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Title: Walking on Broken Glass
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Hannibal's house. He had to get to Hannibal's house.
It was hard to lift his feet, hard to take each step. It felt as though a million bees were swarming around his feet, stinging them, making each step forward painful to take. But Will kept doggedly on, focusing on his goal, on where he had to be.
He had to get to Hannibal. That was where he belonged, where he wanted to be. He wasn't going to stop until he was there, knocking on the front door.
Each step he took felt like walking on broken glass; it was extraordinarily painful to lift his feet, to put one of them in front of the other over and over again. Why was it so hard to walk? Was it because a part of him wasn't entirely sure that he should be doing this?
It didn't matter how hard it might be to get there; he knew where he was going, and he wouldn't turn back. He had made up his mind; he would see this through, no matter how awkward it might be to see Hannibal again. He had to do this, for his own peace of mind.
Still, it shouldn't be so hard. He should be able to walk faster than this.
Just taking each step was excruciating. Will gasped as he put one foot down, feeling pain shoot up his leg. Why did it hurt this badly? What was wrong with his legs? Did he suddenly have some debilitating disease that made it nearly impossible to walk?
He didn't want to look down, but he had to. The pain was getting worse with each step, and he had to know why, no matter how horrifying it might be.
Will looked down -- and screamed at the sight.
All around him were shards of broken glass, everywhere he looked. He had no idea how long he had been walking on them, but they had reduced his feet to a torn, bloody mess. He didn't need to look behind him to know that there was a trail of blood in his wake.
Even as he stared down at the bloody mass that his feet had become, he took another step forward and lost his balance; he was falling towards those shards of glass, their edges gleaming in the moonlight as they seemed to welcome his flesh amongst them.
All he could do was scream and put out his hands in front of him to break his fall.
The ground was rushing up at him; he knew that those shards cutting into his skin would be far more painful than the jarring fall could ever be. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut to try to ward off the explosion of pain that he knew was coming, even as another scream left his lips.
He could swear that death was all around him, a hideous, messy, bloody death, breathing down his neck, looking over his shoulder, smiling complacently as it observed.
Will screamed again; it was the only thing he could do.
..... In the next split second, he was sitting up in bed, one hand against his racing heart, gulping for air; he was looking around at the safety of his bedroom, his eyes wide. He wasn't alone in a sea of broken glass. He was at home, in bed. He was safe.
Will ran a hand over his face, through his hair, trying to convince himself that it had only been a dream. It still felt real, terrifyingly so. He was afraid to look at his feet, afraid that they would be bloody shreds, the flesh hanging from them in strips.
But when he kicked back the covers and stared down his legs to his feet, they looked normal. There was no blood, no pain. He had dreamed it. All of it. Nothing had happened.
None of it was real. He flopped back down onto the pillow, taking one deep breath, then another. For once, he hadn't been sleepwalking. He'd just had a particularly horrifying dream, one that would probably stay with him for a while. He wasn't a bloody, broken mess.
But he still felt an insatiable need to go to Hannibal.
Will knew that he wouldn't be able to resist that need for long -- even if he had to crawl over broken glass to get there. His need for Hannibal called him like a siren song that he couldn't resist; sooner or later, he would be drawn to the other man, no matter how he might try to resist.
Hannibal dew him like a moth to a flame. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how much longer he could resist that temptation.
It was useless to try, really. And if he was now literally walking on broken glass even in his dreams to get to Hannibal, then there was probably no use in resisting. After all, what harm could it do to see the other man? They had a lot to talk about.
If they didn't address the elephant in the room, then it would always be there. He wouldn't be able to continue working with Hannibal in a professional capacity, much less the personal relationship they'd developed as doctor and unofficial patient, if they didn't clear the air.
That had to be done soon, he thought with a soft sigh. The sooner the better.
He still wanted to resist the lure of that siren song, but he knew that it was useless. Sooner or later, he was going to find himself in that same situation he'd been in the first time he and Hannibal had been together. He might as well accept it.
And he might as well accept the fact that he wanted that to happen, even if he somehow felt that this relationship could be dangerous for him. He wanted to be with Hannibal again more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. It was worth any risk he had to take.
Maybe it was crazy. And maybe he would regret it. But he had to talk to Hannibal, to find out exactly where this was heading, and if they had a future.
Sighing again, he got out of bed, standing up cautiously and reaching for his cell phone.
Within moments, he had left a message on Hannibal's voice mail, requesting an appointment. He knew that Hannibal would get back to him, and that they would be meeting and talking soon. Just the thought of seeing the other man again made him quiver with desire.
Would the same thing happen again, or would it be different this time? Will didn't know which of those options he would prefer, but he knew that something would happen between them. It was inevitable, a foregone conclusion. It was something to look forward to.
He would walk over broken glass to be in Hannibal's arms again.
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