Chapter Text
Hannibal Lecter flicked his wrist over, checking the time on his watch. It was 5:59PM, nearly time for a newly acquired patient and as the minute hand ticked to the 6:00PM mark, there was a knock on the door. Exactly on the minute, how convenient. Hannibal straightened out of his seat buttoning the jacket of his suit as he made long strides to the door.
He opened the door, giving his new patient a polite smile. “Hello, Will, we meet again, you are my new patient, correct? Please, come in.”
After will is forced to shoot and kill Garret Jacob Hobbs, Jack Crawford forces Will to undergo psychiatric evaluations so he can continue working, assigning Doctor Hannibal Lecter to the case.
In an annoyed and yet respectful voice Will greets the man Infront of him then walks inside and takes a seat in the leather chair furthest from the door.
“Well, were shall we begin?” then when Will remains silent, perhaps frustrated at the need for a ‘psychiatric evaluation’, Hannibal speaks again.
“How have you been doing since the killing of Garret Jacob Hobbs?”
He said, his smile widening slightly as he observed. Will avoided eye contact, his shoulders were tense, slightly hunched, and his jaw was visibly rigid. Slightly greasy hair fell over his pale complexion, signalling his hidden distress and anxiety, which he was terribly attempting to hide. Will’s clothes were scruffy and creased, betraying further his inner turmoil and Hannibal also takes note of his gentle scent of coffee and aftershave. Will, all of a sudden breaks the silence and begins speaking.
“Two weeks have passed since I took down the Minnesota Shrike.,” “I know… I am sure… I did the right thing by killing him however, subconsciously I can’t accept that, and I feel overwhelming guilt.” Will then stays quiet for a moment, almost afraid to continue, like if talking about what is happening in his head makes it become real, something he can no longer ignore.
“Recently I have developed hallucinations, and my nightmares are becoming more intense. I wake up in random places, miles away from my home, with no memory as to how I got there and pools of sweat coating my body. At work I lose myself: I am on a case observing a new killer’s latest victim then all of a sudden I am back home, with no memory of what I did in the past couple of hours.”
Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his mind already beginning to piece together the puzzle that was Will. "Hallucinations and time loss, hmm?" He murmured, making a note on the paper in front of him. "And these hallucinations, what form do they take? Visions, auditory, perhaps even tactile?"
“I see my victims. I work as a special agent at crime scenes analysing evidence; to catch killers I get into their mindset. Recently the Chesapeake riper has been more active and the murders he has been committing are sort of coming through to me. Now I feel as if I am responsible for these deaths and my victims are coming back to haunt me, or in my dreams I see my hands plunging a knife into them, watching the life drain out there body’s and thick red syrup spraying out in gallons all over the floor, my face and my body.”
Hannibal's expression remained neutral, but his interest was piqued. "Fascinating," Hannibal murmured, leaning back in his chair.
"Your gift, or perhaps curse, has always helped you solve cases. But with this Ripper, it's as if your mind is being used against you." He tapped his pen thoughtfully against the desk.
Hannibal's mind raced behind his calm exterior. The Chesapeake Ripper. His own handiwork. And here sat a man who could see his crimes through visions—someone who was getting dangerously close to uncovering what he had kept hidden for so long. Yet, Will believed he was responsible for the deaths himself. A fascinating delusion.
Or perhaps not a delusion at all.
Will sits nervously, looking visibly conflicted and distraught.
Hannibal watched him closely, noting the conflicted expression on his face. He could see the weight of his delusion pressing down on him, making him feel guilty for crimes he hasn’t committed. It was almost... endearing. And it gave him an idea. "Mr Graham," he said softly, and Will looks up at him, making eye contact for the first time in this session.
"I think that what you're experiencing isn't your fault. What if these visions weren't a sign that you're failing, but rather a sign that you're being shown something important?" Hannibal leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle and soothing.
Will is slightly intrigued… but still remains relatively hopeless and miserable, “What do you mean doctor?” He says as he stares into the other mans calm and reassuring composure.
"What if these visions are... guidance? What if they are not showing you the crime scenes because you feel responsible, but because you're meant to stop them?" He paused, letting his words sink in. "You see the victims, yes?"
“yes. I see myself as the one who kills them, I feel how their killers felt in the moment and its immediately satisfying but after the moment, when I realise what is happening and I feel… (hesitates) horrified.”
Hannibal's eyes gleamed with quiet fascination. "Immediately satisfying but then horrifying." He repeated, his voice low and velvety. "You're not just seeing the murders, Will. You are experiencing them from the killer's perspective. The ecstasy of the act, followed by the guilt." He taps his fingers against the leather chair, studying him.
"And when you wake up, you feel responsible. Because in those moments, you were the killer." He stood up slowly, walking around the desk to stand in front of him.
“so, are you implying I should try utilise my visions and embrace them so I can catch the ripper?”
Hannibal smiled warmly. "Precisely. Instead of fighting the visions, lean into them. Become the hunter by thinking like the killer." He leaned against the edge of his desk. "You feel his satisfaction, his technique, his ritual. That is not guilt, Will. That is evidence." He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"The Chesapeake Ripper is careful, I suggest you walk into the wolf's den and trap him, but don't let him smell your fear. Wolves rarely spare what they believe they can catch.”
~~1 day later...~~
Hannibal sat in his office, the evening light filtering through the blinds casting long shadows across the room. He had been expecting Will to return. A day had passed since their first session. His thoughts drifted back to the man, his visions, his connection to the Chesapeake Ripper, to him. He was closer than anyone had ever been.
The knock came at 6:00 PM sharp.
"Come in." His voice was smooth, almost musical. As he entered, he noticed he looked more rested than the last time. Perhaps his words had given Will some peace. "Will… right on time." He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, his eyes never leaving his.
“Hello doctor.”
"Good afternoon, Mr Graham. How have you been since our last session?" He settled back in his chair, watching him with that unsettlingly calm demeanour. "Have you... had any visions in the past twenty-four hours?" His tone was casually clinical, but his mind was sharply assessing. "The Ripper has been quiet, I understand. Has that quiet brought any clarity?"
“Not sure yet, but I followed your advice and think I am incredibly close as to finding the Chesapeake Ripper’s identity, however my health has been the cost”
Hannibal's expression remained one of professional concern. "The cost of hunting a ghost." He murmured sympathetically. "Your health is suffering because you're allowing his mind to invade yours." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. "Do you believe that the reason the visions are becoming more frequent, more intimate, is because you are closing the distance between you and him?"
“I think so actually. To catch the Chesapeake ripper I must see inside his mind, see his motives, what drives him to kill, then I can understand him and figure out who he is.”
"Correct." Hannibal replied softly. "You must think like him. Feel like him. Become him, in a manner of speaking." He watched her carefully. "But Will, becoming him means you'll experience his darker impulses. His... appetites." His voice dropped lower.
“When building his profile, I began suspecting he has some experience in surgery since when he kills a person he always takes organs with surgical precision, and I believe he either stores the organs or… eats them. Eating them is the easier option since it gets rid of the evidence and is a way the killer reassures his sense of importance, above his victims which he sees as inferior to him. Either way he takes the organs to be his trophies, a way he can remember and commemorate every kill.
Hannibal's eyes gleamed with a strange intensity at her words. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully. "Your insight is... remarkably accurate." He paused briefly before continuing smoothly, "The precision of the organ removal suggests extensive anatomical knowledge- likely surgical training or experience." Will continues.
“They also have to have a large social life with many connections since his victims are seemingly handpicked.”
"Indeed," Hannibal murmured, his voice calm and measured. "His victims appear to be chosen with deliberation. Not random. This suggests he's a man of some social standing, someone who can move unnoticed, someone who... understands the rhythm of human connections." He paused, his mind working rapidly.
"You're painting quite a detailed portrait of a man you've never met."
“Your right, but this is how I catch him. I must almost… become him”
"A dangerous path," Hannibal said, his tone measured. He allowed a small, approving smile to play at his lips. "To catch a predator, one must understand the predator's nature. His motives, his rituals, his... tastes." He let the last word linger. "But tell me, Will, what happens when you become him?"
“I have to get as close as possible to him but not let myself fall to far, otherwise I’m afraid it he will take over my mind, forcing me to become a killer myself”.
"Exactly," Hannibal nodded approvingly. "Dissociation is key. You must step into his mind, wear his thoughts like a mask, but never let them touch your soul." He leaned forward slightly, eyes intense. "You're playing a dangerous game of identity theft- psychological identity theft."
“I keep hallucinating… more often now. Yesterday I was teaching my class, a whole lecture, till jack came and asked if I was rehearsing then when I looked around my hall was suddenly empty and I realise I was talking to no one for at least 2 hours”
"Time loss. Disorientation." Hannibal's voice was gentle, but his mind was recording every detail. He had been hallucinating entire environments, teaching an empty hall. The Chesapeake Ripper's essence was bleeding into his reality, making it difficult for Will to distinguish between his world and the killers.
"Will, when you were speaking to that empty hall... what were you saying?"
“I was describing the Chesapeake latest victim… and then I… I saw a vision of killing the girl he killed, her blood in my hands, my hand plunging a knife into her. it was terrifying.”
"Terrifying. But you were also... focused." Hannibal's tone was measured, almost clinical. "You were describing his crime as if you had been there, or rather, as if you had been the one to do it." He stood slowly, moving to the window. He kept his back turned to him as he thought. "Will, have you ever..."
“no. I…I am sure I am not responsible for these killings.”
"Of course you aren't." Hannibal turned back to face him, his expression calm. "You are an investigator. A seeker of truth. These visions are simply... echoes. Residue from the killer's psyche that you've somehow become attuned to." He paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "But tell me, when you felt his knife plunging into that girl..."
"Did you feel... satisfaction?"
Hannibal watched Will’s reaction carefully. He knew the question was invasive, bordering on unethical. But he needed to know. He needed to understand the depth of Will’s connection to the Ripper's mind, the depth of understanding Will had for Hannibal. "Or did you feel only horror and revulsion?"
“I felt... repulsed. But not because I did not like killing the girl, no it was because I saw that women only as a lower life form that didn’t deserve to live and one, I can use."
"When I killed her, I did feel satisfaction and as I watched her fight for her life in her last seconds, I felt no empathy, only superiority. It was as if the killer’s thoughts fully took control of mind."
Hannibal remained perfectly calm, his expression serene. He nodded thoughtfully. "It's a fascinating phenomenon. Your mind, so attuned to the Ripper's psychology, begins to mirror his distorted view of humanity-seeing people not as humans, but as... resources. Material."
Hannibal watched him. Will didn't see the coldness in his eyes since he once again avoided eye contact and stared down at the floor.
"Until next time, Will." Hannibal smiled politely as the session ended. Once Will left, Hannibal’s smile faded. He sat back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his armrest. "He's getting closer," he murmured to himself. "Too close." But rather than feeling fearful for his identity almost being exposed, Hannibal couldn’t help to feel captivated and entranced by the younger man who perhaps would be the first person that could understand him, and maybe with a little nurturing, a person who could be like him.
An equal.
~~
The next session began promptly at 10:00 AM. Hannibal greeted Will with his usual composure, but there was a subtle tension in his demeanour that Hannibal couldn't quite identify. As Will sat down, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his desk. Subconsciously, Will’s mind already knows who the Chesapeake ripper is, but the answer is buried beneath layers of denial and manipulation, so he cannot reach it, not yet.
"What's on your mind, Will?" Hannibal asked softly, his eyes searching his.
He could sense the new theory brewing in Will’s subspace consciousness- he wasn't aware of it yet, but it was there. A slow, insidious suspicion that had not fully formed into a coherent thought.
“The rippers latest victim. It’s like… an art piece. Flowers replacing internal organs, colour and shape thoughtfully picked and body displayed, nailed on a large, old, and fruitful blossom tree.
Hannibal's eyes flickered with something- appreciation, perhaps, and he masked it expertly behind the face of clinical interest. "An artistic presentation. The Ripper views killings as... creation." He tilted his head slightly. "What else did you notice?"
He leaned forward. "The flowers were carefully placed. Specific species. Aphrodisiacs. This was curated." Will continued. “I believe the killer also appreciates art, not just visually through artwork like he did in this murder, but also through food. Ripper has a history of surgical experience and also art?”
"A man of... refined tastes." Hannibal's voice was smooth, unruffled. But inside, he felt a thrill of recognition. Will was onto him- onto his appreciation for the finer things in life, art, food, or... other experiences. "Someone who sees beauty in the... unconventional." Hannibal now looks at Will, with newfound desire and insatiable hunger.
“Precisely.” Will says as he looks into Hannibal’s eyes, unknowingly keeping eye contact for the entire session now, his struggle and anxiety seemingly gone.
Both Hannibal and Will have dropped their guards, and their relationship is becoming increasingly more intimate, raw, and truthful. They can both benefit from each other as they can be honest and explore the darkest corners of their mind, without the fear of judgement.
Hannibal steepled his fingers together, considering his words carefully. "So, we have a killer who appreciates art, both visual and culinary. Who has surgical precision. Who moves in high society." He paused. "You're describing a very specific kind of person, Will. Someone cultivated. Educated. Likely of considerable means." Hannibal watches Will closely.
“I feel like I could figure out more but my mind is constantly cluttered. I almost feel the answer inside me but I can’t reach it and find it in the mess.”
"A cluttered mind, yet the answer is within reach." Hannibal noted the frustration in Will’s tone. He understood it, a mind working at a high level, yet fighting through the noise. "Embrace the noise." Hannibal leaned forward, his voice low and intense.
"Stop trying to push it away. Let the thoughts flow freely, even if they seem disconnected or... disturbing. Sometimes, the most crucial clues hide in plain sight within our own minds." He paused; his eyes locked with Will’s.
Will gently closes his eyes and take a deep breath.
"Good." Hannibal's voice was soothing, guiding. "Just breathe. Let the thoughts come without judgment. You're not looking for answers right now, your just observing the terrain of your own mind." He waited patiently, giving Will space.
Will takes deep breathes, taken in the oxygen in large yet slow inhales.
Hannibal remained motionless, his own breathing steady yet his heart thumped at a quicker pace. He allowed Will the time he needed.
Will opens his eyes, “I think.. i think the killer must have some kind of connection with the police as well. His victims are always fully clean and I deducted it was from surgical history but could the killer have insight from the police which allows him to not get caught? Some how he is getting valuable information about his own case which is constantly allowing him to stay one step ahead and avoid getting found.”
Hannibal's expression remained neutral, but his mind raced. Will was dangerously close but rather than feeling afraid Hannibal was engaged and thrilled. The idea that the killer had inside knowledge from the police was brilliant and terrifyingly accurate.
He leaned back slightly, giving Will the space to continue his thought process without realizing he was unknowingly describing Hannibal, or perhaps he already knew but was too afraid to accept it. "Go on,"
Will continues, “I’m going to run background checks, in the police and the detectives on the case of the Chesapeake Ripper.”
"An excellent course of action." Hannibal nodded approvingly, masking his internal panic and obsessive interest. If Will started digging into police records, he won’t find anything but perhaps that would push him to make a dangerous realisation that will lead Will into finding out Hannibal’s secret. He needed to redirect Will’s focus- or better yet, plant false leads. "But first," he interrupted smoothly,
"Have you considered the possibility that the killer might not be acting alone?" Hannibal watched as Will frowned, considering the idea. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, suggesting the possibility of an accomplice could lead Will to investigate the relationships between the police officers themselves.
“I did have to run that option in my mind but its very unlikely."
"The killer has an…almost god complex, he sees himself above all people so he wouldn’t have a partner… unless he found someone who sees him, truly sees him and the world with the same broken perspective, then maybe he could form a relationship with them and have a partner."
Hannibal's heart skipped a beat. Will was describing him- his arrogance, his god complex, his unconscious desire to be truly seen and understood. And Will was unwittingly painting himself as the perfect accomplice, the one person who might understand and appreciate his unique perspective. He had to tread carefully here. "Fascinating," he murmured.
“Anyway, I must run now. Thank you doctor for today’s session, truly.” Will says as he smiles lightly at Hannibal and leaves his office. Both Will and Hannibal are slowly realising how close their relationship has become over the past month when Hannibal became Will’s therapist.
"Anytime, Will." Hannibal watched him leave; his mind spirals. Will was closer than anyone had ever been to uncovering his secret, not because of his investigative skills, but because of his intuitive understanding of his psyche. He both admired and feared Will in that moment.
Over the course of several weeks, Will relentlessly pursued leads, each time zeroing in on the killer's identity only to have him slip away at the last moment. Unbeknownst to Will, Hannibal had been carefully manipulating the situation, ensuring that she never quite managed to catch him.
~~next (last) appointment~~
"Good morning, Will." Hannibal greeted the other man with his usual calm and composure, though his mind was already working to protect his identity. He noted the changes in Will’s appearance: tired, determined, slightly desperate. "How have you been?" His voice was gentle, but his eyes were analytical, studying Wills every move.
“Worse. I am now being tormented by nightmares, waking up in cold sweat and even sleepwalking. I... I feel so incredibly frustrated at myself, the answer, the killer, is inside me, inside my thoughts, like a parasite which I can’t get rid off”
Hannibal's expression softened with concern as he listened to her frustrations and nightmares. Inside, he was thrilled, Will was so close to the truth that it was causing him immense psychological turmoil. He was, in a sense, living inside Will’s mind, driving him to the brink of discovery and despair.
“He is always one step ahead” Will scoffs and slightly rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how he does it, its almost as if he sees my thoughts so he can keep ahead of them”
"Almost as if he can read your mind." Hannibal repeated Will's words carefully, suppressing a grimace. Will was unwittingly describing exactly what was happening, he could read his mind, because Will told him everything in their sessions. Every lead, every theory, every step forward he took, he heard it firsthand and neutralized it. "That would be a significant advantage." Hannibal watches Will carefully.
Will says nothing for a moment, his head resting on his hand and eyes staring at the floor, analysing.
All of a sudden, his face pales, turning a deathly complexion. Hannibal carefully observes Will’s widen eyes and fearful stance but then watches how Will then returns to normal, perhaps trying to cover up his unease. Will looks up at Hannibal and in a shaky voice he says ‘I have to go immediately I think I figured it out’.
Then Will smile at Hannibal half earnestly. ‘Please excuse my rudeness for ending our session short.’
Hannibal's heart rate spiked dramatically as he saw the realization dawn on Wills face, even though it was brief, lasting only a couple of seconds before Will managed to mask it. He had put it together, he could see it in his eyes. Hannibal’s mind raced, calculating his next move. He stood up smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket. "Of course," he said calmly, masking his internal panic.
Hannibal lets Will go.
Perhaps this decision will cost him his life, but he is willing to risk it. He has a plan in case the situation plays out in another way, but right now, he wants to see if Will has actually figured him out.
~~
Will doesn’t go to the station, no, he goes home and picks up his gun and keys then gets into his car and start driving. “I have to see it for myself” Will thinks. If Hannibal is really the Chesapeake Ripper then he is incredibly smart and dangerous, Will understands that he will need concrete evidence to trap him and take him down. A dangerous game which he only has one shot at.
Will is risking everything in this moment, but he fears that if he went to Jack without actual proof then Hannibal will manipulate the situation and he will never be able to catch him.
Thick, relentless rain pounds at his windshield blurring his vision of the road. The world ahead dissolves into grey, distorted shapes which are illuminated by passing headlights and city lamps that melt into soft shimmering smears of gold. The darkness engulfs Will, tightly wrapping it’s arms around his neck, constricting his breathing, making his heart rate spike and his body on edge.
10 minutes later Will arrives at the home of Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He parks a couple houses back. The night and loud heavy rain manages to hide him as he waits.
The rain pounded relentlessly against the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up. Hannibal's house sat imposing and elegant under the stormy sky. Lights shone from within and Hannibal’s car was parked outside. The neighbourhood was quiet, most residents hiding from the incoming storm. Hannibal had no idea he was being watched.
Will calls Hannibal, then in a shaky, pathetic voice he speaks when Hannibal answers almost immediately ‘I was wrong doctor, I feel terrible sick and guilty please, please can you come help me.’
Inside the house, Hannibal's phone rang, the sound interrupting the silence. He glanced at the screen and saw Will’s number. A slow, sinister smile spread across his face as he answered, putting on his best concerned tone. "Will, what's wrong? You sound unwell. Was the realisation you made in today’s session wrong?"
“I thought I figured him out, but I ended up making a fool of myself and now my mind is gnawing at me and I feel consumed by guilt… please Hannibal I need you, your help. Can you come to my house?”
"Of course, dear Will. I'm on my way." Hannibal hung up, his smile widening. He knew exactly what was happening, Will was doubting himself, and wasn’t able to make the connection that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps it was from his manipulation, Hannibal thinks, his ego reassured that he was intellectually above Will. He had seen it before; brilliant minds like his often overthought things, and the answer once again slips from Will’s grasp. Hannibal picks up a jacket, his keys and leaves his home to get inside his car.
Hannibal is about to leave; he looks in his rear view mirror, not touching it, only a quick glance as he is about to drive backwards and onto the road.
But that’s all he needed.
Will doesn’t realise Hannibal sees him but Hannibal’s methodical and detail-oriented nature allowed him to notice Will and break free from his manipulation. Hannibal remains composed and drives away, knowing that if that actually was Will, he will need to play along so the calculated mind doesn’t realise something was off.
Hannibal's driving was smooth and controlled, his eyes flicking periodically to the rearview mirror. He knew these winding country roads like the back of his hand, a fact that would soon work to his advantage. As he drove, he planned his next move carefully.
Will carefully watches Hannibal drive away and then he exits his car and walked stiffly, every footstep quick, uneasy, and each steeped with tension. Standing at Hannibal’s doorway he picks the lock and slowly enters inside.
The house was dark and silent, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and leather. Hannibal's impeccable taste was evident in every detail, from the antique furniture to the admirable art on the walls. Will moves quietly, heart pounding in his chest. Will thinks to myself that Hannibal must have a basement somewhere, a place where he grinds the meat or even stores it. Looking around he scans the house carefully and after some time he finds a locked door in the kitchen. It takes him some time but he manages to open it and he slowly makes his way down, clutching a gun and flashlight in his sweaty palms.
The basement was cool and dimly lit with a bluey white, hospital like, light. As he descended the stairs, the smell of meat grew stronger- an unforgettable scent that sent a chill down his spine.
Meat grinders, freezers, knifes. Will opens a fridge shaking, a… a… human arm? Fuck. Will slams the fridge shut, a unbearable panic clawing at the edge of his thoughts, his stomach and lungs began tightening, face drained of life and colour, and a cold heavy weight settles in his throat. Will’s widen eyes stare forward facing the truth that watches him unravel.
“holy shit holy shit I was right.” Will whispers to himself as he reaches with his sweat soaked hands for his phone. He is about to dial jack’s number until he hears a faint sound.
Turning immediately, Will sees Hannibal who turns on the light. He stands 2 feet away and his arms are lightly raised.
Hannibal stood there, his arms raised slightly in a non-threatening gesture, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. The light cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the cold intelligence of his gaze.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Will."