InsaneJournal

Who: Will and Abigail.
What: Talking about dreams.
When: Tuesday afternoon (10/8).
Where: Cafe.
Rating: PG-13.
Trigger Warnings: Discussion of murder and child abuse though nothing graphic. (Standard Hannibal warnings, really.)
Status: Complete!



Will had arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place ten minutes ahead of schedule. He sat down at a booth near the door, waiting for Abigail. He wasn’t entirely sure what she could have dreamt that she didn’t want to tell Dr. Lecter, but he could listen.

She arrived shortly after Will, early also. She’d been raised to be polite and on time by both her birth father and adoptive one. Her cheeks were pink from running, and she wore a dress that Hannibal had bought for her, cream colored and decorated with flowers. “Will,” she grinned.

She looked refreshed, even happy, so Will wondered what was going on. “Hello, Abigail.” After what they’d both dreamed, he assumed, calling her Abigail would be all right. “How are you?”

“Better than I was when I texted you.” She moved to hug him, a brief thing that didn’t last long before she sat down. Redoing her scarf because it had fallen, she didn’t care that he could probably see fresh love bites.

He could. It seemed a little ostentatious, though he supposed they were just enjoying their newfound ability to be open about it. “Did you talk to Hannibal about this dream, then?”

“Not yet, no.” Abigail made sure she was covered, then sighed a little. “How much have you dreamed about me?”

“Very little.” Will replied. “I dreamt that Hannibal and I came into the house, and he was able to stop the blood while I shot Garrett Jacob Hobbs.” He had to keep his voice matter-of-fact; there would be no point in discussing the state he’d awoken from the dream in. He’d almost called Lilo, but figured that she ought to get her sleep.

Abigail nodded. “I - okay. After all that, I had to go to a psychiatric hospital. I guess that makes sense, but I wanted to go back and see the house one more time before I let the property people sell it. It was all vandalized, and - “ And she’d realized that she didn’t have a home anymore, that she was a nothing, a non-entity, an orphan in an orphanage where she had to take medication twice a day and get checked on by a nurse every half hour.

“And there was this guy, Nicholas Boyle. His sister had been killed by some copycat, but he was convinced it was my dad, and he said I had to have helped.” The words were spilling out of Abigail by then, her blue eyes tearing over, shiny with them. “And he attacked me, he pinned me to the wall, and I was holding Dad’s knife and I just - and he helped me hide the body, Will. Hannibal. He came to me and my hands were all bloody and I gutted this guy like a deer and he said that we had to bury him where nobody would find him, bury him deep.”

Will’s expression didn’t change at first, though his stomach had flipped when he heard what Hannibal had done. “Well, if nothing else, you know what you did was self-defense. Yes?” He was a homicide detective. His word would stand, or at least gain a modicum of respect. “If he had you pinned against the wall, you would have had to strike at a certain angle.”
“I still - I did it. And after what I dreamed about doing with my dream dad, I - “ Abigail closed her eyes. “I dreamed about killing him a while ago, but I didn’t know how I got out of it. I know Hannibal would do a lot for me, but he barely knows me in the dreams.” She couldn’t help but worry her lower lip with her teeth. “I just hate this, it’s like my brain’s gaslighting me into not trusting people. I wake up and I don’t even trust myself right away.”

“Well, I know that’s a misstep.” Will said gently. “You have to trust yourself, if nothing else.”

“I just - it takes me five or ten minutes after I wake up to remember who I am here. To remember who other people are here.” She could feel herself tearing up, and she had to blink them back.

Will didn’t entirely know what to do about that, but he just kept going. “And you think Hannibal would ... feel bad? Or doubt himself? Because I mean, he does love you.” It was patently, painfully obvious, even without the little love bites.

“I think he’d wonder why he helped me in the dreams. He hasn’t even dreamed of me yet.” Abigail bowed her head, and she bit her lower lip. “I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“He’s going to worry about you.” Will shrugged. “You’re one of his loved ones.” There was nothing she could do about it.

“I know, but if I can wait until he dreams it too, maybe it’ll be less bad?” Abigail sighed to herself. “It won’t be less, will it.” She didn’t even have to ask; it came out as an observation.

“No, I’m sorry.” And he really was. He did want them to succeed as a relationship, despite his awkward glances at her love bites. Will shook his head. “Abigail, people who love you will always be concerned about anything that affects you, to varying degrees.” He looked away. “I mean, even I feel a concern for your welfare.” Though clearly not as pointed as Hannibal’s.

“I know. You shot my father in the dreams, so you sublimated your guilt into caring for me.” Abigail closed her eyes and chuckled. “I’m a psych major.”

“Are you.” Will chuckled. Somehow that seemed fit. “I don’t honestly know if I feel concerned here because I like you or because of the dreams, but even here, I worry. I just know what’s logical and what isn’t.” He tried to think. “I don’t have that much knowledge of Hannibal in the dreams myself. What other reasons could he possibly have had for urging you to hide the body, instead of confess to self-defense?”

“He called. He called to talk to my dad before - “ Abigail bit her lower lip, and tapped her neck. “I don’t know why, I just know when I met him I recognized his accent. I just didn’t say anything because I figured he had a good reason.” In the dreams, the man Hannibal Lecter was a mystery. It made her appreciate her lover all the more.

“He called?” Will echoed, curious. “Why would he have called a murderer to warn him that we were on our way?” That sounded ... wrong. Very wrong, though he didn’t want to say that to Abigail. “And how does it match up to Nicholas Boyle? I mean, there could be no insinuation that you killed your father or something like that. What’s the connection between the two?”

“I don’t know what he said to him. He just asked for my dad in the dreams, so I just handed the phone over. Then I went upstairs.” She was chewing on the tips of her hair, a habit she hadn’t indulged in since she’d been in elementary school. “It’s because I helped, isn’t it? I helped my dad in the dreams and that’s what made me able to kill someone.” Blue eyes closed, and she could only see Hell, the images that the evil doppelganger of her best friend had given her. She knew where she was going.

“Hannibal’s actions aren’t because you helped your father.” Will’s voice was calm; he got the feeling it had to be. “I think that when faced with someone who wanted to hurt you, the fact that you were familiar with killing might have kept you alive.”

“What if he didn’t, what if he was just trying to get my attention. I didn’t just stab him once, Will. I dressed him. Like you do with deer, like he taught me.” Her hands were shaking, and she didn’t know how to make them stop. Sitting on them seemed the only solution. “I’m sorry. I’m not - I’m just sorry.”

“Abigail.” Will took her by the shoulders, firmly but not angrily. “Abigail. The fact remains that when you’re scared out of your mind, you are not thinking clearly. You strike out - you react with the fight or flight instinct, and you had to fight.”

“It wasn’t really me,” she murmured. “It was dream me and we’re related but not the same.” Abigail closed her eyes tightly, breathing deeply in for five counts then letting it out for five as well. After a few breaths that way, she opened her eyes again and squeezed Will’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hannibal’s actions still troubled him, though. “Dream you was familiar with killing, but it does not make you a killer.”

“I sometimes think I deserve to go to Hell. I dreamed it. I was ... I almost died a while ago, and I was sure that’s where I was going to go.” Abigail chewed her hair still, twirling the damp ends between her fingers.

“Abigail, Hell is just a construct, for one.” Will shook his head. “But I think you need to speak to someone - perhaps someone not your father. I don’t want you to keep thinking that you’re some kind of monster. I assure you, you aren’t - you’re a scared person who was pushed into an untenable act.”

“Just a construct.” Abigail laughed. “My best friend is an angel, Will. He took me to France one morning. His evil twin nearly killed me. Hell is real, and I’ve seen it. Dreamed it.” She gave a shuddering sigh. “I shouldn’t burden you with this. I think I just wanted to hear someone tell me I’m not awful.”

“You’re not burdening me, and you are not awful.” Will didn’t comment on her talk about Hell. “Firstly, the dreams are not real. Secondly, you were acting in self defense, not in your right mind, even if they were.” He hesitated, but went on. “I do have to say that Hannibal’s motives seem strange. Maybe we’ll see more in later dreams. Because unfortunately, I think both of us will have more.”

“Mine usually come in order. I dreamed about killing Nicholas Boyle a while ago, but ... yeah. I think you’re right.” Abigail reached out to hold Will’s hand, enjoying the grounding feeling he gave her. “Thanks again. I keep saying that.”

“I dreamed last about a really unpleasant woman named Freddie Lounds.” Will said, squeezing her hand - he normally would have shied away, but he understood her need for grounding, lest she spiral away into the night like a feather in a rainstorm.

“Maybe I’ll dream of her too.” Abigail smiled conspiratorially. “We’ll talk about how awful she is together.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “It’s possible. I don’t know right now if you ever meet. I know that Hannibal and I did our best to keep you from meeting.”

“You two are good friends in the dreams, huh.” Abigail propped her head up on her fist.

“We seem to be.” Will nodded. “We have some interesting discussions. And we both do seem to want to look out for your welfare.” For better or worse.

“I’m sure I appreciate it. In the dreams.” Even if she didn’t show it. “And I can’t thank you enough for not ... well. You know.”

“Who would I tell, and who would believe it.” Will’s tone was wry and amused.

“Anyone, and that’s usually not the point.” She shrugged. “Some people would have just because of a weird moral code.”

“My moral code is to not interfere unless it’s necessary,” Will said dryly. “You aren’t blood related, Abigail. No one’s morals are being offended.” Well. No one logical’s morals were being offended.

“Thank you. I always figured it was nobody’s business since I can consent.” She’d started it, after all; Hannibal had been the one to resist up until the end.

“That, too. At least now you can.” Will still wondered about Hannibal’s actions - telling her to hide the body was troubling, and the call to Hobbs was very troubling. But there was no point in scaring Abigail with any of it, at least right now. So instead, he said, “Please think about seeing someone besides your father? I mean in a psychiatry sense. It might do you good.”

“I’ll consider it. He’s ... we’re not the same as we are in the dreams, Will. You know that. I know that.” She looked up at the waiter as he came by, ordering a coffee. It was if belatedly she realized where she was.

“I do know that.” At least for now. “I just mean that your father is biased in your favor. He loves you.” That was simple truth.

“I know.” Abigail smiled at her hands. “Sometimes it baffles me just how much. How’re you, though? How are the dreams hitting you?”

“Not as hard as one might think.” Will replied. “I’m sure they’re going to be worse.” Call it a hunch. He did smile a little bit, though. “I’m sure that having a lady friend around helps me, though, too.”

That made Abigail smile, a genuine, pleased as punch grin. “What’s she like?”

“She’s very ... happy.” Will replied, after a pause. “Just ... a genuinely good person. Optimistic, and a bit off-beat.” Like him.

“You need someone who’s very happy, I think.” Abigail chuckled. Hell, they both did.

“She has her own problems, but her outlook is good. I respect that.” Will looked down, blushing a little, but hopefully - obviously - happy.

“I’m glad you have someone to love, Will.” Abigail took one of Will’s larger hands between her two tiny ones, and she smiled sheepishly at him.

He wasn’t sure about love - it was a little early - but he didn’t argue the point. Will smiled back at her, noticing the clock over her shoulder. “I should get back to work,” he told her. “But I’m glad you feel as though you can talk to me, Abigail. And I’ll keep you informed about anything I dream about. I promise.”

“I just want to help you, if I can.” Abigail closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. “I’ll go get the bill. Have a good day at work, Will.”

“Oh, I was going to get it on my way out.” He shook his head. “It’s I who want to help you, Abigail. You always look so alone.”
“I’m not,” she smiled. “Neither of us are.” They had each other, and her father. Somehow, they’d all figure things out.