Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hannibal never once wondered, nor does he question himself about his own existence. He simply is, there and just him, a doll that can barely word out his thoughts or act out his mind, but he is still Hannibal all the same.  

Hannibal, a name his very dear owner gave him yet also a name such a dear person thrown away after his own valid has been sold and faded from worth of time and all he did was nothing to stop it - after all, would it be not ungrateful to do? Would it make him a bad possession to not being wanted and loved and cared for then? If so, why is he being thrown away, like nothing but trash and pollution that have no more value than just the digestion of a stomach - a fleeting feeling whenever the needs being met and subject being consumed, a flutter of heart and warmth of body only when it was collided and connected with skin and flesh, only to be later being drown in venomous gastric of acid and burning flame. Was he only worth that much? 

The doll cannot walk, but he can will himself to move his body, managing each small inches closer into where the window laid above his eyes, climbing upon the wall with that small body of his - one by one attempt of him seems to be futile with the built-up falls, head and body collapsing to the ground, fabric dusting in soil and mud, painting the already small body in a damp swamp of earth and grass mixed into strings of cotton and lines of small button shirt with beautiful touches of artwork - Hannibal never once ever felt so worthless before. 

The little thing never once wondered about his existence, but he does wonder what would happen to his owner if he were to be gone from the little boy’s life. Would he cry? Or will he be miserable without his favorite toy? There’s a sense of comfort in it, knowing that he is at least worth something, anything at all, to someone he loves and cares for so deeply. Perhaps it was merely a mistake that he was being discarded, maybe if he shows himself up in front of the beloved, he’d take him back.  

Maybe that thought was too far from his mind, and then perhaps he should’ve just let the impact of the ground dawn on him like a damned thing it should earlier just to break away his soul. Fragile thing did not even make a sound when he let the fall devour his whole, seeing the smile and laughter from his owner should’ve made him happy, but it was not - not like that, not with someone else other than him. 

For the first time in his life, Hannibal knew of jealousy, of sadness, of something that’s so close to disgust and fury. He doesn’t know what to do with these newfound feelings, but he doesn’t wish to care for it as much as he used to - not for his old owner, not for anyone. He doesn’t need anybody, not anymore. 

Albeit bitter, the doll could not help letting the taste linger and mingling between the filthy dirt clinging around his delicate body like a haunted reminder that he’s just an abandoned, worthless thing. He moves and moves, but to where? The little doll doesn’t have anywhere to go, he doesn’t have a home anymore, nor does he even want to have somewhere to belong to any longer.  

So Hannibal waved his body to continue forward, from day to night - from nightmare of the dark to the delight of the sun, to the warmth of comfort to be able to feel curious until the flush of rejection flooding into his being like a bolting light, blinding his soul in an endless abyss of miserability, unable to make his escape through the wall that somehow built up within his mind like a hunger that lurking behind its prey. At one point, his body given up to fatigue and began to just let loose to gravity as it pulls him under, belying his helpless body somewhere down the corner, a place dark enough to hide from attention, somewhere that can at least cover his filthy fabric body from shame - even though he’s well aware such a doll wouldn’t be able to stay on anyone’s mind for the barest of second. 

Hannibal’s eyes are made from small strings connected with soft fabric and button shirts, setting prettily on his face, decorated above the small nose and tiny lips, his owner used to call him the most gorgeous doll to ever exist - along with the promise of forever and eternity, which of course is a lie. Perhaps he’s not even the most perfect or even the prettiest doll, maybe he was doomed to be trash, easily to be disposed, easily to be considered useless when the value was lost. 

People from the street walking through, either with happiness of joy or sadness of misery, the kids accompanying them with a smile on their innocent faces, and the way those little children clutching onto their parents’ hand just made him feel even more pathetic. 

Morning sunlight did a thing for his body, fresh and warmth building inside the cotton material of the little doll despite his own unwanted appearance. Birds and flowers only add more to his loneliness, solitude would soon be his friend, how... tedious.  

People bored him to the core, have yet to bring out anything within him any less than just a fraction of sympathy for the bullying they’re going through. His previous owner was a happy boy, avoid from scars and harm as well as everything would always come to him just from one word alone, a shame such a thing can’t happen to just everyone in the world, much less the child in front of him.  

Hannibal is curious, for how bruised and beaten to blue that human in front of him, dare he guess was from abuse - although he wasn’t sure if that’s the right word. The boy was beautiful, even beneath those scars and wrecked flock of hair showcasing down his face, his blue eyes were a piercing crystal thing, shining under his fluttering lashes are a pair of unyielding desire to fight, to live, to survive . Even so, there’s some small, just a tiny bits and pieces where the loneliness was of most prominent, transparently so as he watches him looking down to the ground, nodding his head to the side as tears slowly flowing through his swollen eyes, red and puffy from fights of his own childhood.  

 Hannibal contemplates whether he should try to hide himself, but the moment when the boy’s sobs became too intense, a deafening sound choked past his lips, and for a moment his broken heart has yet to heal willed him to move closer - for whatever reason there is, Hannibal felt that this boy needs him.  

Will doesn’t think much about his situation, he was used to being mistreated and neglected of love from a quite young age - though he does plead to whatever god that exists outside of his mind that just one, at least once in his life does he not feel miserable. The little boy doesn’t desire much, only someone he can rely his loneliness on, perhaps just a stuffed animal is fine, so it can accompany him through the darkest night and engaging with him in the harsh reality of morning revealing under his window.  

His face would always be ruined by a mess of scars and blood running over his soft, young skin where his flesh had yet to develop and body had yet to grow, though the pain had only faded by time, leaving only litters of purple all over his shattered body.  

But maybe that was a little too arrogant in saying he can fight it all, playing against the rules of God and the stronger beings above him.  

His father used to call him sweet, smiling and praising him with good grace, telling him he’s a gifted boy, misses his soothing voice and reassurances, only if he’s still here. 

If God gives his toughest battles to the strongest soldiers, would Will be abandoned if he dared to try and lay his head down to give up? Would he be ridiculed, only because he wishes to be loved? Why would he be this way, miserable and uncared, lost for a true home where a father should be and replaced with a woman that doesn’t best to give him a glance of her eyes? Is this what he deserves? Will swear he has never done anything to be of deserving these, nothing . Yet, it all just happened all the same. 

The same as just his only friend take her own life just because she stood up for him, perhaps the bullies were right, perhaps he should’ve just gone since he was born.  

Small figure only stands there, bearing with all the beating and calling, from names he has heard to those he never thought he’d would be represented as - never mind tears, not even a single emotion was on his wrecked face - from rocks to oily, sticky eggs coming his way like a train that’s unable to stop. He just stood there, head down and eyes closed, his mind silenced, ticking back to those his past were still a color of happiness.  

The boy stayed there until dawn covering the sky and the kids’ tired breath became a visible thing, his body ached and numb and pained but still living, at least he’s still breathing, but Will Graham never once was grateful for it. He watches as those leaving, back hunched and jaw twisted in dissatisfaction, for a moment he feels as if he has won. Another battle where he’s the last to stand, for how filthy and disoriented he is, maybe that wouldn’t be something to be proud of after all.  

His feet dragging his body heavily on the ground, footfalls stomping, steps stumbling with fervor pain seeping through his joints. And then altogether, letting the pull of dull suffering take hold of his body and let him freefall off the embrace of cold air, back pointing towards the ground with a thud, as if the impact was no trouble for him at all. But before the boy could do anything, somehow his eyes burning up with water, hot flesh accompanying with painful memories as the flood of tears swelling his face, touching all over the bruises that took place upon his own fragile visage, obscuring his features with salty taste linger with blood and sweat with all the eggs and dirt that was covering from the point where his hair has fallen down - brown soft curls slick and messy, to where the blood still trickling from his lips. 

And for the first time, Will feels so pathetic and lonely, his body convulses with a suffocating groan, hurting to the point he can no longer hold in his tears and put up his own defense. For the very first time in his life, the young Will Graham cried tears.  

Hannibal watches, looks and sees from where he’s sitting in the corner, nearing the trash bin as he gazes out towards the little boy, listening closely to the broken and choked up sounds made from the vulnerable thing before him. “Don’t cry.” his voice echoed, and the doll gasped by how careless he is in revealing himself, what just happened that makes him say it out loud?  

Will flinched, head nodding up from his spot, he couldn’t see much from the puffed eyes, but his vision was clear enough to crawl closer to where the sound was, and he was slightly surprised. “Huh?”  

This is not good, completely doomed to demise - he shouldn’t have come near, he shouldn’t even feel sympathy for the thing that abandoned him. He knew he can’t risk being exposed, so he stays silent when Will’s hand slowly picks him up from the ground. The little thing can feel the cuts running all over that hand that offered to him, smell the pungent scent of blood and burned flesh posed from the young child in front, fear suddenly colored in something of pity that he once again finds that urge to speak more to him, though Hannibal only stay silent. 

“Pretty.” was the first word the boy said when he got the chance to grace the doll with his eyes, the way his pupils dilated to happiness, despite the dirty and destroyed, almost too filthy in its state, Will found himself suddenly fascinated at the little stuffed doll that’s resting easily on his palms. “Wonder if that voice was yours, or I’m just... having hallucinations again.” he chuckled, voice ragged on a whimpering pain from his throat, yet his smile was ever the brightest since he was born. 

Hannibal’s mind struck on a track, running miles a second, almost in a maze before a stunning god. Will’s beauty was on another otherworldly level, never had he imagined once he’d seen a pulped face be so... mesmerizing. And for the first time ever - not even since his previous owner - the doll thought to belong to someone so badly. 

Will rubs on his eyes, scrubbing away the dirt as much as he could, a small smile bloomed on his lips just from the act. “There you go, a little better now.” the little child stated innocently, sitting down with his back leaning on the nearby bin while his eyes never once strayed from the new thing he just found.  

Hannibal then just couldn’t bear himself to continue, he wanted to speak, wanted to voice out his thoughts, wanted to desire for this very boy before his eyes. What if he does? Would he be considered a crazy thing? What if the child didn’t believe him? Would he be thrown away, again ? He doesn’t even dare to think about such a thing anymore. Ultimately once again, Hannibal couldn’t be able to will himself and let the sound to go pass his body, only a breeze running through Will’s skin to accompany the loneliness he could very well consoled but never did. 

Will took his time to admire the little doll in his hands, the sensation the cotton fabric gave in against his skin, soft and ever so tender to the touch, his eyes shining with a sense of childish joy at having some sort of toy. “How about you go home with me?” a low smile painted on his lips, tears swelled beneath his lashes but now it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. “I could use some company.” the child chuckled. 

The small doll’s thoughts instantly take a turn, a sort of scenario whispering against his ears, alarmingly telling him to run. But before the poor thing could act on his mind, the boy had already run back to his house, hand grabbing tightly upon his small, delicate cotton body while his face planted to such a bright sight, maybe Hannibal might be in love - as far as he understood the terms, at least for the moment, he’ll accept whatever this predicament would lead. Perhaps until then, it won’t be too late to run away. 

Chapter Text

The doll woke up with a start, startled by the presence of a weighing hand covering his whole body and it glanced to the side, only to be met with one little figure of a young boy - earthy deep brown crowning under his head, Will’s body curled beneath the bedsheet while his arms cradle Hannibal’s delicate body close as if the thing was that big to hold onto, the bruises upon his face lightly hidden by the dim light from the window shield, freshening his fairly skin color and the beaten skin stitching down alongside it, tree branches knocking quietly against the frame just above their heads and Hannibal struggle to bypass the delicate cage-like flesh holding him within. He jumps off the bed, the floor a touching sound against cotton fabric of his own making.  

Beside the tiny wooden bed lying awake in the corner, there is not much of interior to list out from. He approaches a shard of mirror sitting across the room barely a few feet away from the child’s resting place, it seems like this was the only thing that can reflect inside this abandoned house, mold damping on the floor with dirt scattering layers against any space one could look for.   

As he stares at himself, the realization came thundering back that he is once again inside a human’s property, a little boy at that. The small thing refocuses back down to the piece of glass, then seems to him that the other child has taken care of all the filth that once imprinting his body, despite doing poor job at it - perhaps due to other multiple circumstances that he may not be aware of yet, so he spared himself the doubt for now. Even without a mouth, Hannibal seems to smile at the image of a caring hand touching him, whispering love against his ears like the good old time when he was still his owner’s beloved toy. He wonders if this time it’ll be different.  

It flew up, settling its little feet down upon the mattress. The darkness danced across the bounds of Will’s hair like an illusion, illuminated under the guise of moonlight prickling his skin - the wounds seem to be all the more captivating, if anything. “Pretty.” the doll uttered quietly into the night, a smile threatens to spill from his non-existence mouth. As his tiny cotton pads down the floor, exploring his new surrounding with renew interest.  

As if the flitting lighting has disturbed him - the boy rose against rustling bedsheet underneath, looking as almost miserable the first time he met him, which just was a day before, although he couldn’t bare his throat out and comment about how beautiful the boy still looks right that moment, its heart was supposed to jump and doing some giddy dance if it were real. Unfortunately it was not, and Hannibal felt glad that he is just a doll, right - a doll with soul . He didn’t let his thoughts drift to the darker corner of the roots underneath the jumble his mind is, he couldn’t as if the little boy next to it were eyeing him like the piece of picked-up treasure he possibly has became.  

“Oh, you’re here.” the boy shook his head twice off the slumber haze that clung to his head and glanced at the doll by the time he fell on the sloppy spot it found on a surprised attempt of not moving under his gaze. Will belatedly smiled sweetly, and the crinkle crooks those layers of deep purple upon the light flesh with its shine of golden transparency feel from the little heat of sunlight. “I’m glad you’re here, Mister Cotton.”  

Mister Cotton ? Hannibal’s face would scrunch at the new name gave by the child if he had the face to support that theory. Yet its happiness might be just palpable like the current warmth that’s kissing the kid’s bruised skin. Those blue eyes turned a cold, muted gray color while they twinkled a bit much under all those slumber air. Then the lights brush past most like wind swept, sun ray felt almost a comfort of the past when the boy sat away from it to fumble at his dirty, worn-out flannel that’s a size too big on his body now that he’s observe more carefully.  

There it was, the delicate scent of soil and spoiled food mingled, it salts on his sense nearly as much as the bruise of the kid’s skin. And the child sniffled as if knowing the doll can smell it – it made zero sense to Hannibal, but he felt the twinge of old betrayal floated above the fabric humans would calls it skin. How dare this child cry? How dare he, when the doll itself has suffered so much and yet still stay with him and accepted him, yet he cried as if he’s being mistreated. How dare he mock the value of the doll he picked up? How dare he himself care that the boy cried so sorrowfully?  

The boy cradled the doll in his arms following rocking motion, ridiculously cheerful despite the tears he fought to stay a strong false outer look. And the wrath died down by a replaced taste of serene security, perhaps even pity but he denied for the word felt too condescending even to his pathetic, abandoned Hannibal self. The boy’s flesh felt akin to wrapped sandpaper, a marred of smoothness which undermined the rough that grounds it up. Hannibal knew the human before it can safely be categorized as someone that would hurt him.  

The thought of getting torn and abandoned apparent, elicited dread in order for impending stress later to came bite him in his ugly, cotton swallowed guts. It surrendered instantly to despair, then flight toward the warmth slowly seeps into him due to the shift of the arms currently hugging him tight.  

Hannibal rested at the edge of worn wood-made cabinet placed on the empty hallway in front of what’s supposed to be the bathroom, it seems this boy named Will is getting more familiar with his new toy with introduction of where he is staying at – Hannibal debated calling it a house, then quickly decided against it based on how bad it is from his refined taste. Yes, his sophisticated self would dare not allow this place to be called less than a dirty wood cave. Degrading enough, but not too degrading since it’s truthful.  

His old owner would fill his perfect wooden desk with glitter of poetry titles and beautiful drawings and laugh his delightful and childish laugh that’s a bit choked in the middle row, he’s everything this child doesn’t have, Hannibal doesn’t understand why one must suffer, but the doll knew the doubt is fading as it saw the scars below the waistband peeked at him when Will stood from the final water splash to the face. What happened to him so bad that he became such a distress youth? Would he one day tell Hannibal?  

He couldn’t understand why he was thinking like that, or even attempt to nearly spoke his voice. Everything abruptly confused his entire being. This is way outside the realm where he only saw happy face and bubbly cheeky eyes, plates filled nice food and room faced toward skies and cloud aligned so clear it looked like art afar. This place was too empty, too bare and cold and anything else he doesn’t know of saying, but he was certain that this place reek of sadness, one that overwhelmed him.  

Will eyes the doll with a pleasant, fresh look before it shaded down to light flush against the cheek, he almost thought the battered flesh just healed with only dirty water and amazed. These hurts were pretty on the boy, Hannibal prefers him to be without them, however.  

“Mister Cotton, will you be friends with me?” the young child laid down bed once dry, he puts on the same dirty uneven socks and over-sized red flannel but not care to button it up, seeming to be more comfortable revealing the scars branded to his lower abdomen. “You’re so precious, Mister Cotton. So I hope you will be my friend forever.”  

How foolish can a person be to ask such naive question? Hannibal doesn’t ask. Flood of foreign emotions threaten to spill his words over, it wasn’t the matter that a doll like him could have emotions at all without understanding them, but it was the sudden loyalty after being betrayed that unnerve his being yet they were all him in a same, sane way that Hannibal would want to describe himself and be content with it. He should feel proud for how human he is, but all he could be in now was an unyielding distress that shouldered him – the boy with dreamlike hope and the crooked half smile he came to made Hannibal churned with affection. Like the vile thing the doll is, he hated himself for even consider truly loyal to another once more.  

Here he is, sincerely considering it, it’s not like the Will child could understand his talk. But he still does so anyway.  

By the moment his time shifted within the comfort of another, revenge soon dissipated through a waveway. And so he decided to give this time a final chance at his happiness.