Chapter Text
DANGERSLUT: I wanna see Will in this.
GLITTERCROW:
YES!
I want to see him struggle as he’s held down, shouting as his hands are firmly guided through the wrist loops and secured to the bed. The orderlies remain silent as they work, upsetting Will significantly. When they don’t respond to him, they’re denying his sanity. In that moment, Will knows he’s been reduced to a raving lunatic that can’t be reasoned with.
What started out as angry ranting turns to desperate pleading as they file out of his cell. Will is left panting and crying as he exhausts his remaining energy uselessly trying to tug himself free.
DANGERSLUT:
And once Will starts begging and pleading, he just can’t stop and eventually he just starts screaming and crying. His hallucinations take over and he gets more and more distressed, pulling at the restraints until there is no way he won’t have bruises.
He’s so out of it that nothing Chilton does or says will calm Will, so they have to resort to sedating him.
And when he finally wakes back up, there is a strong but gentle hand stroking through his sweaty curls, saying something in a language he can’t understand, but he knows that voice. And as much as he hates Hannibal for putting him in here in the first place, he can’t help but feel relieved that the doctor is still there for him when he needs it.
TER0RR:
That fragile line between the real world and what remains of Hannibal inside Will’s mind shatters after the night of the attack. Hannibal coos to him about stressing his stitches, explaining that he’s only hurting himself.
His tired whimpering becomes something low and intimate. Tears slow and his eyes fall half shut to something resembling calm, as though the specter in his room has soothed the wild resistance in his limbs.
Chilton watches Will murmur and whine into the empty space. Sometimes, though he’d never admit it, he feels at a loss to help his patients. In this instance, if he had the option, he would have asked for Dr Lecter’s advice.
TELERA:
There is only one measure of comfort -real, genuine comfort, not the mind games Dr. Lecter plays with him. A nurse whispers to Will during lunch time. He brings a tray with a glass of juice and the mush Dr. Chilton says Will must eat to prevent voluntary or involuntary choking. It’s humiliating and disgusting to be forced to eat like a baby, but the nurse always has a shy smile for him.
'Lunch time, Mr. Graham'.
He loosens the restraints a little and helps him to sit on the bed, slowly, carefully.
'I know you're dizzy' he whispers 'Too long lying down, postural hypotension and all that'.
He says nothing else, and sits down on the chair of the corner keenly aware of the cameras that record everything in the room and send the live feed straight to Dr. Chilton’s laptop.
Dr. Lecter has managed to negotiate Will’s use of his right hand to feed himself, but the nurse watches with so much intent that Will has the feeling he’d like him to create some kind of commotion so that the privilege is revoked and Dr. Chilton orders the patient to be hand fed. And Will just knows the nurse is first in line for the honour.
Will swallows the bland, orange mush with a little grin, thinking that maybe he would relapse into a fit of rage and tears just in time for tomorrow’s lunch.