Chapter Text
New York City – June, 1930
New York was a ruthless city, Will Graham was discovering. He had always known that the city was unforgiving, but its brutality had not quite hit him until he found himself wandering the dirty streets, sleeping on wet concrete and digging through dumpsters for food.
His mother had died when he was only four years old. Four years later his father had finally succeeded in drinking himself to death, leaving the small and scrawny eight-year-old with no one. No one except for a dirty mutt of a dog with muddy brown fur. He had adopted the dog and fed him half his scarps every night, not minding the fleas or the awful smell. After a day, he hardly noticed it at all.
The sun was at its high point in the sky when the ratty young boy with his mess of brown curls settled down on a street corner. He curled his fingers into the dog’s fur and stared longingly at a fruit stand across the road from him. The dog – who Will had decided to call Winston – whined pitifully and Will looked down at him.
“I know, Winston,” he whispered to the dog. “I’m hungry too.”
He raised his eyes back to the fruit stand. The oranges and apples looked more appealing than ever and young Will toyed with the idea of stealing them. The old man who ran the stand was large and intimidating. Will would hate to anger him and that was the only thing keeping the man’s fruits safe from dirty little fingers.
His throat was dry and sore from lack of water and a cough that had plagued him for more than a week. The eight year old pulled his thin knees to his chest and rested his chin there. He was sluggish and tired and sore all over, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He eyed the fruit stand with a fevered gleam in his blue eyes and thought more seriously about taking some. Surely the old man wouldn’t get angry over a couple of small oranges?
A hacking cough worked its way out of his throat and he covered his mouth with the crook of his arm. Pulling away, Will stared at the bright red flecks of blood that had spilled from his lips. His stomach tightened and he felt a wave of nauseous fear wash over him. It was then, at only eight years old, that Will Graham knew he was going to die.
“Are you alright?”
Will blinked up to see a taller boy, about nine years old. He was standing beside him on the street corner holding an orange in his hand. He held it out to Will, studying him with curious maroon-colored eyes. Will only hesitated for a second before snatching the orange from the boy, his dirty fingernails digging into the fruit’s hide with ravenous force.
“Are you sick?” the stranger asked as Will ripped into the fruit.
Slowly, Will nodded, pulling the meat of the fruit into sections and feeding some to Winston before eating any himself.
The boy frowned, arched brows knitting together. Will thought he’d never seen a boy look so grown up before. He was wearing neat, clean trousers and shiny shoes and a tie. They must be his church clothes. Will didn’t know what day it was, but surely a boy his own age wouldn’t wander around the streets dressed like that for no reason.
“Do you need help?” the boy asked.
Will started to shake his head, but then the boy knelt to look at Winston. The knees of his fancy pants got wet on the pavement and Will thought the boy was going to get in big trouble with his mother for sure. “Is your dog sick too?”
When Will nodded in reply to his question, the boy stood again.
“My name’s Hannibal,” he said. “Have you got a name?”
Will nodded mutely again and Hannibal tilted his head curiously.
“Can you talk?”
Will hesitated for a moment and looked down, “I’m Will. I’m sorry – it hurts to talk…” he said. His voice was hoarse and the words scratched at him on the way out. He could taste the coppery blood on the back of his tongue. “My throat –“
Comprehension lit Hannibal’s face and he held a hand out. “Come with me,” he said. “My uncle can help you.”
Staring at the hand, Will wasn’t sure what to do exactly. No one had ever offered to help him before. He thought the boy’s hands looked very clean and he glanced down at his own dirty fingers and didn’t think he should touch him.
“It’s alright,” Hannibal seemed amused, his lips twisting into a faint smile. “I’m not going to hurt you…”
Will clutched Winston closer to him. “Can Winston come too?”
Hannibal stared at the dog and Will noticed his face flicker for a moment. His nose curled and his lips twisted, but he nodded.
“My uncle won’t mind,”
Still nervous, Will reached out and took Hannibal’s hand. His skin was warm and clean and soft. It was an alien feeling to Will. Hannibal helped him to his feet and started leading him down the sidewalk, toward two men who looked bored as they stared out at the streets. It took Will a moment to realize that they were actually paying very close attention to everyone that passed by.
“They’ll take us to my uncle’s house,” Hannibal said. “He won’t mind you staying. I promise.”
From the way that Hannibal was dressed, Will had expected a large house full of servants and rich people. He pictured luxurious dining rooms filled with lots of food and warm beds with soft sheets. He was only partially correct.
Hannibal’s home was large, even for the more wealthy Long Beach area. It was sitting on a large, cleared stretch of land, right in the center. A few other, larger houses, dotted the mall and Will wondered how big Hannibal’s family was if they needed more than one house.
The driveway was paved with flat grey bricks and two shiny black cars were parked out front. Will marveled at the cars, wanting to reach out and touch them, but knowing that his hands would smudge the clean surfaces.
Winston trotted along beside the boys as Hannibal led them to the door. They were met by a short, smiling woman with shining blond hair and the biggest brown eyes that Will had ever seen. He thought she was an angel.
“Hannibal! What have you got here? Who is this?” She spoke with a rough accent that Will had never heard before. She dropped down to his eye level, the skirts of her dress brushing the doorstep as she looked him over with kind, friendly eyes.
“His name is Will,” Hannibal said. “He’s sick and he had nowhere to go.”
Standing again, the woman nodded, “Well, we will help him then, won’t we?” She took Will by the hand and started to lead him inside, but Will pulled away and glanced down at Winston.
“What about Winston?”
The soreness in his throat was worse, but he couldn’t just leave the poor creature alone. He had been his only friend and companion in a very long time.
The woman’s eyes flickered to Hannibal, “Hannibal will see to your dog,” she said, her voice a bit sterner than it had been before. Dutifully, Hannibal began to take Winston away, around to the back of the house. Will watched them go with a frown on his small face and the woman brushed his hair with her fingers gently.
“Do not worry, Will,” she said. “He will be alright. Now, follow me…”
Will soon found himself scrubbed raw in surprisingly scalding water. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a bath and he had certainly never used a bathtub like the one in Hannibal’s home. He found out that the woman was Hannibal’s aunt – his uncle’s wife – and that her name was Theresa Lecter. He wouldn’t learn until later that she, her husband, Hannibal and his sister were immigrates from Lithuania.
While she bathed him, she spoke to him softly in a language that Will eventually learned was Lithuanian. The words flowed from her quickly and he wished that he knew what she was saying to him, but even without meaning her voice calmed him. The warm water didn’t hurt either.
As soon as he was cleaned, he was given fresh clothes that had belonged to Hannibal at a younger age. She led him directly into a kitchen where Will saw a little blond haired girl with the same maroon eyes as Hannibal. The girl hid her face behind her hair and didn’t speak to Will, watching Theresa cook, humming to herself. Will learned the next day that the girl was Mischa Lecter, Hannibal’s younger sister.
Having not eaten a proper meal in over two weeks, the food tasted better than Will could ever have imagined. Just the fact that it was warm was enough to make him happy. Mrs. Lecter chatted with him and sent Mischa to get her uncle, which left Will sitting at the big, empty dining table. His feet swung back and forth from his seat and he ate in silence, just listening as Mrs. Lecter talked to him, telling him that they would see that he got to a doctor and that she couldn’t believe that he had been left alone.
She never once asked what had happened to him and he was grateful that he didn’t have to tell her about his father or his mother. He didn’t want to think about any of that when these people were being so kind to him.
Not long after he had finished his meal, three men came into the kitchen, talking loudly and grinning. They wore dark suits and had shiny shoes like Hannibal. Will’s eyes grew wide when he spotted guns at their belts. He quickly ducked his head and hoped to be invisible while Mrs. Lecter smiled and chattered at them, fixing them plates heaping with food and warning them fondly against spilling on the carpeting.
Turning back toward Will, Mrs. Lecter saw that he had finished his meal.
“Ah, good. Now, Hannibal should be finished. Go outside, see if you can find him. He will fix you a place to stay and in the morning we will take you to Dr. Williams; he is a good man. He can help you.”
Will wanted to argue; he felt strange accepting all of this help from these people, but Mrs. Lecter had taken his plate and turned her back on him. Hesitating for a moment, Will slid from the seat and wandered slowly toward the hall she had pointed him too. He caught a flash of the little blond girl peaking at him from the crack in a door, but then she was gone.
He wondered if he should speak to her, but he didn’t. He walked on bare feet to the door at the end of the hall and pushed it open, finding himself standing on the warm bricks that led to a covered pavilion. Hannibal was there, wiping down a surprisingly clean Winston. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he had still gotten water and soap all over his fancy church clothes.
Quietly, Will moved to stand beside them and finally spoke.
“Is he okay?”
Hannibal lifted his maroon eyes to Will’s face and Will quickly looked away. He had strange eyes, Will realized. Grown up eyes. They looked frightening set in the face of a child.
“He’ll be fine,” Hannibal told him. “We can bring him some food after dinner tonight.”
Will smiled gratefully and reached down to gently pet the damp fur on Winston’s head. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Hannibal smiled at him. It was a quick, disarming smile and Will thought it looked like a shark. “Did my Aunt Theresa give you lunch?”
Will nodded, but kept his attention on Winston, sliding his fingers through the clean hair and marveling at the feeling of it.
“You can stay in my room tonight,” Hannibal said. “We have extra blankets and cots for you. My uncle will take care of you. He takes care of everyone.”
Will looked back up at Hannibal and nodded again. He had mentioned his uncle several times by that point and Will was very curious to meet the man. He seemed already like a mysterious and powerful being. Somehow Will knew that this uncle was a very important person. He wondered if he would like him or not.
That night, Will slept on a cot in Hannibal’s bedroom. He didn’t say much of anything, but Hannibal didn’t seem to mind. He talked to Will a lot, asking him questions. Mostly Will nodded or shook his head. The mattress was lumpy, but to Will it felt like heaven and he hadn’t slept so well in many years.
The following morning, Mrs. Lecter took Will to see Dr. Williams. Hannibal went along with them. The Doctor gave him some sort of foul smelling medicine and said that his cough would go away within a week. Will hated the taste of it, but Mrs. Lecter insisted on him drinking the thick syrup.
That afternoon Hannibal officially introduced him to Mischa. The little girl was quiet and only said a murmured “Hello,” before hiding behind her older brother and watching Will with curious eyes. She seemed very fond of her brother though, and followed Hannibal and Will to the pavilion where Winston was tied. The empty bowl where his scraps had been sat to one side.
When she saw Winston, Mischa finally broke away from Hannibal and cautiously approached the animal.
“Is he your doggy?” the little girl asked.
Will smiled at her and nodded, “His name’s Winston,” he told her. She reached out for a second, like she was going to touch him, but then she quickly pulled her hand back.
“He won’t bite,” Will told her confidently. He may have only known Winston a short time, but he knew that the dog would never do anything to hurt anyone. He petted him gently and looked at the little girl. “It’s okay. See?”
Cautiously, Mischa edged forward and touched the tips of her fingers to Winston’s muzzle. The dog happily licked her hands and she jumped back for a moment before bursting into delighted giggles. More brave then, she stepped closer and petted the dog’s head, beaming when Winston started wagging his tail and sniffed at her dress.
Mischa turned to look at her brother, who was standing back and watching the scene. “Hannibal, look! I’m petting the doggy! He likes me!”
Hannibal smiled, but Will thought it was strange that his eyes seemed darker than before. He didn’t mention it though, he just turned back to Mischa and Winston. He smiled so much that day that he feared his cheeks might cramp.
Will didn’t meet Robert Lecter until the day after his visit to Dr. Williams. As soon as the man walked in, Will knew he was important.
Robert Lecter was a tall man with slick blond hair and eyes the color of mahogany. He had faint laugh lines around his mouth and large hands. Will had a feeling he was a very important man and he would learn over the years that he was even more important than Will had ever dreamed one man could be.
When he spotted the young boy sitting with Mischa and Hannibal in the living room, his frowned for a moment, tilting his head to the side. Will felt like his insides had turned into knots and he held his breath, not wanting to do or say anything to upset this man. He could feel how very bad that would be.
Lifting his chin, he crooked his finger at Will and Will immediately hopped to his feet. He was slower as he approached, nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Once he reached the man, he stopped and stared down at the floor, studying the man’s shiny shoes.
With one hand, Robert Lecter reached out and gently lifted Will chin so that he could study his face. He didn’t say anything for a very long time and then he removed his hand and shook his head.
“You’re too thin,” he said. His voice was soft, but it carried the same accent as his wife, and as Hannibal and Mischa. “You need to eat more. We’ll have you healthy in no time.” Then he looked up at his wife and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
“He can’t sleep in Hannibal’s room forever,” he said. “Make up one of the guest rooms for him; he’ll be more comfortable there.”
Will felt the tension slide out of him and he released his breath, beaming up at the man. He didn’t quite understand what had just happened, but he knew that he had passed some kind of test and he knew that this meant that he was welcome here.
He was going to be okay.