I do not own any characters from the Hannibal fandom. But god did I wish I did.
Kinkmeme fill! Original request was:
"Hello! I've watched I Am Dina, Open Hearts, A Royal Affair, and Mads Mikkelsen crying is too darn sweet and it does things to me. Sads Mads 3
So here's my [cruel] prompt: Some nasty, sadistic bugger captures Hannibal and hurts him. A lot. Okay, so they flat out devastate him. The big meanie often sends the FBI video of the ever worsening condition of their favorite psychiatrist. As the footage count grows, Hannibal goes through stages that lead to his decent into a pitiful state-sobbing and begging uncontrollably for Will and Jack to please help him, find him, etc. I'd prefer it if he didn't want to be 'put out of his misery,' as I personally think he loves himself too much to ever actually want to end his own existence. He just wants and, really, needs to be saved. Up to you what's done to poor Hannibal to force him into this highly undignified and piteous state, what the sadist behind the camera wants, who they are, why they chose Hannibal, how much insight into what's been done to Hannibal is given in the videos and all the wonderful details.
-The outline to where my soul used to be if the 'director' never speaks, instead using Hannibal to voice their desires/points/whatever
-My fresh organs prepared however you'd prefer if it's not cracky but done in-character oh my goodness"
Unbeta'd and dirty, all errors are mine and mine alone.
For anyone who has seen my frostiron work, it's not abandoned, merely on hiatus!
Will's just stepping out of his classroom when Jack appears, a large shadow that the profiler has been waiting to darken his doorstep for a few days, because a week of peace is too much to ask from Jack Crawford, but this time he looks grimmer than usual as he stares Will down and curtly orders him to the car and follows it up with the simple statement of, "I need you." The scruffy empathy feels a frown tugging at his lips, but Jack offers nothing else, not when they climb into the car, a bit grudgingly on Will's part because he does have his own, and not when they begin driving.
The silence unsettles Will, makes him feel wary and unbalanced even after they arrive at headquarters and he's led into a room, Alana already sitting there, face white and pinched, Will can't tell if she's going to be sick or cry. Judging from the red around her eyes she's already done some of the latter. A glance at the single screen beside the far wall shows the reason in fuzzy pixels and hitching video. Will feels his stomach sink as he takes in the sight of his psychiatrist slumped against a wall, his wrists high above his head, suspended by what looks like chains hooked on the greyish wall, but the video is so grainy he can't be certain from the first glance.
"When was the last time you saw Doctor Lecter?" Jack asks as Will stares at the screen without really seeing it.
His throat feels dry as he forces it to work. "Thursday." The profiler forces out, it's Monday. "He came over, brought me dinner and sausage for the dogs." Will had been surprised by that, sure the doctor had fed the animals a couple of times at Will's request, but he'd never once mentioned any sort of like for them, at least not enough to bring them treats. But he had, he'd brought fresh sausage, explaining to Will the habits of the pig it had come from and how he'd selected it from his butcher specifically with his pack of mutts in mind. The memory makes Will's chest hurt a little as he watches the doctors head slowly loll back, twin dark spots that are his eyes tracking something off camera.
"We got the link to the feed yesterday afternoon." Jack reveals, and Will's gut clenches in the first stirrings of hot anger that no one had bothered to tell him sooner. "The guys in IT can't track it, every time they start to get a trace on the location it changes. It's been every where from downtown to Russia. You were the last one to see Doctor Lecter, he spoke to Doctor Bloom before going to see you, which means that this bastard may have had up to three days to get this set up." Jack doesn't say anything else, he doesn't need to. Whoever has taken the psychiatrist could be nearly anywhere in the country, or even up in Canada by now.
"If the proxies are changing..." Will starts, throat working spasmodically. "Does that mean whoever took him has help?"
"Probably." Is the gruff response he gets as Alana sniffs loudly.
On the screen Hannibal is still staring at something, or someone, off camera, dead-eyed and unbending, he seems nearly immovable despite the fact that he's literally chained in place, and now that his head is raised properly Will can see one wound around his neck as well, looped around twice with the free end of it dangling down his chest. It takes the profiler a moment to grasp what he's seeing.
Hannibal Lecter has a choke chain around his throat like he's a disobedient puppy.
A dark blur moves across the screen, and it takes a few frames for the camera to catch up and clearly show the figure of a person, swathed in a formless black robe and what Will swears looks grimly like an executioners hood. One hand grasps the loose end of the chain and the other presents something to the doctor, shaking a little, demanding Lecter's attention. But dark eyes barely glance at it for a moment before that dead-eyed stare is back on the individuals hood. The hand shakes again, what Will finally gathers to be a cue card, but the doctor doesn't even so much as glance down.
It's Alana that yelps when the chain is suddenly snapped, pulling taunt around Hannibal's throat, digging into the flesh and muscle. Will feels his stomach lurch as the lines of the doctors neck stand out, straining against the metal and his jaw tenses, even through the fuzzy frames he can tell that the mans face is beginning to discolor before the chain goes slack and the sound of Hannibal's heavy panting and retching fills the room.