you bond with your captor, you survive. you don’t, you’re breakfast.

a highly selective and private blog for nbc hannibal’s will graham: the empathetic profiler, the one who’s not official fbi, the guy who didn’t kill all those people. mostly show based with some inspiration taken from the novels as well as a lot of personal headcanons. loved dearly by amalthea. 

@potentempath sent , you  don’t  trust  me ?

’  you  shot  me,  graham.  so  no,  i  don’t  quite  trust  you  yet.  ’      sarcasm  and  distrust  mix  in  his  words,  glare  firm  on  will’s  eyes.  a  bandage  wraps  around  his  torso,  tints  of  red  and  pink  splotted  about.  his  arm,  ever  since  arriving  at  the  strange  man’s  house,  has  defensively  covered  his  abdomen.

see?      s  e  e  ?                                   ….

garret  sighs  and  stands  up,  a  muffled  grunt  escaping  when  pain  surges  through  his  body.      ’  but  i  reckon  it  says  somethin’  that  you  brought  me  to  yer  house.  ’      his  eyes  almost  darken.      ’  do  you  trust  me?’

“you had a knife to your daughter’s throat,” is the easy, uncaring reply as will graham watches his guest with equal suspicion. what had possessed will to bring garret jacob hobbs here? truthfully, it was something spur of the moment; he had hardly thought about it. he had simply done it. 

months of putting himself in this man’s head until it had felt like they were not two separate people, but the same person in separated forms.

warmth of a head on his shoulder brings him to the present. he blinks: once, twice, thrice, in slow fashion. then he turns his gaze to study the man who has brought him out of his thoughts. his head slowly comes down and lays on top of garret’s. 

potentempath — & Will

     “Then take solace in the knowledge that you won’t be the last either,” Hannibal responded lightly in jest before taking a whiff of his own glass. It was potent and enticed the tastebuds. He took a sip. After a pause of silence, Hannibal gave a short sigh and leaned down a bit to put his hand on Will’s shoulder.

     “In youth we are discouraged from showing our tears. A man’s sensitivity or pain are considered weaknesses. We are taught to grin and bear it. We suppress those core aspects of being human as if it proves our capability over others. And this is what becomes of us when we let it fester for too long. It decays us from the inside.” He dropped down on one knee before Will’s chair and his head tilted as he tried to look him in the eye; even if the other was not keen on eye contact at the moment. “Don’t be ashamed to cry, Will. It means you are human. A man who doesn’t show his pain is far more monstrous than you could ever be. I’m happy that you find some modicum of safety in my presence that allows you to be human.”

hannibal knows right away where the root of the problem takes place, and will debates whether this is good psychiatry or a reasonable guess. he smiles, bitter expression as he stubbornly looks in front of him, never looking at his doctor in spite of hannibal’s attempts to meet his gaze. he exhales a shaky breath. 

“don’t let ‘em see you cry,” he retorts, voice low. he thinks of his father, roughened by heartbreak and addiction and an overall disappointing life. he thinks of the old, gruff men he was raised around. they were not a loving bunch, but they helped raise him, too. not many gentler touches in his life. he could count them on his hands.