Chapter Text
Will was sick, and he was sure it wasn’t his fault.
His relationship with Will had changed drastically after he confirmed his suspicions about the encephalitis. At first, Hannibal had continued with his plan to frame Will while his brain burned, but things took an unexpected turn.
During one of his many dissociative episodes, Will forgot to take his suppressants. Despite everything, that routine was so ingrained in his life that he never missed a dose—even if he forgot what year it was. But this time was different.
Hannibal, of course, knew about Will’s omega status. However, his instincts were so deeply buried beneath years of rough upbringing and a lifetime of mistrust that, unless you read his medical records—or unless Will himself admitted it, which was rare—you’d never have known.
Not even Hannibal had realized it at first. His sensitive sense of smell had picked up something during their first meeting, but it was so faint, so subtle, that even he found it easy to overlook. Besides, the terrible beta lotion Will used after shaving worked as an excellent pheromone blocker. Combined with his constant medication, his scent was almost imperceptible.
Physically, he didn’t meet the typical omega standards either: he was taller than average, had facial hair, and a strong build. Although he had that unmistakable omega beauty—small waist, firm hips, smooth skin when relaxed—that was something that almost never happened. Hannibal had the pleasure of seeing it only once, during a therapy session when insomnia and nightmares overcame him and the silence of the room lulled him into sleep.
Everything changed when Hannibal noticed that Will slept more easily in his presence. That vulnerability… that instinct to surrender to him, was revealing.
One night, Will arrived at his office trembling. On any other day, he probably would have found it empty, but Hannibal had stayed behind to finish paperwork. Will was bathed in sweat, fever burning on his skin, and there was a golden glow in his eyes—a common symptom in omegas with encephalitis: primal instincts emerging.
He never thought this would happen to Will. His denial had always seemed inviolable. But Will, as always, was full of surprises.
The omega’s first reaction upon seeing Hannibal was to throw himself into his arms, clinging to his neck as if his life depended on it. He made small, pitiful sounds and stood on his tiptoes, trying to bury his face in the crook of the alpha’s neck.
Hannibal stood still, analyzing his reaction. He couldn’t take him back to his isolated home in that state. What if Will went out again? What if someone found him wandering around? If the police picked him up, he’d end up in a hospital, and the tests would reveal the illness. It wasn’t time yet. Everything was still unfolding.
He lifted him carefully, and Will curled up without hesitation, wrapping his legs and arms around Hannibal’s waist. Hannibal sat in his largest chair, settling him gently so he wouldn’t crush him. Silently, the omega calmed his breathing, sniffing Hannibal’s glands like a curious little animal. Will’s warm breath tickled Hannibal’s neck, but one long exhale was all it took for him to collapse into sleep.
Hannibal didn’t move. He watched.
First, Will’s instincts weren’t as repressed as he had thought—they were simply neglected. And even in that state, he hadn’t forgotten to apply that horrible aftershave. Its scent was more noticeable due to his fever, but still faint.
Second, omegas in critical condition always sought safety. In ancient times, they hid in dark caves, in nests of fur, guided by their alphas’ awareness of their raw instincts. Later, during royal reigns, private chambers were built for highborn omegas—lavish, filled with soft textures and the scent of their chosen alpha. Even kings made time to care for their omegas during such vulnerable moments.
Will had reached that state because of the encephalitis, yes. But not all omegas did. The illness was a trigger, not the cause. Some omegas could endure such episodes without ever taking suppressants—especially those raised in stable, contained environments. But Will had never known anything other than the suppressants.
And his most primal self had decided that the safest place… was Hannibal.
What an irony. His illness had driven him straight into the arms of the man who posed the greatest risk to him—yet the same man his body recognized as refuge.
Hours later, with Will still fast asleep, Hannibal had no intention of waking him—or of sleeping himself. Instead, he gently stroked Will’s neck and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. Day was approaching, and Will began to stir. Hannibal preferred to be proactive.
He placed him carefully in his car, adjusting his position so he wouldn’t wake up with a sore neck.
The next morning, Will, embarrassed and anxious, asked if Hannibal had seen him the previous night.
Hannibal, of course, denied it. He told him that if he ever didn’t find him at the office, he was welcome to come by his house.
Will blushed. Fever… or embarrassment?
That was a game changer.
Another key moment came during a casual conversation, when Will, half-joking, mentioned that maybe sleeping in a sleeping bag would help him rest.
Hannibal smiled. Poor thing. He didn’t realize that was a miserable substitute for an omega’s confinement: a small, cramped space overloaded with sensory pressure. An impersonal choice for those without an alpha to watch over them.
That same night, Will didn’t respond to any of his messages. Hannibal set off the alarm.
He went to Will’s house with food as an excuse—and found all the doors open, the cold creeping in unchecked, and the omega curled up in the fetal position, softly sobbing.
He was lying on a mattress with a thin sheet, a pillow, and some towels: the saddest attempt at a nest Hannibal had ever seen.
Before searching the house, Hannibal took Will’s phone and texted himself, “Come here.” He wasn’t planning on leaving him alone that night.
He looked around the house. There were only a few dusty blankets. He shook them out, sprayed them with lavender he had brought as a possible gift, and placed them around the omega. He closed the doors and windows, lit the fireplace, and boiled water for tea while he washed his clothes.
Will woke up weakly. Hannibal, still holding the mug, told him he’d received a message from him. The omega, confused, believed him. It had been two hours since Hannibal had sent it to himself, but Will didn’t need to know that.
Will apologized and offered to pay for a taxi, but Hannibal convinced him it was late, cold, and dangerous—even for a taxi driver. Will ended up inviting him to stay. Hannibal happily accepted. He suggested sleeping in the living room by the fireplace, and Will agreed without asking too many questions. He lent him clothes, though they were a bit tight: at first glance, they didn’t look so different, but Will was clearly smaller.
They went to bed. Hannibal didn’t sleep. He watched, recording the image of Will sleeping in his mind palace. Looking around, he noticed the house was like a cave—functional, yes, but devoid of any omega comforts. Everything was exposed, as if Will wouldn’t allow anything inside without his permission. Sleeping there must have been distressing.
At some point, Will moved. His gold-tinted eyes glowed faintly. He groaned and reached for the alpha’s arm. Hannibal understood. He wrapped his arms around his waist. The omega’s cold body and rough clothes contrasted with the warmth of his chest.
Will fell asleep. And so did Hannibal, inhaling the scent of his chocolate-colored hair, thinking about future opportunities.
The next morning, Hannibal woke up first. He felt a weight on his chest. He was lying on his back with his shirt pushed up to his neck, Will’s head resting on his chest, one hand stroking his hair, one leg hooked around his own. Hannibal savored the moment. He had already made up his mind.
When Will awoke, he was exasperated and deeply embarrassed. Hannibal pretended to have been awoken by the movement, soothed his anxiety with soft words, and asked him to stay in bed while he made breakfast and took the clothes out of the dryer. A domestic scene, oddly comforting.
And then, among the dirty sheets and towels around the bed, he found something he hadn’t expected…
A sweater and a tie of his own had disappeared from his office some time ago, unnoticed at the time. He had assumed Franklin—that somewhat obsessive patient—had taken them. But on reflection, it made more sense with Will’s behavior. His omega side, repressed and clumsy, would steal clothes carrying an alpha’s scent when his instincts stirred. And when the scent wasn’t enough, he’d seek the source.
That explained why he had appeared in his office that night. And that had been just before both items disappeared.
What a brilliant boy.
Breakfast continued remarkably normally, until Hannibal made a polite suggestion: an invitation to dinner… with the option to stay the night.
As the morning progressed and Hannibal prepared to leave, he pronounced the next step as tactfully as possible:
—Will, maybe the doctors made a mistake. I’m still not certain, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. What do you think about going to the hospital tomorrow for another check-up? Just to be sure.
Will’s eyes shone strangely. A point for Hannibal: the fact that someone believed his condition was physical, not psychological, felt like redemption. If his body, not his mind, was betraying him, he didn’t blame himself as much. He accepted without hesitation.
The next day, they visited another doctor—a friend of Hannibal.
And, oh surprise.
He had encephalitis.
He was to be kept under observation for a few days to ensure everything was stable. He was lucky to have arrived in time—any later, and it might have been too late.
As they finalized the paperwork and prepared the room, Will was on the verge of collapse from nerves. They explained the procedures, but Hannibal paid closer attention than the omega did. The nurse finished her instructions:
—Well, Mr. Graham, this will be your room for the next few days. The doctor will come in a few hours to discuss the upcoming tests. We’ll wait until your husband returns with your things to go over the procedures. Please note: the only person allowed in the room at all times is your registered companion. No one else is permitted outside visiting hours. That’s all.
Will opened his mouth to correct her, but Hannibal beat him to it, with an imperturbable smile:
—Thank you very much. I’ll go get your things, and we’ll talk to the doctor later.
The nurse left, and Will was red—not from fever.
—… We’re not husbands.
—I know. But they needed a name and a relationship, and you told me you had no one. With how backwards the laws are regarding omegas, you need someone you trust. I’m your psychiatrist, so I can be listed as your companion. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been Jack. The nurse just assumed I was your husband, not your therapist.
—Doesn’t that bother you?
—Not at all. Does it bother you?
—No.
—Then it’s fine.
Hannibal helped him settle in. The atmosphere relaxed slightly. He promised to talk to his neighbor about the dogs. Then he insisted Will turn off his phone and rest, promising he’d handle everything with Jack and any outstanding matters.
Afterward, he went to Will’s house to gather his important belongings.
He was almost certain that, after the hospital, Will would need constant companionship. And that he would be hospitalized for longer than two or three weeks.
He spoke to the neighbor, but the old woman apologized repeatedly: she didn’t want the dogs tied up, and with the gate broken, she couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t escape. The animals wouldn’t leave—they considered that their home—but without their owner, they’d be confused and desperate to find him.
Hannibal reassured her and promised to handle it. With that new variable, he added another line to his plan.
In theory, Will would be discharged in three weeks.
And he would need someone. Hannibal would be that someone.
For the first two weeks, he would send the dogs to a reputable pet hotel. Then, a week before Will’s release, he’d bring them back so that it would feel like home again.
With those two weeks’ head start, he could adapt the house to Will… and the dogs.
Everything would turn out as it should.
That night, the dogs would stay alone with food and pads. The next morning, he’d take them to their temporary home.
While packing—not snooping, but inspecting with clinical care—Hannibal clearly did not find a small, twenty-year-old diary. Nor did he take it with him. Out of curiosity.
He packed everything: clothes, the suppressants that masked his delicious scent, and the awful aftershave he considered replacing. He wanted Will to stop using it for comfort… but only for him.
Nothing he did ever gave it away, but Hannibal was greedy.
And he’d developed a guilty taste for that scent.
Whenever he smelled it, he thought of the blue-eyed lamb.
After feeding the dogs, he stopped by his own house, showered, and changed into comfortable clothes. He wouldn’t let Will spend the night alone.
At the hospital, they had apparently already interviewed Will without him.
The doctor, with both alpha and omega present, explained the steps of recovery. He spoke in excessive hospital language. Will was an educated person, with training in forensic medicine, but even so, some things eluded him. They started IV medications, and he began to feel drowsy. The doctor asked to speak outside while he read the clinical information board.
“He’s your psychiatrist, right? I assume he’s not telling you everything, because in the interview he mentioned much more worrisome symptoms than the ones you told us. It seems the encephalitis is more advanced than it seemed.”
He looked at the chart, mentally tracing the symptoms.
“He apparently suffered from all of them. The most obvious ones, at least—like the loss of speech and seizures. But he left out several: loss of speech for long periods, temporary blindness, autonomic instability, loss of mobility, and a kind of psychomotor regression. The patient claims there were times when he forgot how to speak or move. The sensation was terrifying. He didn’t know how to function.”
“We’re surprised he’s lived alone for so long without raising any alarm bells,” the doctor added bluntly.
He remained silent.
“With all this, he probably also lost control of basic bodily functions. Perhaps out of embarrassment, he didn’t say anything. Don’t take it personally, Dr. Lecter, but do take it as an incentive to be more attentive.”
He nodded. The doctor said goodbye and left.
He returned to the bedroom, where the dim lights didn’t bother him. Will was sleeping more soundly than usual.
His mind spun, imagining Will alone, in the middle of nowhere, unable to speak or stand, unable to control his needs like a lost child.
He was not given to remorse.
And this was not one.
But he was satisfied that he had intervened in time
.
Hours later, Will woke up.
“What are you doing here…?” His voice was hoarse, sleepy, his eyes still moist with sleep.
“I’m here with you.”
“You shouldn’t do it.”
“But I want to.”
Will didn’t answer.
“How are my dogs?”
He had already spoken to the neighbor about feeding them in the morning. That same afternoon, they would be taken to the dog hotel. All that remained was to inform Jack, and Will would have nothing to worry about other than flipping channels on the small TV in his room.
“They’re fine. Your neighbor will watch them in the morning. Tomorrow they’ll go to a dog hotel.”
Will became agitated, sitting up slightly.
“What do you mean, hotel, Hanni?”
“Don’t worry. It’s highly rated. Your pets will be like kings, I assure you.”
“It’s not that I don’t think they’re okay, but…”
He watched him silently. Will’s mind, still wrapped in drowsiness, murmured softly:
“I guess I have enough money to not work these next few months… and the dog hotel… until I get out… I can work from home…”
He had already understood. But he waited for Will to say it.
“Please, Will. I didn’t mean for you to pay anything. The hotel is on me. Your animals are lovely.”
He didn’t love animals, but he found them endearing. Not like Will, of course. The omega relaxed more, and, despite insisting that he sleep at his own house, he thanked him profusely for everything.
He knew that Will was grateful… but that he didn’t like receiving things from others.
Less like that.
In the middle of the night, they gave him antivirals. Shortly after dinner, Will collapsed. He knew the omega was sleeping, but he wasn’t resting.
He had been downloading documents onto his iPad to read about omega biology and recent advances in medicine and psychology. Although he’d studied it in college, the information was constantly being updated, and it didn’t hurt to refresh it. He found some incredible things, which seemed very realistic, and others somewhat arbitrary and conservative. But all information was useful.
About three days passed. The doctors spoke with him: in the coming days, the medication would be stronger. They weren’t telling Will the details, to prevent his emotional state from skewing the results.
He knew the procedures. Still, the doctor had to inform him. During his training, it wasn’t common to see omegas with that particular condition, but he did remember the pained expressions on the omegas’ faces at this stage.
The increased medication left him more sore and sensitive. The doctors decided to increase the dose all at once, rather than gradually. They asked the designated alpha to be present in the room during the effects. They explained that he shouldn’t worry about the crying: all patients go through that.
These were common conversations with patients’ alphas, to avoid aggressive reactions upon hearing their partners cry. It was a primal instinct: the alpha defends, the omega cries, the alpha reacts. The nurses were the ones who restrained the alphas if circumstances prevented them from being near their omegas.
Hours later, with him and the doctor in the room, Will was informed that he would be restrained. His hands and legs were secured to the bed with padded straps, and the IV drip began abruptly.
Will, confused, barely understood what was happening. He felt a burning in his veins. As if fire were running through his blood. He wasn’t in the best state of mind. Anything was too much, and this was beyond him. He began to cry, begging the doctor to stop, that it hurt. The doctor just watched him intently. That upset him even more. He hyperventilated, now pleading with him—another figure who just watched him—but unlike the doctor, his face was peaceful. Even so, Will noticed how he clenched his fists until they turned white.
He brought a chair over, sat down beside him, and began stroking his face. The screams stopped. The crying continued. Will thought he was going to become dehydrated. From a logical perspective, it might not have seemed so serious, but to him, it was unbearable.
After that time, the doctor released the straps, except for the one on his wrist connected to the tube.
And when the doctor left… the really hard part began.
Will’s golden eyes stared unfocused. He did the sensible thing: he moved him carefully. He picked him up from the unsecured side, lay down on the hospital bed, and placed Will between his legs, his head resting on his chest. He gently crossed Will’s arms, not disturbing the IV. He hugged him, pressing him against him, and the omega’s breathing calmed
He knew the reactions of alphas, both bonded and unbonded: watching your mate suffer and being unable to intervene was torture. But even worse for bonded alphas was feeling the betrayal your mate felt toward you for allowing them to go through that.
His expression remained barely controlled as he watched Will’s face twist in pain. He knew Will had a very high tolerance, which only further demonstrated how severe the discomfort was. And when he began pleading with the doctor to stop, and then with himself… that was the breaking point. He knew he shouldn’t intervene, that it was for Will’s own good, but his body wasn’t responding in kind. When he loosened his fists, there was blood on his palms from the semicircular indentations of his nails.
When he managed to calm the omega, lying on his chest, he began to feel the rhythm of his breathing. He leaned back a little, closed his eyes, and stroked his hair, tracing a new route.
Will was one surprise after another, increasingly difficult to predict. But it wasn’t about plotting a straight line. The goal didn’t require linear paths.
He sighed, and his mind started working again.