Title: One Blade Shy of A Sharp Edge
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: writers_choice
Prompt: #323, Blade
Author's Note: Sequel to "In His Own Image."
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.
***
He was dancing on the edge of a very sharp knife, and he knew it.Will knew that he couldn't keep up this charade for Hannibal much longer. Every day, he was sure that there were more cracks in his facade, that Hannibal would soon see through him.
He had to end this. He had to find a way to make Hannibal confess to a killing, any killing. That would give the FBI probable cause to search his house.
And once they did, they were sure to find something. He didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew that there were locked door in that house, doors that he was certain hid horrible things. He didn't want to know exactly what might reside there; he was afraid that it would shock even his sensibilities.
He was used to seeing horrible things, that was true. But he didn't know if he could take seeing those things and knowing that they'd been brought about by someone he'd once called a friend.
He certainly didn't think of Hannibal as a friend now, Will told himself, his lips twisting in a bitter parody of a smile. He hadn't done so for quite a while.
But at one time, he had. Hannibal had been the only person who'd understood him.
Or had that understanding all been faked? Had he ever really understood, or had he only pretended to do so in order to get behind Will's walls, break down his defenses?
Of course that was what he had done, Will told himself firmly. Hannibal had never truly understood him, or cared about him. He'd been nothing more than an experiment; Hannibal had wanted to see just how far he could be pushed before he would snap. It was the same thing he was doing now.
Hannibal was trying to re-create Will in his own image, to transform him into the kind of conscienceless murderer that Hannibal himself was.
Hannibal was trying to turn him into something less than human.
He wouldn't allow that to happen. He wouldn't give in to what Hannibal wanted; he wouldn't become immersed in his own dark side. He wouldn't let evil, Hannibal's evil, take him over.
There were times when that darkness beckoned him with such a siren call, when it was hard to keep himself from moving towards it, from reaching out to touch it, just to see what it would be like. But so far, he'd managed to keep himself back, to ignore that seductive call.
But it was hard, he had to admit. He'd killed, and he'd actually enjoyed it. He hadn't had any qualms about the murder of Randall Tier. In fact, he hadn't minded doing it.
The bastard had deserved killing, Will reminded himself. He had come to WIll's house, tried to gain entry into his home, with the express purpose of murdering him.
What he'd done had been in self-defense -- but he couldn't deny the fact that a part of him, that darkness that lived within him, had reveled in the killing. A part of him had wanted to kill Tier, and had taken pleasure in knowing that he was ending the man's life.
That had been a revelation in itself; that had been when he'd consciously taken a few steps back from the path that Hannibal was trying to lead him down.
It had been terrifying to discover that savagery within himself.
He had been dancing on that sharp blade for a long time, hadn't he? Even before he had killed Randall Tier, he had been reaching out towards that dark side of who he was.
Fortunately, he'd managed to keep himself from slipping too deeply into it, but Hannibal was trying his best to push him headlong into that darkness, without giving him a way to come back from it. He had to resist the call of that darkness, had to keep holding himself back from it.
Even if Hannibal placed a hand directly into the center of his back and pushed with all of his considerable strength, Will knew that he couldn't let himself tumble head first.
If he did, then he would be irrevocably lost within that darkness.
That was one thing he couldn't afford to let himself do. He couldn't reach out to that seductive darkness, couldn't indulge in it, couldn't let himself go, no matter how tempting it might be.
To do that would be to let Hannibal win. It would be to immerse himself in that darkness, to be what the other man had always wanted for him to be: A reflection of the evil that Hannibal embodied.
He wasn't going to become like Hannibal. The only reason he had enjoyed killing Randall Tier was because he had felt so helpless for so long when he was in prison; that killing had been an exorcism of sorts, letting out all of the rage and helplessness he'd been forced to endure.
He wouldn't do something like that again. He wouldn't give in to Hannibal's wishes. He would keep dancing on that blade, keep moving along that sharp edge without cutting himself.
It wasn't easy. It hadn't been easy from the beginning, and it was getting harder now that he was being drawn ever more deeply into Hannibal's world.
But he wouldn't give in. He would stick to his plan, and he would bring Hannibal to ruin.
He knew very well that he was only one blade shy of falling onto that sharp edge, of cutting himself fatally and letting himself bleed out until there was nothing left of who he was.
He'd be having dinner at Hannibal's place tonight. He was going to try to avoid eating as much as possible, as he had no idea what might be in the highly suspect "food" that Hannibal was preparing. But he was going to try his damnedest to get Hannibal to make some sort of confession.
That would involve dancing even further out onto the edge of that sharp blade, and Will was fully aware that he could get badly cut -- or fall from that blade into oblivion.
It was a risk he would have to take, whatever the consequences might turn out to be.
***
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