#bshci

Welcome, Orderly. If you’re reading this, you were either very unlucky or deeply hated by whoever scheduled this shift. If you value your safety, your sanity, and your internal organs, read this carefully. Welcome to the worst job you’ll ever have.

SUBJECTS:

Hannibal Lecter (Subject A) – Former psychiatrist, part-time cannibal, full-time smug bastard. Will make you feel stupid in at least three languages.

Will Graham (Subject B) – Former FBI profiler, dangerously unpredictable and arguably worse than Subject A. Less likely to eat you, but not by much.

GENERAL RULES:

Never separate them: We tried separating them. Once. The hospital was a bloodbath for three days. Keeping them together is not for their benefit—it’s for ours. If they are too busy being obsessed with each other, they are too busy to turn their full attention to escaping or, worse, you. They are now kept in separate cells, facing each other.

Respect their marriage: They are married. Do not call them “friends,” “associates,” or “accomplices.” If you do, they will correct you, at length. Address Subject B as Mr. Graham-Lecter if you value your peace. Subject A will be smug about it. Accept this.

No eye contact for more than three seconds: If Subject A smiles at you, start praying. If Subject B smiles at you, you’re already dead.

Do not discuss murder, cannibalism, or therapy: You may think you’re having a normal conversation. You are not. You are being analyzed, dissected, and possibly recruited without realizing it.

Avoid metaphors: Subject A weaponizes them. Subject B drowns in them. You will get lost in a conversation and emerge three days later, having unknowingly confessed your deepest sins.

MEALTIME PROCEDURES:

Subject A receives a standard, pre-packaged, nutritionally balanced meal: No exceptions. If he makes a comment about the seasoning, ignore it.

Feed Subject B first: Not “at the same time.” Not “shortly after.” First. If Subject B does not eat first, Subject A becomes… difficult

CONVERSATIONAL RED FLAGS:

If you hear any of the following, report immediately and request backup.

"You’re not as rude as the others." (You are in danger.)

“You know, we’re not so different, you and I.” (Yes, you are. Leave.)

“Would you rather be eaten or psychologically dismantled?” (Why are you answering? Stop answering.)

“He belongs to me.” (Oh, fantastic. They’re being weird about it again.)

EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS:

If they are sitting completely still, eyes unfocused, breathing slow, DO NOT INTERFERE: They are not sedated. They are not dissociating. They are having sex. This occurs inside their memory palaces, which they have merged. Do not ask what that means. If Subject B shudders and exhales deeply, congratulations. You just witnessed the most repressed orgasm in recorded history. Give them five minutes before interacting again. DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

If Subject B starts laughing, seemingly at nothing, evacuate the area: Subject A has said something only he understands, and it is never something you want to hear.

If Subject A is humming a classical tune, especially Bach, request additional security: This is a precursor to something deeply unpleasant.

CONJUGAL VISITS:

Yes, they’re legally married. No, we don’t know how. Yes, we have to allow this. No, we don’t like it either.

Visits are allowed once a month: Any less, and Subject A starts reciting poetry in a way that makes staff cry. Any more, and Subject B becomes insufferably smug.

Surveillance technically required, but no one watches: The last person who did requested a transfer and won’t talk about it.

Post-visit: Subject A is smug, Subject B is suspiciously content, and staff report generalized dread for 24 hours.

FINAL NOTES:

You are not special.

You are not their friend.

You are not an equal participant in this narrative.

You are background noise in their endless psycho-sexual mind games.

After being so isolated, he had to get used to the presence of his pack again. He missed them so much, but the pad of their feet, the clicking of their claws against the floor, and their barking could be jarring. Touching their fur helped, and burying his face in their coats could be grounding. When he woke up with them curled up beside him, Will remembered and could breathe easier.

He wasn't used to having the ability to come and go as he pleases, yet at the same time, his house didn't feel like that safe boat anymore after it was raided by the FBI. That first night back, he turned on all the lights and went to his usual spot to look at it, but it felt like it was sinking. He sat down on the grass. Forget the paddle, Will felt like he didn't even have driftwood to cling to. His eyes burned hot and watery.

The first thing he does when he has the motivation and the energy is to clean up the aftermath. He didn't redecorate, but he did rearrange. Much like his mind, he thought. He isn't the man he was before, so it makes sense his house would be changed too. He knows realistically that changing the locks won't do anything should the FBI come knocking on his door again, but it comforts him all the same.