to get to him in time. "Killed him. Took fewer shots than Hobbs. I'm improving." It's not funny, but everything seems a little bit funny to him at this point.

There's silence for longer than Will can stand, and his voice takes a desperate turn for the hysterical. "Hannibal?"

"I'm still here," is the quick reply, and Will feels his entire body relax, a sigh escaping him, and he doesn't even mind the flash of pain at any movement. "It does sound like a step forward." The doctor is attempting to play along and ease Will's mind, though Will's sure he can hear motion, not sure what it is. There's still a tightness winding up Hannibal's voice, a subtle spring ready to fly off. But controlled. "You even called me by first name."

"Nothing like a life or death situation to make a few breakthroughs."

There's a much shorter pause, enough for half a thought to form in Will's slowing mind. "How bad is the injury?" And when Will doesn't immediately respond, it's Hannibal who has to ask after him, pull him back to the phone. "Please keep speaking. I need to know you're still with us."

Will coughs, cringing at the stab of bullet-induced pain, watches his visible breath fade into nothing. "Yes, I'm--it's bad enough. To be worried." The blood is keeping his fingers warm enough, though he's not pressing as hard as he should be anymore. He licks his lips, but everything is dry. "Jack's not gonna get here in time."

"I am certain he's going to do everything in his power to--"

"I'm going to die."

The words sound far away, like someone else said them. And how he wishes that was true. It weighs him down, pins him to the ground. Even when he'd been stabbed in the shoulder, it hadn't been like this, nowhere close to this. A shuddering breath is sucked in, and he can feel tears pecking at the corners of his eyes.

"I shouldn't be so afraid. We deal with death all the time, gruesome murders, psychopathic serial killers, and I'm...afraid. I called you because, um..." He sniffs, mucous and pine needles and blood in the air. "I didn't want to die alone. Stay on the phone with me, please?"

"Of course I will. I won't hang up. You aren't alone."

Will nods, even though the motion is lost across the empty space. "Good. Thank you."

Hannibal doesn't lose the analytical side, which is also silently appreciated. He's not sure what he would do should the doctor get emotional and likewise hopeless. "Seeing the aftermath of violent crimes, even putting yourself in the place of the criminal--or the victim--isn't the same as being there yourself, fully, physically. You've faced down threats to yourself before, and admirably. But you've rarely had to deal with the possibility of your own death."

"Certainty," Will croaks out.

"We will just have to wait and see about that one," Hannibal jokes, and with his eyes closed, focused on that accented voice, Will can conjure up with his imagination the sight of him, dark eyes and impeccable appearance and something that maybe once upon a time had the intention of being a smile, but given the situation, it's only a bare uptick of the corners of his mouth. It's a comfort. "Even those who claim not to be afraid of death may still feel fear. The reasons for that fear, however, are what changes the situation."

"So why am I afraid is the question."

"Perhaps." He doesn't hear anything, but Will can see in his mind's eye the doctor give a light shrug, maybe sit back in his seat. "You shouldn't tell yourself not to be afraid. This is an instance where fear is perfectly healthy and expected. To not be afraid might be cause for concern."

"I was surprised," Will recounts, starting to struggle with focus, and the chatter of his teeth isn't as much due to cold now. "I killed. And I'm alone. It's dark. It's cold. And I know I'm going to die."

"So you see, perfectly reasonable." The voice on the phone winds slightly tighter, probably from the perpetual insistence of death. "You didn't call any family. Any friends."

"You're a friend." He swallows down something that might have been close to a sob clawing up his throat. "I don't--everyone will find out soon enough. It was an impulse." Hannibal is a comfort. His paddle. He's not sure he could have done this to anyone else. And he's not sure he can verbalize his reasoning. Not sure he wants them verbalized for him. "Oh god, the dogs. Someone's going to have to look after the dogs." Will groans, and he would pinch the bridge of his nose if his free hand wasn't trying to keep himself alive longer.

"The dogs?" Hannibal prompts after a beat or two, too much quiet, too much time wasted even with a handful of seconds.

"I, uh, have a bunch of dogs at home. The neighbors take care of them when I'm away, but I don't know that they'll take them in..." Not with that many. It's a sizeable number for one person in one house. "Don't let the pound take them. Find a no-kill shelter, or a rescue, or somewhere they won't be put down or run over." He's losing it over dogs. Figures. He'd probably be embarrassed if the situation wasn't so dire.

"It will be taken care of, if need be," Hannibal promises with enough tone to let Will know he doesn't believe that need will come.

"I have a will, and I think--I think everything's in order. I haven't touched it in a while, but I think it should all--I think--"

"Will, I want you to take a few deep breaths."

He tries. They are, instead, cold gasps. Everything is starting to pinprick along his skin, and he can't concentrate. "I think--" Hannibal's trying to tell him something else, and he likes the sound of it, but the words are too fuzzy and from miles off. He makes out the sound of his name being called, like something dark and desperate, a shattering of cool, but that's all he can make out before everything goes black.

The world is spinning when sensation begins to creep back in. Whirls of bright lights and dull colors. Though he wrenches his eyes shut against it, his other senses start filling in details. He's warm, for one thing. A prick of an IV in his arm. The steady pulse of a monitor beating in time with his heart.

Not dirt, not grass. It's soft below him, around him. His brain has to take a little time to process all of the information at once to come to 'hospital'. Jack must have gotten to him in time after all. (Or God has a very strange idea of an afterlife.) Must have had surgery. Must be waking up from the mix of blood loss and anesthetic.

But there's something else. His hand twitches, and yes, there are other fingers loosely wrapped around his. Someone else in the room. When Will dares to crack his eyes open again, when everything has settled into their proper shapes and locations, he glances over. Hannibal isn't sleeping, like when he'd gone to see Abigail, and in fact was giving him a smile. Something honest, with a delicate show of teeth.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Will. Don't try to move. Just relax." Will didn't exactly have any plans on going anywhere, much less sure if he even could, so he nods. "You gave Uncle Jack and the team quite a scare." Hannibal does not say 'and me', but Will hears it so very loudly and clearly implied that he doesn't have to. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, don't--" He starts quickly before Hannibal can even begin to rise from his chair. Will clears his throat, eyes on the ceiling. "Don’t leave me alone. Stay with me."

Hannibal settles himself back down again, leaning in, and hand tightening over Will's. "You aren't alone."