Dr Hannibal Lecter could honestly say that his patients bored him to tears. The next one though, well this boy was interesting. The issues which his father he had sought help for were fixable. The boy was grieving for his dead mother and absent father, things which were not helped with a severe case of ADHD.
No what interested him was the boy’s mind, partly because of the ADHD. It allowed him to think in such tangents as to be extraordinary. He was also smart enough to hide behind his ADHD so as to be underestimated. It was the kind of camouflage that had taken him longer to perfect. He was willing to talk with the boy just to see where their talks would take them.
“Hey Doc!” He chirped brightly.
Stiles was swinging his legs under the chaise-longue. “Why do people lie down on this?”
Hannibal shrugged, he was never sure himself. He found it a strange notion and yet several of his patients would come into his office and lie down and vent their feelings. “I am not sure. Why do you think?”
Stiles looked up, amber eyes, so piercing, “People are pretentious and have no concept of boundaries.”
Hannibal laughed softly. This was why he was fond of children. They had a way of seeing to the heart of matters and they had yet to learn to temper everything they said. Although, from his previous sessions he was sure that Stiles would never bother to varnish the truth. He was too clever and would not care to try. The boy had learnt ages ago to use his ADHD as a shield to get away with things.
“You might be right ...How are things this week?”
He would ask the same question each week and then let the boy talk. Hannibal had found that some weeks - he would answer honestly. There were other weeks where he would let his intellect and his questions run riot. Hannibal would answer his questions and it was nice to find a youth with such varied interests.
The boy shrugged, “Same old. I hate my mom is dead ... and I love my Dad.”
Hannibal paused as that was not the same answer. “You paused before mentioning your father?”
Stiles looked up, “Did I?”
“You know you did.” Hannibal answered patiently. He was impressed by how infuriating the boy could attempt to be in an effort to deflect the conversation.
Stiles pouted, “Do I have to say it?”
Hannibal stayed calm, knowing that if he showed any excitement Stiles would likely clam up, “It will help you if you do.”
“I miss my Dad. He is gone all the time.” Stiles eventually bit out.
Hannibal could tell that the boy was feeling bad that this was what he felt. Still it was healthy. Of course the boy missed his father. His mother had just died and now instead of pulling the boy closer - he was burying himself in work. Hannibal had no proof - but he could guess that his father was self-medicating.
A knock at the door startled them both. Hannibal quickly went to answer the door and he saw two Detectives. “Can I help you officer?”
“Do you have Stiles Stilinski with you?”
Hannibal frowned, he knew it before they said anything. “You will break it to the boy gently. Then I want social services here to start paperwork.”
Hannibal was careful to stay quiet, “If the boy is agreeable ... I will adopt him. He has suffered too much in such a short time. I can provide him the stability he needs.”
Chapter 2: Cycle of Life and Death
Hannibal had come up from the basement to the smell of food from the kitchen. He sighed as there was definitely no meat in the dish. He adored his son even if he interrupted his ‘activities’,
The boy in question whipped around, not looking the least bit repentant - in fact, he was scowling. “Oh no. You don’t get to whip out the name.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, his son could be melodramatic or act like a pure teenager when the mood suited him. “Stiles.”
His boy relaxed, since he was first adopted several years ago things had mellowed. In the end as much as he missed his birth parents - Stiles knew they would be so mad at him if he stopped living. Hannibal had adopted him and he had asked for a new name that encompassed both his birth and his adoption. In the end he had become - Soren Stilinski Lecter but he was still known as Stiles.
“Better,” Stiles took a deep breath, before getting out what he was feeling, “but I am mad.”
“What with?” Hannibal asked softly, knowing his son well enough to know he needed to vent.
“Is it worth it?” Stiles asked.
Hannibal frowned, “I am not sure that I follow.”
Stiles looked up his amber eyes, staring deep into his eyes. Hannibal got the feeling he was being judged and for once in his life - he was unable to hide. “Yes you do.”
Hannibal attempted to deflect the conversation, “What have you cooked this evening?”
Stiles sassed him, “A vegetarian dish that is good for your heart ... balance all the
meat that we have.”
Hannibal took a deep breath - he was hoping that he could avoid this conversation for a while yet. He had come to love Stiles like his own; he could see a lot of himself in the boy. He hoped that he had done enough that Stiles could accept this. “Shall we eat?”
“Sure thing daddio.”
Well at least he was still being given parental names, even if they were butcherings of the English language that made his eye twitch. Stiles always did know how to annoy him without earning a punishment or grounding. One couldn't help but be proud of the fact - he could be so manipulative.
They sit down at the dining table and the meal is good. Stiles has learnt a lot from him as he is happily eating the lasagna. Stiles waits until the meal is underway before asking again, “Is it worth the risk?”
Hannibal knew the jig was up but he didn’t stop eating, “That is not the question you want to ask.”
Stiles froze because it wasn’t. He could not comprehend why it has crystallised in his mind this evening as he got home. It had though and he needed answers or his mind would not stop thinking about it. “Why do you eat them?”
“They are worthless in life, offensive. They can at least be food.” Hannibal answered honestly.
Stiles sighed as he had nowhere near done enough research to work out the route of his father’s issues. They were pretty big issues, still, he was answering him honestly and treating him like an equal, “You’ve fed me the meat too, right?”
“Everyone who has eaten here has consumed the meat,” Hannibal answered him, carefully watching his son’s reactions.
Stiles was not disgusted like most would be. In fact, he started to laugh, “Are you serious? Even Uncle Jack?”
Hannibal shrugged, “The irony amused me. Do you have a problem with my
Stiles sighed and put his fork down. He let his mind wander around the problem. Did he have a problem? He knew in theory that he should have a problem with it. He knew that he should be morally outraged.
All of this did not weigh up to what Stiles knew about the man. Hannibal was the man who had adopted him. He had taken him in and raised him when he had ended up an orphan. He understood why he was mad. He couldn’t stand the thought that Hannibal would be caught - that he would lose yet another parental figure.
It might not be right but there it was, Stiles would fight like crazy to keep his Papa in his life. Yes, he killed but they were always people that deserved it. He had to give his answer, his Papa has asked a direct question, one that needed to be answered, “I don’t like the idea that you will get caught.”
Hannibal let out an audible sigh of relief. The boy was remarkable, he quickly got up to kiss his boy’s head, “Well then I will have to make sure that I don’t get caught, won’t I?”