Chapter Text
A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Hannibal.
I have no beta.
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“Hello, Mr. Graham, my name is Hannibal Lecter. I’m overseeing your son for the time being.”
The man was scruffy. Obviously middle aged just from the look of him. He had a thick, brown beard that was brushed well. It made him seem a lot cleaner in appearance. His eyes were grey, and he had a dark tan, with smile lines on his face.
Any other time, Hannibal was certain the man would be cheerful. But his son was in the E.R. and there was nothing fun about that.
Bill Graham offered his hand in greeting, and Hannibal remembered to give a firm shake. The man had a subtle power about himself.
Controlled.
“Do you have any idea what's wrong with my boy?” the man asked, his words mixing slightly in what Hannibal would assume was a southern drawl. Though he’d only ever been to Mississippi, and that was just for a week long conference, so he wasn’t sure.
“I do, however I would like to get a list of your observations before I make any claims. If you don’t mind.”
Bill Graham sighed. “It began with the wanderin’. I’d hear the door open and find him walkin’ outside in his pajamas. Eyes mostly closed. He gets nightmares. He started talkin’ about headaches and seeing double or triple, a few months ago. I started givin’ his some Aspirin to deal with it. He began forgettin’ after that. Claim he blinked and found himself somewhere new.”
The man shrugged. “Started sayin’ that he felt like he was ‘slippin’ away’ and ‘meltin’’.”
Hannibal was making notes. He’d scented the boy’s illness immediately and to have his father confirm his assumptions was good. Also sad. That someone so young was already experiencing such trauma at such a young age.
“Did anything traumatic happen to him recently?”
Bill Graham sent him an odd look, but nodded. “In our last residence, one of the neighbors was murdered and their body was left outside the house. Will was taken into custody when he went down to the station to tell them who the killer was. They thought that because he knew so much, that he was involved.
“Dr. Lecter, my boy is special. He sees things others can’t. Some doctor a while back said something about ‘too many mirror neurons’ and bein’ able to take the position of others and feel what they feel. Pure Empathy. Will’s like a detective. He’s made a game of solvin’ murders. Reads the paper to see who did what crime. He always manages to get it right, weeks before the culprit is caught.”
If Hannibal had been interested before, he certainly was now.
“We talked about it, and he said that he can’t stop it. It makes him uncomfortable with people, seein’ things about them when they make eye contact. Someone tried to say he’s Autistic.” Bill scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Will isn’t developmentally challenged, he just doesn’t like people. He’s got Social Anxiety Disorder.”
Hannibal nodded. The boy had an active imagination that worked in tandem with his Empathy disorder. He found himself drawn to murder scenes, and had probably envisioned himself committing the murders he was revealing.
It was an interesting thought.
“Well, Mr. Graham, I have strong suspicion that your son has Encephalitis. He’ll need to be taken in for an MRI soon. He is still unconscious. Hopefully we can diagnose the problem before he awakens. They wanted to give him a CT first, but MRI’s save time and energy because the results are better.”
Bill Graham frowned. “How much is this goin’ to cost? We have no health insurance.”
That was a problem. An MRI done on the brain was considerably more expensive than one that would be done on an injured ankle.
However, Will Graham was a bright child according to his father. Intelligent.
“What does your son want to do with his life?” asked Hannibal, knowing that his question might seem strange.
“He’s talked about bein’ a homicide detective a few times. Other times he wants to be a teacher. Usually somethin’ that has to do with catchin’ murderers.”
It could be risky, but Hannibal was just so interested.
Physical touch enforced human interaction. Hannibal placed a hand on the man’s shoulder in a symbol of calm and support. “I’d hate to see someone so gifted, losing a chance at good health. I’ll handle it.”
He turned away before Bill Graham could comment.
He could afford everything easily. And most of all, he wanted to see Will Graham at his best.
Will?
The voice was distant and he didn’t recognize it. Nothing in this darkness was familiar.
Like he was under water. Like he was drowning. He always felt like he was drowning.
Will?
That strange voice. An accent he’d never heard before.
“Will?”
His cold had was suddenly warm.
“Will?”
Before him floated a… creature. A being that was emaciated in form, skin black as pitch. The eyes almost white. Antlers branched out from the crown of the head. The face was angular.
Will blinked, and the vision distorted for a second, becoming a man with sharp cheekbones, and a kind smile on his face.
The man and monster jumped back and forth.
“Will?”
Their mouths were moving. Saying his name.
Slowly, the man’s form remained, and a bright light enveloped his frame. Bright white.
A warmth on his head had him glancing upward, seeing an arm.
“Hello, Will,” the man said, his kind smile never failing. “I’m Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”
Will Graham was only fifteen years old. Small and thin at the moment, with dark curls that flopped at the slightest movement. He was cute.
Like a poodle. Though Hannibal had never wanted to pet a poodle before.
Hannibal quietly and carefully explained the boy’s situation, watching as his face scrunched up and his mood depleted as the seconds passed.
“We can’t afford it,” the boy murmured, staring down at his hands.
“Your father has already been made aware that the situation is being handled.”
Will Graham’s head snapped up. “Do you often pay your patients’ bills?”
What a clever boy.
Hannibal spared an amused smile. “You are a treasure, Will. It would be a shame to see you buried.” So soon, he mentally added.
The boy ducked his head again, the flush working its way up his face.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, Will, call me Hannibal.”
Hannibal was looking forward to their acquaintance, however long or short it may be.
A/N: The first is done!
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