A Nightmare To A Night-Murder


He could see Garrett Jacob Hobbs, standing across from the Hobbs household, staring towards the blood soaked door, the door defiled by hooligans who had written 'cannibals' in distinctive writing as if to insult the dead man, who clearly didn't care.

Will was standing a good few yards behind, clutching his only defence, or weapon, his small handheld pistol, he checked, there was only one round, one shot. They stood in desolate silence for what felt like hours, but must have only been five minutes.

Hobbs started to amble towards the house, then almost like an alarm, a scream that sounded too like Abigail ringed in Wills ears. Oh shit; she's inside, he's going to get her, she's next, she's going to be killed, he's going to kill his own daughter, all these thoughts ran through Wills mind in a second, like a train passing through a station with no intention to stop.

Without thinking, Will sprinted towards Hobbs' back, with absolutely no idea what he could do to stop him. Hobbs was a killer. A good one. Will only caught him by "dum luck and bad book-keeping" as he said so himself, so how was he going to stop him from murdering the only good thing in Wills life? By ramming into him at full speed, apparently.

But before Will had even got close to Hobbs, he turned to black, thick, tar like smoke. When this smog evaporated, the stag was in his place. Red eyes blazing, black fur standing on end and antlers faced right forward. Will had no time to stop. He ran straight into the jagged prongs on the Stags magnificent head. Pain. Anger. More pain. Will was going to die, outside this house, Abigail left defenceless, the stag was going to mutilate her next. His blood was everywhere, he was being drained like water in a sieve, the stag ramming him into the ground pushing the spikes further into his soft flesh. Will was going to pass out from the blood loss, when the pain suddenly flared in his knees and arms. He woke up.

Dazed, confused, his mind still set in REM sleep mode, he rubbed his eyes with his aching arms to find out what had just happened. Bottom of the stairs. Sweat-soaked pyjamas. Aching limbs. Conclusion? Sleep walking, and he's fell down the full flight of stairs. Fantastic. Hannibal will be amused.

Slowly and painfully, he manage to haul himself up from the floor, this is gonna hurt in the morning. Better get to the bathroom, inspect his self-inflicted damage. He needs to get this sorted, he can't keep waking up like this. Somehow, even though he's convinced he's awake, he finds himself involuntarily pulling on a pair of jeans and a dry shirt and jacket and heading for his car. Driving all the way to Hannibal's house not even thinking about where he was going.

This dream had shook him, gotten to his core. Abigail had never been threatened in his nightmares before, but it wasn't the first time Hobbs and The Stag had appeared together. This was something new, a new horror to torment him in his sleep, like he didn't have enough to deal with.

Pulling into Hannibal's driveway, it was only then it occurred to him what time it was, 3.24am, Hannibal would be in his bed, in his soft silk night gown and pyjamas, sleeping. How much Will would feel guilty about disturbing him at this time with no warning was already at a new high. He'd never been this rude before, especially to his psychiatrist.

Knocking on the front door with some force, he heard Hannibal become conscious it was that quiet and still inside his house. He heard Hannibal's usually light steps plod down the stairs and into the hallway, already fully wake by the time he reached the door.


Opening it with his usual grace, the face that befell a traumatized and semi-awake Will instantly fell apart, Hannibal's calm and controlled face went into shock as a half-dressed fumbling Will stumbled into his house uninvited and unannounced. Will can't have noticed what he was wearing, his shirt wasn't done up at all and his jacket sat askew on his shoulders. His hair was damp with sweat. Hannibal knew what was coming before Will even uttered a word. Nightmare. And this time it was something new.

"So Will, what happens to bring you to my house at this hour? I must say, I could have dealt with a warning I could have gotten dressed," spoke Hannibal in a hoarse tone, he was still slightly in shock, but the mask over his face had returned to its usual position.

Wills eyes finally left the floor, when he stumbled through Hannibal's front door he headed straight to the grand office, and plonked himself down onto Hannibal's luxurious couch, not uttering a word about his sudden arrival, how rude.

"I errr, I had another one."

"What did it consist of?"

"Hobbs, Stag, The house, Abigail screaming, I was skewered, I was dying, blood... Blood everywhere, Abigail's screams ringing in my head, I... I woke up, at the bottom of my stairs."

Will was playing with his hands, he did this when he got nervous Hannibal had noticed, he was scared, and Hannibal had to change this. "Alright, Will? Will are you with me?"

His eyes had clouded over and he was staring into space, off in a distant thought. Hannibal raised himself from the chair opposite Will, he was going to make some coffee in his elaborate kitchen, if he was going to fix this, he needed to be fully awake and ready to break into Wills head. In fact, Will was in deep thought, he could go get changed.

Hannibal hated Will seeing him without his usual attire of a three piece suit, it was as if Will was penetrating his privacy barrier. Yes, he was going to get dressed. Setting his coffee out to cool in front of Will, he left to go to his room, on returning, Will was standing staring out of his office window.

"Thanks for the coffee by the way," from the cheek in his tone Hannibal knew he'd just helped himself to his drink, knowing full well it wasn't made with the intention of Will drinking it.

"Glad to see you've perked up so quickly," it was genuine shock again passing on Hannibal's face, Will had never recovered from a nightmare that quickly before. Ever. But as soon as Hannibal crossed the office to the window and looked Will straight in the eyes, he knew it was an act.

Will was like one of his dogs, an animal that will try to hide that it's hurt. That will put on an aggressive or healthy mask to cover it's injuries.

"Please Will, don't try to hide this, you will never make a full recovery if you try to hide it inside your mind, it will tear you apart," and cautiously Will crossed the room again and lay down onto his psychiatrists couch. Hannibal again resuming his position in the chair opposite, preparing himself for the long conversation ahead.

After around an hour on Hannibal's watch, Will stopped talking. By the sounds of this nightmare, it was a wonder that he managed to drag himself to Hannibal's house in the dead of night. He couldn't be alone tonight, no Hannibal thought, if he's left alone he might not fall down the stairs next time, he could be hit by a car on the road or worse.

After some convincing, a still semi-conscious Will was coaxed up to Hannibal's guest room from the safety of his couch. Will hated being away from his dogs at night, when he could actually remember where he was, or what time it was, he felt he belonged with them. But Hannibal had downright refused to let him go home, it definitely wasn't safe.

Stripping down to just a pair of boxers as soon as he entered the bedroom, forgetting Hannibal was still present, he climbed into the bed and was probably asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Quickly Hannibal switch the light off and slinked back to his bedroom to undress and go to sleep, hoping he wouldn't regret this decision in the morning.

Not that Will could remember, but before he got into his car to drive to Hannibal's he had phoned Alana Bloom.


She woke to the sound of her phone ringing and answered to the slurry-sleepy voice of Will Graham talking gibberish down the line, worried he's hurt himself again, she got dressed and heading for his house, walking.

Her car was out of action, her tires had been slashed by some teens out getting drunk. Brilliant, just when she could have used her car the most, but she'll deal with that later, Will is the most important thing now.

On arriving at Wills house the front door was wide open, Winston was sitting on the porch staring expectantly at her. Panic rising from her chest and into her throat, she half ran into the house screaming Wills name.

The place was a mess, books littered all over the floors, Wills clothes scattered over almost ever surface.

But the most important thing was; Will was not here, and neither was his car.

She knew where he would have went, where he always goes when he gets scared. To Hannibal. The one person he trusts no matter what. She had a spare key to his house in case of emergency, well it was nearly 4:30am, and Wills missing, this was an emergency.

She phoned a taxi and payed him extra to go faster, she needed to see if Will was alright, weather Hannibal approved or not.

Pulling up to the grand house she practically leaped from the car, stopped just long enough outside the front door to get the key in and rushed inside, silently. She had only got to the kitchen before she saw him.

Will, standing, in his boxers, in the middle of Hannibal's kitchen, eyes rolled back into his head. "Oh shit," she uttered under her breath as she approached him, he was hallucinating, and very strongly at that. She was scared, she'd never seen Will like this before, and for what Will was seeing in his head, she wasn't scared enough.


Hobbs. Again. But he was ready this time, he was ready for the fight, for the antlers, for the pain. He had more weapons, a better defence, a knife, sharp, like a razor, it looked expensive, like something to grace Hannibal's kitchen. His pistol sitting in a holster above his hip.

Again, same scene, Hobbs and himself standing outside that house. Abigail's screaming, he wouldn't let her down this time, he would win, she wouldn't have to die.

A total da-ja-vu moment as Will watched Hobbs start to amble towards the house again. Will charges at his back, as the smoke shrouds Hobbs' form, Will runs round, towards the house, towards the door, and turns to face The Stag.

But this time it has his back to him, still expecting him to be running towards its spiked antlers.

Will charges again at the back of this creature, stabbing its form with such force it sends a shock wave all the way up his arm, he landed his first blow.

The Stag is becoming human again, weakened by Wills attack. The screams ringing in his ears have changed pitch. Alana.

She's in there too. Oh god no, he cannot lose, Hobbs cannot take both of them, no. He can hear Alana screaming as if she's right in front of him, tearing at him to stop. But he can't. If he stops now all three of them will die.

He quickly yanks the blade out of the creatures back while it changes shape, and retreats back towards the door, backing up against it. Hobbs is back. Running and grabbing at Will like a wild animal, he can hear Alana pleading with him to stop from inside the house, Will prepared himself for his second attack, ready to go for his kill.

Hobbs is still grabbing at him, tearing at his clothes, at his face, Will slashes, and stabs, and punches Hobbs to the ground.

Sweat flowing down past his eyes, droplets of his own blood mixed with Hobbs' cover his clothes and skin, he's starting to hurt now too, Hobbs has distinctively long nails for a guy, he's clawed Wills' face in parts.

Slowly he bends down and pushes a half-conscious Hobbs' head down flat to the ground, Hobbs is on his back, shredded and slowly bleeding to death of the cold dirt. Will has cut arteries. Muscle. But Will is not cruel, a cruel person would leave Hobbs to die slowly and painfully on the ground. But Will has some decency. He slits Hobbs' throat, a clean gash, it hardly bleeds, he's lost so much blood already, it's pooling around the corpse fairly quickly.

Will stands up straight, wiping sweat away from his eyes, and pushing his glasses back onto his nose, he needs a wash. He's won, he's beaten Hobbs this time.

Only then does he realise something. He can't hear Alana pleading with him anymore, he can't hear her screaming at him to stop. Abigail's screams have stopped too, he killed her captor, he imagines she has no reason to scream inside his head anymore. But where is Alana?

Will can feel a taste of blood in his mouth. Wait. This is a dream. He knows it's not real. How can he taste blood? It's not possible. No, it cannot be done. There's pain on the right side of his face, where Hobbs scratched him. You can't feel pain in a dream either. Will can feel himself becoming aware he's not asleep.

He's woken up again, this time it's worse, so much worse.

Hannibal's kitchen. Blood soaked clothes. Pain in his face. Conclusion? Oh shit. Alana is lying of the kitchen floor, it's a scene from a horror movie. He's covered in blood, there's a knife on the floor. Like from his dream, no wonder that knife looked so familiar.

This isn't computing, Alana can't be dead, no this isn't right he didn't do it. What he's seeing can't of happened, no. But it has.

Slowly it comes to Will as he stands staring at the corpse of Alana Bloom. Throat slit, stab wounds, slashed flesh. Oh, Hannibal's kitchen, covered in blood, he won't be happy about that, not at all.

It comes to him that he's done this, it's his fault, he killed Alana thinking she was Hobbs. But Hobbs is already dead. He's killed Alana, for real.

Will sprinted to the sink, stripping all his clothes and shoving them in a black bag from Hannibal's counter. Shoving them in Hannibal's posh bin that burns all of his rubbish. Fantastic, the clothes with Alana's blood all over them don't exist any more.

He washes his face and hands and any part of his body with blood on it. He's clean and smells like woodsy soap.

He sneaks upstairs, and puts on a fresh new outfit, finally thankful for keeping a spare set or two of good clothes at Hannibal's. He's completely clean, shining glasses and clean nails. No trace of blood on him whatsoever.

He walks calmly to Hannibal's room, not only has he arrived unannounced to Hannibal's house and woke him up, now he's doing it twice in the same night. His guilt will catch up to him eventually.

Knocking the door a sleepy Hannibal greets him, immediately sparking up as soon as he sees the glint in Wills eyes. Something's happened. And it's not good. "Will, I'll be five minutes," Will is not seeing him in his bedclothes again, not twice in one night.


Exactly five minutes later he invited Will into his bedroom, now he's fully dressed. Will is alert and tense, this is going to be interesting.

"Will, what have you done?"

"Something bad, something very very bad Dr. Lecter," he told Hannibal in a harsh whisper, with a denying tone, everything; the dream, finding Alana, that he was covered in her blood, and now that he has no idea what to do. He wants to turn himself in to Jack, and the FBI would deal with him.

But Hannibal has other ideas, he wasn't going to let Will give himself in, not before Hannibal had finished moulding his mind any way Hannibal's latest whim wanted.

"We are going to hide her body Will, and when we're done, I'll sort everything, you will go back to your house, tend to your dogs, and go to sleep, and go back to work on Monday as per normal, and I will see you at your appointment on Monday night. Understand? I will fix this."

And with that, Hannibal strode put the room with Will at his heels, they had a body to bury, and it had to be done before sunrise.

They bundled Alana's body into a large black bag, Will cringed at the sight of having to do so, he cared for Alana deeply, the shock of what he done still hasn't faded, so he wasn't feeling much sorrow at that point. But he would. Oh he would.

They bundled her into the back of Hannibal's car with a shovel, Will was digging the hole, Hannibal refused to get his hands dirtier than they had to be.

He drove Will deep into the forests of Wolf Trap, on the opposite side from where Wills home is. And they set about the business of hiding the corpse. Will dug the hole fairly quickly, adrenaline still pumping from his very lucid dream.

Hannibal got the body from the car, and placed it down the hole with care, he too cared for Alana, not half as much as Will did but enough to feel remorse for her passing. Will shouldn't have done this.


Sweat was pouring down Wills face by the time he was finished, he was exhausted, he was close to collapsing as he heading back to Hannibal's car, he was seeing in shades of red. Alanas' blood red.

When they arrived back at Hannibal's house they set about cleaning Wills mess, they were both covered in her arterial blood by the end of it, Hannibal's suit was ruined, he was not amused.

This time both of them stripped off in the kitchen, down to boxers. As much as this humiliated Hannibal, he was not traipsing Alanas' blood all over his house. And he wasn't letting Will do so either. They both headed up to their rooms, in complete silence, the horror of what Will had done both on their minds.

After they had both showered and were 100% clean, they both arrived fully clothed and fresh faced at 8am. Hannibal started to cook breakfast for two, a proper Sunday breakfast. They were both starving after last night, although Will wasn't sure if he could stomach a full meal, what he had done was finally catching up to him, his mind was falling apart internally.

He kept seeing flashbacks of last night, unsure whether they were dreams of not. Alana's blood all over his hands. Her throat slit in two on the kitchen floor, her flesh shredded by the knife in his hand. Her limp body. The improvised body bag being covered in dirt.

The pain. Guilt. Anger. He was tearing himself up inside, wishing he never existed. And then, breaking the silence, the first words spoken since Hannibal had decreed the plan last night; "Will, you need to forget about last night, I've dealt with it, forget the dream, forget the memories, and I'm not asking."


Hannibal was right, he had dealt with it. After his shower, while Will had went back to bed, Hannibal had went to Wills house and erased all traces of Alana being there last night, then he travelled to Alana's to make sure there was no trace that she went to Wills' or his house. He's used to cleaning up messy situations, he's used to his own, but he usually doesn't have to do this much work, Will needs a tutoring session is etiquette. And a very thorough one.


And thus Hannibal made breakfast for two, they ate, and Will left Hannibal's house, blocking all memories from the previous night. He did have one question though, how did Hannibal react so calmly to Alana's murder, was it no surprise? But he soon forgot, he had so much to prepare for going to Baltimore with Jack tomorrow, and as Hannibal said, he was to go to work on Monday, as per usual. But this was not over.