Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14149455.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Hannibal_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Hannibal_Lecter/Original_Female_Character(s), Will_Graham/Hannibal_Lecter
  Character:
      Hannibal_Lecter, Will_Graham, Alana_Bloom, Jack_Crawford
  Additional Tags:
      Blood_and_Violence, Sexual_Violence, Non-Consensual, Child_Abuse, Child
      Neglect, Death, Murder, Love_Confessions, Art, Dom_Hannibal_Lecter, Dom/
      sub, Sub_Will_Graham, not_from_the_beginning_though, Emotional_Hurt/
      Comfort, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Emotional_Manipulation
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-30 Chapters: 1/? Words: 2593
****** A Long Time Ago ******
by cheshirewritesagain1907
Summary
     Why is he who he is? What has she been through to paint such horrible
     scenes? What will he do when he discovers what connects them? What
     will he do when they all suddenly turn against him? What will she do
     when her love stays unrequited?
Notes
     Hi archive readers.
     Just a warning ahead, please mind the tags. If you are triggered by
     rape and child abuse leave out the italics in the first chapter. It
     is not too graphic but still. The rest is okay to read, it will just
     be mentioned.
     Otherwise, I just don’t know how regularly I’ll update but hang on
     there if you like the first chapter.
     Also, my works are not beta’d so there might be mistakes.
     Please do enjoy.
He followed the group of three men since they left the bar. He kept himself in
the shadows, they had no idea that he was there. And they would have no idea
until it was far too late for them. He touched the blade in his pocket once
more.
The men were laughing and chatting, more or less drunk but their feet were
still steady. So they would put up a bit of a fight. Good.
That was exactly what he had been looking for when he went out tonight. What he
had craved.
When he had heard the men talking, he knew that they were up to no good. They
had been mentioning a girl. After that they had lowered their voices
significantly but he still intended to find out if he was right. He always was.
He could smell bad people.
The men reached a three star hotel in one of the less popular parts of Paris.
He hid behind a wall, waited for them to enter.
Before the entrance door could close completely, he slipped through as well and
so avoiding using a key card. Once inside, no one seemed to bother with
security too much. The receptionist, a bored looking young man with dark
circles under his eyes, did not even look up from the magazine he was skipping
through on his desk.
His prey, the men, reached the elevator, taking no notice of his approach. They
were busy with each other, seemingly excited about something.
He entered the lift with them, moving to the back of the lift, leaning against
the wall with his head down.
The elevator came to a halt and the men exited. He let them walk on until they
were almost out of sight. Only shortly before the lift doors could close he
slipped his foot inside, keeping them open. He slid in the hallway noiselessly,
his steps further muffled by the carpeted floor.
The men knocked at a door at the end of the dimly lit hallway. He waited in
safe distance.
The door opened and a man, about the same age, opened the door, smiling and
welcoming them with hugs.
“Is she...?”
The new man shushed him and threw him a warning glance before motioning them
through the door. Despite him looking up and down the hallway he could not see
the young man of 24 years standing in the shadows, watching him with glowing
amber eyes.
As soon as the man disappeared into the room behind his friends, the door
closed.
He moved to kneel in front of the door, drawing out a plastic card, almost like
a credit card, and carefully pressed it between door and frame.
Loud voices could be heard from the inside so he didn’t bother to be very
quiet. After some probing around the lock gave way. He pocketed the card again
before he stood and carefully glanced through a slit in the door.
The men were talking in French, the new man’s one was broken but
understandable.
Faint crying noises touched his sensitive ears, so faint they could have come
from the other room. He knew better.
The men all stood facing away from him towards the bed, seeming to look at
something... someone on it that he couldn’t see.
Quietly and fast he stepped into the room, hiding behind a wardrobe in the
entrance area. The hotel room wasn’t particularly big and mainly occupied by a
double bed. The only light came from the lamp on the bedside table, the rest of
the roomwas in darkness.
Suddenly one of the men stepped closer and knelt on the bed, extending his
hand.
A scream. High pitched.
His blood froze in his veins as memories bubbled onto the surface.
No, he couldn’t let them take over now. There would be time for them later. Now
he needed to concentrate upon the matter at hand once more. Now he needed to be
strong and do what he had failed to do all these years ago. This was his chance
to make it up to her.
The new man with the bad French switched languages and spoke now angrily to the
person on the bed in Danish.
His Danish was not perfect but he understood.
“Shut up and be a good girl now. Daddy will buy you some sweets afterwards.”
The sobbing started again, mixed with desperate whimpers as the man on the bed
crawled and kneeled in front of the person lying on the bed. He unbuckled his
belt, opened his trousers.
The men around the bed shifted and he could catch a quick glance at the person
on the bed. Well, hardly a person. A child. Just so. Maybe six, no more than
seven years old. She was already naked and bruised, her hair messy, her eyes
swollen and red from crying. Blood was visible between her legs and on the
white sheets. They weren’t the first ones to pay her a visit.
He drew his blade from his pocket, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went
white. He gritted his teeth.
The man on the bed had his trousers open and was stroking himself, getting
ready for the girl.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Even if he would risk his life now while going at
them without a clear plan, he could not just watch and let it happen. The girl
was probably in terrible pain, if not already drugged by her father.
The man moved forward and so did he. He leashed out, the first cut going
through the throat of the man closest to him. He had no change. The blood shot
out of his open throat as a look of suprise crossed his face. His hands went up
to clutch at the wound, desperately trying to hold his life in his body. He
went to the floor, struggling and gurgling for breath.
The other men were surprised but had a second to come to. His second victim
tried to fight back but was too slow. His throat was cut in the next few
seconds, spraying blood all over his face.
He moved on to the father, stabbing him in the stomach, quick and efficient but
not deadly. Not yet. He went to his knees, wincing in pain.
The man on the bed hard tried to get away, was almost as the door, holding up
his still open trousers as not to fall over them.
He was faster. He caught the man by the collar of his shirt, throwing him back
into the room so he landed on his back.
“Please, don’t hurt me.”, he whimpered.
He just stood over him, a dark smile on his face, his blade shining in his
hand. He knelt and plunged the knife into the man’s crotch, hurting an artery,
blood gushing out of the wound.
The man screamed pushed down on his throat, disabling him from making any noise
but not killing him.
He got up, looking in disgust at the bleeding man on the floor before he
stepped over him, kneeling on the far side of the bed where the girl had sat up
and curled into a ball.
He put his knife aside, holding up his hands.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”, he said in Danish, his accent stronger than it
should have been from the many years of disuse.
The girl looked at him with wide eyes but didn’t reply or shy away.
He took the comforter from the side of the bed, blood free, and carefully moved
towards the girl.
He was aware of the fact that he must look terrifying with all the blood over
himself but he couldn’t change this now.
She kept watching him but didn’t move. He put the blanket around her tightly,
waiting until she gripped the ends to hold it close to her body.
“I promise I’ll get you out of here as soon as I asked your father a few
questions.”
She didn’t indicate that she had heard him, just kept staring at him with her
clear blue eyes that reminded him of snow in the shadows of the sinking sun.
He turned to face her father, getting off the bed and kneeling beside him.
The father looked at him, pain in his voice as he spoke.
“Please, take her but let me live. You can have her.”, he said in his broken
French.
He smiled grimly.
“Oh, I intend to take her with me alright but you will not live to see that.”
“Please, what do you want? Money? I got money.”
“Why sell your daughter then?”
“Not...” He breathed through a wave of pain. “I didn’t sell her. They are...
were my friends.”
“Even worse.”
He took his knife fron the bed, forcing it against the man’s throat. The man
winced in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pleaded for his life.
He didn’t listen.
“The names of your other friends. All of them.”
The father didn’t even hesitate a secind before he spilled all remaining three
names. Three.
He saw red as he plunged the knife into the man’s throat, ending his life.
Breathing heavily he turned back towards the girl on the bed who seemed just as
indifferent as before just staring at him.
He stood and went to the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He’d been
right. Blood was spluttered all over his face and shirt. His dark trousers
seemed more or less clean. Nonetheless he would dispose everything later on.
He turned on the tap and washed his hands and face. He knew he needed a plan
now. He was brilliant at cleaning up, never was any evidence found but now it
was different. He hadn’t had enough time to prepare everything and the blood
had soaked into the thick carpet of the room.
He would need to make do with what he had and erase any evidence of himself.
Besides that, there was no way he could carry four bodies out of the room
without being seen.
He watched the last of te blood mixed with water run down the drain, his face
clean again and so were his hands. He dryed himself on a clean part of his
shirt, not wanting to use a towel.
Eventually he went back into the main room, the girl still sitting on the bed
but she was looking at her dead father now.
He climbed onto the bed again, catching her attention and her eyes wandered
back to him.
“I’m sorry you had to see this.”, he said quietly. And he truly was. He
couldn’t change what she had been through, there was no need for him to
apologise because of that but he could apologise for what he had done. He did
not regret killing them, just that she was in the room when he did it.
“I’m not.”, she whispered, voice hoarse from cyring, clutching the blanket
tightly to her small body.
“We need to think what we’re going to do now. I would like to get you into a
hospital as soon as possible. Do you trust me?”
She scanned his face before she gave a brief nod.
“The hospital is going to ask questions and call the police because of what
happened to you. You can’t mention what I did. You need to tell them...”
“I ran away.”, she interrupted quietly, her gaze focusing on nothing in
particular. “They hurt me and I escaped and ran. You found me on the streets.”
He was amazed, truly. She was so young and yet said it with such a
determination.
“Very good, girl. Let’s get you some clothes.”
She followed him off the bed, stepping around the bloody bodies towards the
wardrobe.
He pulled out some of her clothes and handed them over.
“You feel the need to wash, I know, but don’t. We need the evidence. To make
the bad men go away.”
She nodded, dropping the sheet and trying to step into her pants.
He wanted to turn away just as she flinched in pain and hunched over, going to
her knees.
The shock had worn off and now she would feel horrible.
Immediately he was at her side, holding her shoulder gently.
“What’s wrong?”
“My... everything hurts. My tummy. And my chest.”
“I understand what you have been through and that you probably want to wait
until we’re in the hospital but will you allow me to check on you, just to make
sure I’m not endangering you while getting you there? I’m sutyding to be a
doctor at the moment.”
She looked at him with nothing but sheer trust in her eyes and nodded again.
He straightened her up carefully and touched the bruises on her ribs with his
fingertips. She flinched back, gasping in pain.
“Can you take a deep breath for me?”
She did. It was shaky and her face twisted in pain, tears in her eyes but she
could do it.
“Okay, it’s not broken but sprained. For everything else we need the hospital
to check you over. Come on.”
He carefully helped her into her clothes. She was so fragile and thin he
wondered that she had no broken bones.
Once she was dressed he gave her a little smile, holding out his hand.
“My name is Hannibal.”
She smiled back lightly, taking his hand in her small one.
“Annalise.”
“So, do you think I can borrow some clothes from your father?”
*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
“That’s a new piece in your collection, Hannibal.”
“Indeed it is, Tom.”
They were standing in front of a painting in Hannibal’s home after a successful
dinner party, each a glass of no doubt unbelievingly expensive white wine in
their hand.
Tom’s wife Barbara cam up beside her husband, studying the painting as well.
“It’s dark. Creepy.”
The painting was mostly black, only fine lines of yellowish white shining
through. And in the middle a pair of glowing, amber eyes, perfect in their
detail.
Alana appeared beside Hannibal as she did nowadays more and more often. He’d
been her advisor for some time but only lately she’d become this clingy. He did
invite her over for dinner, true, but only ever in the company of others,
figuring she might be useful later on.
“I don’t like it.”, Alana stated. “It’s like a picture straight out of a horror
movie.”
Hannibal smiled to himself.
“It’s called ‘Hero’.”
Alana cocked her eyebrow at him.
“Then there’s possibly something wrong with the painter.”
“Why would you think that? Maybe the circumstances were so terrible that the
monster itself became the hero.”
“I don’t like it.”, Alana insited.
He had given up trying to educate her in arts long ago.
“Actually it’s part of a series.”
“Yes?”, Tom asked.
Hannibal nodded.
“I bought all three of them but the other two didn’t arrive yet.”
“Where did you find the painter?”
“A vernisage in New York. Although the painter wasn’t present, only her
representative.”
“Must be very famous then.”
Hannibal smiled and took a sip of his wine.
“She is in Skandinavia and England, but she hates public displays of her own
person.”
Alana crossed her arms in fromt of her body.
“Arrogant probably.”
Hannibal wanted to hurt her, not neccessarily physically, but see her destroyed
and devastated in that moment.
“You need to invite us over again once the other pictures arrive.”
“Certainly.”
They rejoined the rest of their dinner party. Only Hannibal lingered behind for
a moment, eyes scanning the picture.
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