#; rejectory / hannibal & will / 002

[smokedanced]

                                   @rejectory    /    hannibal & will    /    as plotted ↷

Unsure... how he’s gotten here.  Will’s arm shakes so violently he has to grab it with his uninjured hand; he’s soaked from the rain, trembling softly all over.

He must’ve driven himself one-handed. His left hand doesn’t function; he can feel all his fingers, can technically move them, but doing so sends a searing pain so strong through his veins that it blurs his vision a little... Though maybe that’s just the rain in his eyes. Barefoot, in his pyjamas, the cold of the rain burns his skin as it hits him.

Dragging mud with his pants’ legs, he shelters himself almost flat against Hannibal Lecter’s front door to get away from the worst of the rain, and knocks rapidly.

It’s the middle of the night.

It’s the middle of the night but he has a large fishing hook through his palm, between the delicate bones of his hand, and while he doesn’t think he’s bleeding (some of the blood is wet, but it’s the rain, soaking the dried blood all over again), his options... He’s not sure how he’s gotten here, but it does seem better than the ER. He doesn’t feel like explaining how it happened. Hannibal knows he sleepwalks. Well, now he apparently also sleep-rams-sharp-objects-into-his-own-flesh. A short, dark laugh escapes him; how’s that for crazy? He’s harmed himself while unconscious, or just forgotten about it. Hell, he’s driven a car, in some semi-conscious state. Without even having put his shoes on. Maybe he does need to be locked up. If he can injure himself like this without being aware of it happening, how long until he begins to harm other people?

When the door unlocks, he doesn’t even look at Hannibal, just slinks in to the foyer like a cat, still dragging mud with his feet. Lifting his hand for his psychiatrist to see,    ❝ I need... I didn’t know where else to go. ❞