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Year of the Wendigo

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They had both assumed that the worst was over as time went on, even though neither one knew exactly what was going with Hannibal.

It was clear that he was neither a vampire nor a werewolf, and that the initial wounds caused by Tobias eventually healed and went away - however Hannibal was not improving in terms of health.

He had shown up to a few therapy sessions after the full moon had past, but tiredness and lethargy kicked in tenfold as a week passed. There was, also, an endless hunger that he couldn’t seem to solve even after eating.

“When was the last time you had human flesh?” Will asked, more inviting himself over now, sitting down at Hannibal’s table without Hannibal ever needing to request it.

“I hadn’t had the chance to kill anyone since you came over in June, you ate the rest of what I had,” Hannibal replies with strained breath.

Will blinks in surprise, he had assumed that the Ripper would kill more - sure the amount of bodies the FBI had were few and far in between but Will always felt as though those were merely the bodies he wanted the FBI to find. “Really?”

“I have other hobbies and a full-time job,” he replies.

There was a brief moment of silence as Will contemplated approaching the topic, he was, after-all, still an FBI agent. He still caught killers for a living, he still had morals and suggesting such a thing created more turmoil inside than he felt while having an unwanted werewolf inside of him. Killing a vampire in self-defense and the defense of another was far different than suggesting….this: “I think you need to kill someone.”

Hannibal looks up, his brows tense as he peers into Will’s eyes, wondering what is going on in his partner’s head that he would suggest such a thing. Sure, Hannibal had no qualms about killing, but he knew Will still did and that it would take far longer to get him to willingly kill a human. “I could barely cook today, I don’t think I’d have the energy to stay up and track someone, much kill them.”

“What if-” Will stops, sighing, “I think you need human flesh, whatever is going on I think the lack of it isn’t helping.” Hannibal says nothing, allowing Will continue the train of thought he had wandered onto: “vampires need human blood. My werewolf far prefers human meat over other animals. I think whatever it is that’s going on, you probably need human flesh.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while now,” Hannibal says.

Will then takes out a file from his briefcase that he had brought with him after work - going directly to Hannibal’s home rather than his own. Hannibal opens up the file and reads it as Will continues: “this guy killed 4 girls, the evidence is substantial and yet the course threw out the entire case over a clerical error.”

“Is there anything tying you to this man?”

Will shakes his head, “I never worked on the case, I heard Bev and Price talk about it in passing. It...it caught my interest.”

“Your interest to kill this man?” Hannibal asked, skeptical that Will would be so forthcoming in plans to murder a human being.

But Will shakes his head again, “my interest in bringing him here, so you can kill him.”

Hannibal closes the file and slides it back over to Will, “being able to read evidence and know how to get away with kidnapping and murder in theory is far different from being able to do it.

There’s less dangerous ways to test this theory out Will, I do not want you to make any mistakes capturing this man and leading the FBI to our doorstep.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Will asks, his brows tense, staring at the file. He thought that Hannibal would be happy that Will was offering such a thing and yet he was telling him no? Will looks up then, “I don’t understand. You think you’re very clever, but I know you’ve been wanting and manipulating me to kill since you met my wolf.”

“I have not been manipulating you. I have thought about it but you are far too intelligent for me to attempt such a thing.”

“Then why don’t you think-”

“You have many ways of gaining human flesh, Will, if you want to test this theory there is enough in the FBI morgue.”

“Those are days old-”

Hannibal stands then, “we’ll figure it out. Do not bring that man here, Will.”

He leaves Will alone in the dining room - not even bothering to clean up first before ascending up the stairs to his bedroom. Will shoves the file back into his briefcase and leaves the dirty plates there on Hannibal’s dining table. The stubborn fucker can wake up to flies on the bits of leftover chicken bones.


He hadn’t told Hannibal then, but the idea wasn’t new. Will had been watching his target for days now in his spare time, getting a good time frame of the man’s schedule and when best to make a move.

His target lived close by to Hannibal, but not too close that it would immediately put Hannibal on a suspect list - and his target certainly didn’t live in the lavish neighborhoods of Baltimore. If the man were to go missing, many people - including the FBI and police officers who had plenty of potential suspects as to who would want to hurt him - would be brought up first. 

And it was easier for Will to refuse to give his target a name, that was all he was. A target, a future victim, dinner for Hannibal in the hopes that his theory is correct and that whatever Hannibal is, some type of human-meat consumption would help solve his ailment.

So Will watched, and decided to make a move only a few days later after the dinner at Hannibal’s home.

Will allows his wolf to take over for this, balancing between allowing enough of his human mind through that any evidence from Will breaking in wouldn’t trace back to him but also letting enough of the wolf’s mind through so it was easier to moralize it.

His wolf was the one who really wanted this, after-all.

Or at least that was what Will told himself over and over again all of the nights that he made sure that his target would be alone and easier to nab.

Hannibal didn’t believe he could do this, didn’t believe that he had enough experience reading evidence from crime scenes to glean how to do this himself.

But Hannibal was wrong in his assumptions, and he was definitely wrong in how far Will could manipulate Hannibal back.


It was almost 2 in the morning when his cellphone blared off, shocking Hannibal awake in jolt. He hadn’t had the energy as of late, and immediately his body recoiled from the surprise and sudden movement.

He groans as he leans over and grabs the cellphone, not even bothering to read the name of who was calling as he placed it on his ear and laid back onto his pillow, “hello?”

“Hannibal, it’s me. I fucked up,” Will says in a frenzied panic on the other end.

He jolts back up again, “Will?” Hannibal asks, grabbing some more suitable clothes and throwing them on as he starts towards the hallway, “what happened?”

“You told me not to go after him...but I did. I’m in his house I don’t know what to do.”

Will hangs up after telling him the address, and Hannibal hurries his pace as best he could with his tired joints and muscles.

Hannibal climbs into his car, careful to park away from the man's house as far as possible, but still near enough that he could walk without completely loosing his breath. Will had done something completely stupid, attacking the man in his own home - he comes up to the front door of the house and almost knocks before it's swung wide open.

Will stares at Hannibal, "you wore that?" He asks, assessing his clothes.

It was then that Hannibal realized what was going on as he took in Will's own appearance: covered head to toe in easily disposable clothing, his hands covered in gloves. 

"Doesn't matter, I have extras..." Will continues, moving to the side of a barren and empty room and starts digging through a small little trunk.

Hannibal blinks, still exhausted from waking up in the middle of the night, still hungry and tired from whatever ailment both the vampire blood and werewolf scratch left him with. "You planned this?"

Will nods, "we grabbed him from his house and dragged him to this abandoned house."

"We...You and your wolf?"

"I told him no killing, just grab him," Will explains, shoving gloves into Hannibal's hands, "the killing part is for you to do."

"You told me that you were in trouble."

"I will be, if you don't hurry up. We're on uncharted territory, Hannibal, whatever the hell is happening to you right now a regular doctor can't cure. So we either try this or something worse happens."

Once Hannibal is dressed proficiently enough for killing, Will pulls him into the basement of the abandoned house. It reminds Hannibal much of the time that he killed a man and left his remains for Will to eat in his basement. Except this time the man is alive and wide-eyed, gagged and begging for his life. The door closes behind him, Will leaving Hannibal to do whatever he needs to do.

And something within Hannibal awakens at the sight of the man sitting there, his chest heaving from fear, the mumbled cries from his gagged mouth. His hands grow into claws then, turning black and he drops the knife that Will had given him only moments before, and let's himself eat for the first time in weeks.

Several minutes pass until Will opens up the basement door once more, carefully treading down the steps.

There's blood everywhere, splattered well past the prepped plastic lining that Will had set up for Hannibal. It was, in no other terms, a bloody fucking mess.

And in the center of it all was a tall black beast with antlers towering on its crown.

Chapter Text

October of Last Year

Tattle Paranormal was a whole different branch of the Tattle news corporation. Unlike its sister tabloid, Tattle Crime , he did not specialize in true crime and he certainly didn’t care about the validity of what they ran with on their daily updates on the supernatural and the strange.

His click bait was ‘ I Married Bigfoot and You Wouldn’t Guess What Happened Next! ’ and ‘ Little Green Man Discovery?! ’ with a YouTube thumbnail of himself with an exaggerated gasp, and he was proud of it. Or at least proud of the cash that rolled in.

Freddie Lounds might have the gore but Charles Sampson had the weird.

And that is how a picture of a werewolf on the streets on Baltimore ended up on the front page of the website with an obnoxious thumbnail leading to a YouTube video stretched out to an unnecessary 12 minutes for ad rolls - and what lead to Randall Tier clicking on the bait.

Except, as blurry and pixelated as the cellphone camera was, there was no mistaking that as a real breathing creature. The YouTube comments declaring it was fake, a furry in a fur suit, and mocking the shaky camera movements didn’t do Will any favors on his close-up but it was enough for Randall Tier. He placed down one of his sketching pencils and turned his attention away from his blueprints for his hydraulic bear jaw to the video zooming in and trying to clean up the image as much as possible with photo editing as Charles Sampson explains how he had gotten a hold of the picture from a loyal Tattle Paranormal fan.

After Randall Tier finished watching the video, he scoured Tattle Paranormal for more, argued with people calling in fake in the comments, and watched for more and more updates as every month people would claim to see the Baltimore Wolf.


 

October, Present Day

“I don’t understand, why would Hannibal just leave like that?” Abigail questions, a scarf tied around her neck to hide the scar. She was coming up on a year in the facility and she had grown close to Hannibal. The friendship and the close-bond she had built with the doctor was suddenly gone, and Hannibal didn't even bother to tell her why in person.

Will tries to remain calm, he has visited Abigail a few times here and there, but didn’t even know that Hannibal had become so intertwined with her. The simple lie that the FBI and Hannibal’s patients bought so easily (in an e-mail that Will was extremely proud of for capturing Hannibal's voice) wasn’t going so smoothly with her, “he’s only gone for a little while, to visit his family.”

Abigail doesn’t look like she’s buying it either, but a knock on the door pulls both of their attention away and towards Freddie Lounds. “Hope I’m not barging in.”

“No, come in,” Abigail says, her posture still defensive towards Will - she had never gained a close relationship with the man who killed her father and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to, with the stories that Freddie had been feeding her.

Freddie Lounds does enter the room then, with no hesitation, lifting her hand to shake Will’s hand first but smoothly turning to give Abigail a handshake instead when Will doesn’t oblige.

“What are you doing here?” Will asks, nearly a snap.

“Continuing our discussions for the book we are writing together,” Freddie replies, still smiling despite Will’s obvious hatred towards her.

“Excuse us, Abigail,” he says before all but pushing Freddie out of the room and into the hallway. He pulls her away from the door so that Abigail can’t overhear, standing next to the vending machine instead. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Will rubs his beard, tired of having to deal with Freddie’s articles about him but now she wants to write an entire book about Abigail Hobbs and the trauma she went through.

“What happened to your arm?” Freddie asks, her eyes hovering over a white bandage that Will thought was hidden enough by his shirt sleeve.

He tucks his shirt sleeve back down, “accident training my dog,” Will lies before getting back on topic, now raising his eyes to meet hers, “you need to leave her alone.”

She leans back against the wall, laughing, “she’s the daughter of a notorious serial killer who - may I remind you - broke national news and brought massive revenue to my website. You’re gonna need more than your puppy dog eyes to try and-”

“You can write about me.”

“I already do.”

“Every psychiatrist wants to know more about my ‘empathy thing’ and only one person has the permission to write about it posthumously, you’d have permission while I’m alive.”

“Several face to face interviews?” Freddie seems interested, on the hook now. The Minnesota Shrike was a fad compared to the constant news and clicks she pulled from writing about Will Graham.

Will reluctantly nods.

“There’s something else I want,” Freddie continues, pulling up something on her phone before flipping it around and showing Will. It was a picture of a middle-aged man, slightly chubby, smiling happily into the camera - a staff photo much like Freddie’s own picture on Tattle Crime’s about page. “This is Charles Sampson, he was a colleague of mine.”

“Was?”

“He was mauled to death a few weeks ago, it was all over my website.”

“I don’t read Tattle Crime.”

Freddie smiles politely, flipping the photo over to her own captured images of the crime, “the FBI and I aren’t on great terms nor the local police department so they refuse to listen. They called it an animal attack.”

“Humans aren’t necessarily capable of mauling like that Freddie,” Will retorts, looking over the torn flesh - giving off all the tell-tale signs of an animal. It looked far closer to the gore that his wolf created when he had killed Tobias Budge than anything a human could ever do.

She takes the cellphone back, swiping around until she settles onto another picture, “so it’s a coincidence that he runs the story ‘ Baltimore Wolf a Hoax ’ and the next day my colleague is found, dead, presumed to be killed by a wild wolf?”

Right when she turns the cellphone back around, Will’s stomach drops. He could recognize himself anywhere, even as a pixelated and blurry wolf. He takes the phone and looks over the headline declaring that the werewolf first spotted in October has spawned several cow mutilations all over the Maryland rural area - presumed to be by people wanting to gain attention on the new cryptid.

He has certainly never killed any cows, and Freddie - for once - was right. There wasn’t just a coincidence, whoever had been slaughtering the cows to mimic the Baltimore Wolf - him - has graduated to killing a human. In what Will could see as he looks over the article, whoever killed the man wasn't pleased to be called a hoax.

“You work with me, Will Graham, and I’ll drop everything I got on Abigail into my shredder. I don’t have many friends, Will, so when I want the killer of my friend found, you can trust me on keeping my word.”

She offers her hand in yet another handshake, and Will - this time - shakes it.


It was not a good day, making a deal with the devil.

Sure, he was currently best friends...maybe even something more...with a serial killer he had been chasing alongside Jack Crawford for years...but yet Freddie Lounds was far slimier and no amount of hand sanitizer could get rid of that feeling of her palms.

He sighs, toeing off his shoes as he enters his home to a barrage of his dogs. Will then takes off his plaid over shirt, the bandage that was mostly hidden by it now fully exposed. The blood had dried to a dark brown, and as he unwrapped his flesh he could see that the wound had fully healed.

Perks of being a werewolf, he thinks as he looks over the new skin. It looks like he had never even cut off a chunk of his own flesh.

Will tugs out a piece of plastic and sets it down beside him. He then grabs a sharp kitchen knife as he takes his jeans off and preps another clean bandage for the oncoming wound. Then, he jabs the knife into his thigh, pulling out flesh and muscle, setting it off to the side on a sheet of plastic before quickly wrapping the wound up with the clean bandage.

He takes the meat chunk of his own body wrapped in plastic, limps towards the door that he had once locked himself into every full moon, and unlocks it.

Inside the man who was once Hannibal, who was once a full blooded human, was still very much a tall, dark, creature with antlers and a bony rib cage that was visible even in the dimly lit basement.

“Abigail didn’t believe the excuse I made up for you,” Will replies with a cool tone. It has been a month of this, day after day, after all. The creature Hannibal has become seems to have no recognition of what Will is saying, instead baring its teeth and trying to pull as much as he can against the chains and locks that Will had binded him with.

Unphased, Will continues, “which wasn’t very good to begin with. I guess you were somewhat right about me now being great with planning murders.” Will throws the chunk of his thigh towards the creature and watches as it descends on the flesh with a savage hunger. “I mean, I didn’t even kill you but having to make up an excuse as to why you suddenly disappeared? Feels like I did.”

He sits down on the steps, massaging the bloody bandage. It will be fully healed by the time he wakes up tomorrow morning, and Will thinks he’ll do a chunk of his other arm next for Hannibal’s morning meal.

“Turns out I’m in trouble anyways, my wolf was photographed when it came into the city to find you.” He sighs, frowning as Hannibal doesn’t seem to care about a word he says as he pulls off another chunk of muscle with his sharp teeth, “copy cat...copy wolf, I guess.” He laughs at his bad joke, Hannibal doesn’t.

Will stands up as he notices Hannibal finishing off the last bit of his own body, desensitized to the entire experience now, as he turns around and goes back up the stairs.

He shuts off the basement light with a brief and routine, “good night Hannibal,” before locking the door behind him. As expected, no one answers him back.

Chapter Text

Hey, I'm sorry to let everyone know that I have lost interest in the Hannibal fandom. It was a lot of fun while I was in it but we all move on from things we used to love and it was time for me to loose interest in Hannibal (if season 4 ever comes I'll be first in line though). 

While I had most of the next chapter written I just had no desire to complete the editing portion of it and eventually upload. If anyone is interested in taking the idea from this you can contact me on tumblr (lucifersass) if you wish to know the plot points I had in mind and continue to write it (I mean, it is fanfiction, go nuts), otherwise Year of the Wolf is honestly just a standalone fic.

This goes for all my other unfinished Hannibal fics, which is honestly only one which was Symbiotic. I'm going to leave them up, but may eventually be orphaned.