You Look Good Enough to Eat [Franco x Maneater! MC] [Crossover]
[Context for this fic] [OOC ALERT. PROBABLY. Franco would be a gay ally anyway, I can see it. Maneater's lore was changed a bit to suit this fic :3 enjoy! Just in time for pride month]
Franco had been alive for quite a while. Despite this, there were things that he, admittedly, didn't know. But right now, something made itself so disgustingly clear, that if he didn't know, he'd be a fool.
The man staring across the table had a gaze colder than Alaska's February. A gaze only a skilled psychiatrist could have; analysing, cold, desolate. Yet understanding. Like a lion understanding the lamb. Hannibal, his name was. An odd name, but Lithuania had its own naming processes, and Franco wouldn't intrude.
This man was too similar to Easterman, much too comparable for Franco to be comfortable. The stares were the same. The demeanour. And yet, he was here for you. He couldn't leave. Not when it took you months to tell him about your family. You sat beside him, your plate untouched.
Odd, seeing as the meat served tonight was flank. After a gentle nudge - and Franco's acceptance of your...odd lifestyle - you were then informed it was the thigh of a Texan man, one who had assaulted far too many people.
Hannibal's gaze softened slightly as he watched your hand move to grip Franco's own. He took a sip from his wine glass, his "work partner" - Will - beside him. "So, Mr...Barbi, is it? I believe I've heard of that name, from somewhere..."
An awkward cough bubbled from Franco's chest, "Yeah, uhhh...you probably heard about my father, Salvatore Barbi. Gangster type shit."
He felt like a damn prey animal right now.
"Ah," Hannibal licked his teeth, his eyes half-lidded. He motioned to Will, Will finishing off a bite from his salad. "Will has interviewed a Barbi before. Haven't you, Širdelė?"
A gentle quiet overtook the room until Will swallowed, nodding his head. "Indeed. Back when I was in New York, last week...he's a very..."
Will took a moment before he responded, his lips pursed. He couldn't exactly say what he wanted to say, so he settled for a simple;
"...Interesting...individual. Violent, demanding...he never mentioned having a son, though. A daughter, however..."
You didn't miss Franco's eye twitching. "That...would be me. I wasn't...manly enough for that piece o' shit, before he died."
Will had made a face. Died? How is that possible? But Hannibal looked amused, like this news wasn't new to him.
"Oh, my," Hannibal held back a snicker after you glared at him, "He was...one of those, I take it. I see men like that a lot in my career. Oftentimes speaking out of projection and fear."
"Enough about that, father," you rolled your eyes, "I don't think my husband wants to hear about work."
Hannibal simply chuckled with a nod, "Yes, of course, dear. I'll try not to bore him with my therapy speak from now on."
And that was that. But Franco had only one question in mind. Well, several. But one mattered to him most.
Why did you hide their existence from him for this long? You had told him they were cannibals, and seeing as you were one yourself, that wasn't the reason. You were happy to share your cannibalistic urges with him, something he found attractive.
But Hannibal could read Franco like a book, could see the gangster's stare. Blinking slowly, like a cat content with fresh kill, he exclaimed with such stoicism, "You realize we are not like...traditional families, Mr. Barbi."
Obviously. Was that a joke? Regardless, it made Franco snort. "I...figured that, sir. Your daughter's quite the unique gal, I see where she fuckin' got it from," He picked up his water glass to take a sip-
"We are homosexual, Franco," Will corrected, a forced smile on his face. He wasn't sure if Franco would be so...accepting.
Salvatore had been violent toward Will before, he wasn't eager to meet the same wrath from the infamous man's son.
Franco felt like an idiot, really. The - what he assumed to be a - pet name, the odd closeness. The matching wedding bands. He assumed Will was your step-father and your mother just didn't like guests.
It wasn't like homosexuality was unheard of. But Salvatore...he hated them with a passion.
Franco halted his drinking, his throat frozen. Homosexual. Something Salvatore had ranted about on Sunday mornings, something Franco was told to hate.
But now that he was before his wife's parents, he realized...what was there to hate, really? The cannibalism, yes, even that is against his moral code, but...it didn't seem like this evil thing his father had spoken of.
It was love, even if it wasn't normal by 1960's and its standards. Like the love you had for him, and him for you.
His father wasn't always right. And that seemed to be the case in this circumstance as well.
"...I can see," he placed his cup down, swallowing a gulp of water. He didn't miss your frightened gaze, making his stomach drop. He had never seen you like that before.
You were afraid of his reaction. For a reaction that would never come.
"Do whateva ya want, really, I don't...really give a shit," it took a moment for Franco to reply, but his response - albeit vulgar in nature - made both men, and you, exhale in relief.
"You accept me and my hitman shit, I will accept you. What goes around comes around. And anybody who hates my father is a fuckin' friend of mine."
Will chuckled upon swallowing his food, "We appreciate the acceptance. You are nothing like your father, if that is a concern of yours."
And that was enough for Franco to realize that the family of cannibals were nicer to him than his own father.
It took only a few glasses of wine - for Franco, anyway - before he began asking questions without any fear.
"So...where'd ya find her, anyway? Pardon my...fuckin' ignorance, but..." He motioned to where Hannibal's groin sat in the chair, the refined man simply blinking with amusement.
"You are correct in that observation, Mr. Barbi. She is not of our loins," Hannibal finished off the last bit of red wine - which had looked too thick to be wine, but Franco kept his mouth shut - and sat up straight.
Hannibal looked behind him into the kitchen; upon seeing you and Will doing dishes - with you laughing and Will pecking your cheek, like a doting father usually does - Hannibal looked back at Franco, leaning in slightly. "She was found in a farmhouse."
That made sense. You had spoken of your childhood before coming into Hannibal and Will's life, albeit you never got into the details of it.
"Will had been called to investigate a series of murders, a man and his wife were found deceased, believed to be due to murders. I came with him, to keep him safe."
Hannibal inhaled a breath, pursing his lips before he continued. "We found her. At the age of 6, blood coating her lips. We had thought the murderer may have injured her, but...that soon became inaccurate."
Oh. Oh, no. Franco shouldn't have felt disgust, but...thinking of a 6 year old with cannibalistic urges...that just sounds inhumane. It IS inhumane.
But he used to crawl into the corpses of prostitutes before he met you, so...the hypocrisy would've been potent.
Hannibal nodded, his expression just as stoic as before. But was that... a hint of pride? "Will is wonderful with children, and children are easy to manipulate. They were...abusive, she had poisoned them with pills, then ate their flesh. These urges had been present for a while, and we wagered that being assaulted that night was enough for her to bring them to fruition."
The anger Franco had felt. The urge to shoot and maim the people who hurt you. Who hurt him.
But that would do nothing. Salvatore was dead...to him, and so was your family. "What made you adopt her? The agency?"
Hannibal's face grew cold, his lidded eyes looking almost dead in their lack of emotion. "The agency had wanted to take her away, put her into a mental institution. We had to fight in court. Will did most of the work, as he had grown quite...attached. Not that I didn't contribute, but..."
Franco looked behind Hannibal into the kitchen, where Will had - secretly - pulled out some sweets, sharing them with you as you giggled quietly.
"She had her stomach pumped and she was placed with us until they could figure out what to do." Hannibal let himself breathe. "And, of course, we couldn't just let her go...the adoption was swift, albeit we had to keep our marriage private. She was adopted in my name."
Ah. An unfortunate effect of biases and bigotry, it seemed.
Hannibal said nothing, but he smiled, clinking his glass against Franco's.
A comfortable silence. Until...
"I shall get us a slice of cheesecake," Hannibal got up from his seat, but he walked toward Franco. "Oh, and...Mr. Barbi..."
Franco felt his hair raise on the back of his neck. The vibe had changed, the room somewhat colder. "Yes, Mr...?"
He didn't even know your father's last name. He was an idiot.
"I do hope you know your...hitman career is not judged here. After all...it would be quite hypocritical for the hunter to judge the lion."
Franco cleared his throat, "Thank you, sir. Truly, it's...it's fuckin' kind of you."
"Of course...next time, we'll have your father for dinner."
Franco furrowed his brows. His father was dead, this had been established, and shouldn't an 'over' be in that sentence...Hannibal simply winked at Franco before leaving into the kitchen, his tone pleasant as he asked Will to pass the knife to cut the cheesecake.
