like your blood knows the way (fic WIP)
Y’know what? It’s Friday, and it’s the first day of the @hannibalcreative and @hannigramacethetic Halloween fests, and I have no idea if this ficlet is gonna be complete in time for either, but by god I’m at least gonna give y’all a taster. Partly as a Friday present and partly ‘cause a little love might inspire me to finish it faster.
So! Good morning, buttercups, here is the beginning of the Vampire Hanners / Ace Will S1 AU fic. Which isn’t shaping up to be scary other than in that boring grown-up Having Conversations About Feelings Can Be Scary way. But damn it, there’s a vampire, so I’m calling it a Halloween fic. Maybe in the next section I’ll let Will get startled by a spider or a car door slamming or something so it can be officially a Scary Fic.
like your blood knows the way
(Part 1 of…oh, let’s say, 3? but who knows, I’ve given up predicting my own fic, god forbid I have a plan, there could be 2 parts, there could be 20, help, I am a disaster)
“I didn’t know you could bleed.”
It sounds stupid the second it’s out of Will’s mouth, but Hannibal just looks at him with something that probably started out to be a quirk of his mouth, but ends up in more of a grimace when it pulls at his split lip.
Will wants to ask now, but it’s probably the twelve or thirteenth item on a list of questions that starts out with did you know what Budge was when you told me about him? and ends with what the hell happened here? None of them seem like gateways to a conversation that should be had in the middle of Hannibal’s office, bloody and bruised, surrounded by investigators and analysts.
(Is that a bruise on Hannibal’s cheek? Does he bruise? Is it a smudge? Will’s fingers twitch, restless; he clenches his fist and ignores the shock of pain.)
Hannibal glances out wearily over the wreckage of his office - apparently two vampires fighting can do a lot of damage - and continues, “I can bleed. I heal quickly, but it isn’t instantaneous. It would have to be much worse than this to require medical assistance.”
Ah. That explains the confused EMTs lurking by the door, then: no one had told them the crime scene they were being called to was two-thirds non-human. By the looks of the third, he’s long past any help they could give.
“Yes. I’d been considering a referral.”
Too late now hangs in the air between them for a long moment until Jack returns with more questions.
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It’s probably for the best that Hannibal offered his hospitality instead of a long drive home: between the two of them, they’re only barely an entire functioning person.
While Hannibal limps slowly up the stairs to do whatever mysterious freshening up the guest room needs, Will manages to light the fireplace awkwardly with his fully functional hand. And to keep the cursing to a bare minimum when he bangs the other bandaged hand against the hearth.
By the time Hannibal returns (with an uneven audible tread instead of his usual cat-silent steps, he really must still be hurt) Will’s managed to pour two glasses of bourbon. Minimal spilling, surreptitiously wiped up with a shirt-tail. It just had to be his right hand he’d used to ward Budge off, of course.
“I’ll drink it if you don’t want it,” he offers along with the glass. “But I’ve seen you drink, so…”
“It doesn’t affect me or nourish me, but I can enjoy the flavor and the social ritual. Thank you, Will.”
Grave; formal. A bit tidier now, shirt-sleeves rolled up, most of the blood washed away. The smudge is still there on Hannibal’s cheek, but it seems paler. The urge to touch it hasn’t gone away.
Will finds his way to one of the armchairs and falls into it with a groan like he might never move again. He raises the glass to the firelight for a moment before swallowing most of it down. He mostly succeeds in repressing a smirk when Hannibal takes the opposite chair, a mirroring of their places in his office.
“This feels familiar. I’d ask if you set the room up this way on purpose, but I have a hard time imagining you do anything by accident.”
“Your injuries are an accident. I didn’t know Mr. Budge would attack you.” A sip of amber liquid; a steady, warm gaze. Does Hannibal blink? Will hasn’t looked him in the eyes enough to know. “I was worried you were dead.”
“I’m harder to kill than I look.”
“Yes. We have that in common.”
Will can’t help a snort of laughter at that. “Tenacity and a fondness for plaid. It’s a miracle anyone can tell us apart. It must be the dog hair that tips people off.” Or the aftershave, but he’s not going to bring that up if Hannibal isn’t.
Hannibal tilts his head fractionally, just a bit like a dog listening to a pitch humans can’t hear. He takes a slow sip from his glass before he responds.
“It might be the heartbeat.”
