Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hannibal Lecter was a man of status. He performed every task of daily life gracefully and put together. He was not a murderer. Nor a killer. He was a predator. He ate those beneath him.

Same as his pets. He was not a shaggy, scruffy frazzled creature like Will Graham who would take in every one of those mutts if he could. Hannibal didn't mind it to be honest. He thought it was sweet. If Will could care for a street mutt what else could he care for? Hannibal hoped he wasn't below a street dog in Will's list of caring.

Hannibal had his own pets. Predators, just as he was. Oscars. He was a man of appearances and that included his pets. His assorted color Oscars were beautiful. Lovely creatures.

They too were like him. Eating technically the same creatures, but not murder. Everyone knew when Oscars fed they were not killers. They were simply feeding. Same as Hannibal. He was not deluding himself or denying that he ate the same creatures as himself but even he could recognize that it was the same as his Oscars.

Hannibal walked over to his tank. A massive, majestic thing, 200 gallons and containing five Oscars of varying colors. A tiger, albino, red, lemon and monochrome. The fish had grown exponentially since he had bought them from the breeder. No use getting inbred and abused animals from your average pet store. He had no business supporting those.

They pace their tank. Waiting for their prey to be dropped in. Their powerful tails stirred up the gravel, swirling rocks through the water. Reaching the opposite wall they would turn and continue stalking their enclosure. Hannibal would not stand to have plastic plants in with his prized fish, he wouldn't have it if they got hurt on the cheap plastic. And god, the micro plastics? Horrendous.

He fed them a diet of worms, small crustaceans, assorted insects, fruits, nuts and both of their favorite, other fish. The Oscars had no qualms of eating a species similar to them. They knew it wasn't wrong. Just as Hannibal did. The fish were not murderers for eating kin, and he was not a murderer for eating the pigs below him.

Those who came over did not seem to appreciate the fish. Small sidelong glances. Weary of the beady eyes set upon the uneven flesh of assorted colors. Ever so slightly flinching when the fish ate. They seemed to disapprove of the fish all together. They didn't believe that what the fish ate was right. That eating its own kind was unjust. They never seemed to notice that they were just as bad as the fish. They were consuming their own kind. Pigs.

He had Dr. Frederick Chilton and Will Graham over for dinner. Dr. Chilton desperately clinging to the idea of fame from being the first to study the animal that was Will. To discover what made him tick, how he operated. What went on in that sweet, delectable head.

Hannibal knew. He knew what made the man tick, what aggravated him, everything that went on in that beautiful head. Will had let him in. Will trusted the hawk that was Hannibal. Hannibal too trusted Will from the ends of the damn earth to the edge of the universe. Hannibal would cut down anyone and everyone in this disgusting earth for Will. His cunning boy.

He cared less for Chilton. He truly only kept him around because Hannibal needed somewhere to put the broken minds of his patients. Chilton was one of those spooked by his beauties. Will and the fish. Will for everything that made him Will and the fish because he knew those five fish meant more to the famed psychiatrist, Hannibal, than he ever could. Choosing whenever possible to sit as far away from the tank, never quite making eye contact as Hannibal spoke about them. Squirmed a bit in his seat when their diet was mentioned. Shifted his food around uncomfortably when the fish's feeding time happened to occur when he was in his house.

They were having pig tongue that night. Hannibal had just released some small feeder fish into the Oscars tank. He sat down at the head of the table, tank situated behind him. Chilton was looking between Will on the fish. Not wanting either out of his sight. He seemed to want to clear the silence he probably interpreted as awkward between the three men.

“Pretty odd that those fish of yours, Hannibal, eat each other if given the chance. A bit gruesome don't you think? I would hate to be a fish like that. Feasting on the flesh of my own kind? Terrible.” Chilton spoke, with an ever so slight tremble of the voice.

“Ah do not criticize the fish. You currently eat the tongue of a pig. You don't believe that is wrong? Eating the tongue of an animal many religions and cultures don't even eat because of its filth. Do you not feel filthy? Guilty you consume another creature's flesh?” Hannibal replied.

“Well. Yes but this tongue was rightfully taken. The pig was probably dead anyway.” Chilton stood up for himself. Not very well.

“Oh but do not say that. You never know when someone may take your tongue.” Hannibal, very pleased with himself, took a bit of pig tongue with a miniscule smile on his face.

“This was a pig, Hannibal. I assume it was carefully butchered?”

“Most carefully butchered. Hardly even took that pig's life. It was quite an unruly and obnoxious pig anyway.”

Will was not amused.