Chapter Text
Everything seemed to scream around him. Frederick knew in all certainty there was no escape. If he went to the police they would lock him up without question. This whole scenario made him realise two very important things; seeing Hannibal as the bogeyman with an almost supernatural power to manipulate events around him was a gross underestimation and that he has no friends. None. Not even acquaintances. The only people he really talks to were inmates and Abel Gideon made clear that their threats to gut him were not actually threats but promises that they would keep if given the chance. And right now he is wondering if being gutted is the easiest way out of this mess. He does have one option – Will Graham. The man he practically abused. The man who seemed more interested in playing cat and mouse (more like cat and cat) with Hannibal rather than actually capturing the cannibal.
He swerved the car onto the grass beside the road and stopped it. He had to think quickly, what is his next step? Frederick reached under the seat and felt around. Relief filled him up as he realised the gun was still there. Now three options – 95% chance of death or worse by attempting to get rid of the source of all his problems, go to Will and either be turned into the police (75%), have a potential ally (5%) or be turned over to Hannibal as a form of revenge (20%), or go to the police himself where he will be at the mercy of incompetents who are being manipulated by the cannibal himself. The last two are too open ended for his liking as Hannibal is still around pulling strings. He could try running as Hannibal expected but if that’s what Hannibal wants that is the last thing he should do. There is only one option in his mind – kill the cannibal. He wonders if this is what bravery felt like but he knew deep down this was an act of cowardice as he would rather things end then look over his shoulder for the rest of his life especially when the thing he is looking out for is Hannibal the Cannibal (and maybe Will, he’s not sure how that one will play out). Frederick turns the car around and starts driving towards the future gravesite with a little too much confidence which was probably more like panic induced mania.
Frederick reached the house and parked up the front of the driveway so Hannibal couldn’t hear him. His heart was pounding and the gun in his hand was shaking. He was considering just turning around and re-evaluating, but he is here now. It felt like a point of no return. He tried to make sure he wasn’t in line of sight of the windows as he crept up to the door. He decided to try opening the door hoping it wasn’t locked. It opened. This has to be a trap. But there is no way Hannibal would think I would come over to his house to kill him. He slowly pushed it forward and he took his shoes off to increase his stealth and then closed the door behind him. His panic subsided for a millisecond as it shut quietly and then the panic rose again as he came to grips with his situation. He is in Hannibal’s house. He crept forward and heard a small noise from the kitchen that froze him in fear but after a while he pushed onwards towards the noise, the one thing you don’t do in a horror movie.
Frederick entered the kitchen and saw Hannibal decorating cupcakes of all things at the counter. Frederick paused for a second before pointing his gun at Hannibal. The man didn’t even look up and continued his work with careful hands. Frederick assumed that maybe Hannibal hadn’t seen him and thought maybe he should announce his presence before killing him but then recognised this was his best chance and so began to fire.
Nothing happened but a pitiful clicking sound. His mouth opened in a ‘oh’ shape as his literal worst nightmare occurred but outside of the click he was silent. Hannibal still hadn’t noticed him, he had to be fast and figure out what went wrong. The safety’s off. It didn’t sound like a jam. The gun fumbled in his hands and nearly fell to the ground before he caught it. He looked up and Hannibal was still working on the cupcakes but there was definitely a smirk.
There was a clearing of a throat that shattered the silence into a million pieces and seemed to slice Fredericks body and force its way down his throat. He was being strangled by fear and it felt so real that he wanted to bring his hands to his throat to tear whatever was in there out.
“Would you like one?” Hannibal looked up at him and with one hand gestured to the desert. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s face but after what felt like a minute (but only a few seconds) of him being stunned and Hannibal not moving, his eyes slowly went down Hannibal’s arm, then hand, and then he looked at the cupcakes. They looked like open wounds with blood like sludge coming out of holes. Holes with bullets stuck in them, digging into the fleshy sponge. Bullets… Fuck. He took out the magazine knowing what he would find but felt compelled to look anyway. It was empty.
“Fuck” Frederick said. The first thing he said in over an hour and it felt like defeat.
Hannibal tutted in response. “Language.”
It caught him so off guard that he felt laughter in bubble up in his chest right alongside the nausea and regret. Is there any way out of this? He quickly scanned the room and saw the knife set calling out to him like poisoned water.
“Are you sure?” Hannibal looked at the knives and then him.
“I’ve already screwed up, what would it matter? Me staying still is a zero percent chance of survival, going for knives; one percent.” He doesn’t know why he told Hannibal that, he should have just gone for the knives, but he feels like he needs to wait for something.
“The difference that matters is not in your chances of getting out but rather of how irritated I am by your presence” Hannibal replied, not at all worried by the intruder with homicidal intentions.
Frederick made a dash for the knife set and just as he reached out to grab the handle a heavy, wooden breadboard collided into his face causing him to fall down with a crash. It cracked two of his teeth and split his skin. An unsettling amount of blood streamed from his nose and mouth. He went to go stand and retreat, but his head and ears rung causing a sequence of half making it up and falling back down which made him look like he was crawling away rather than running. He tried to get his balance but fell face first into the ground as his hand slipped on blood. Suddenly he was being dragged backwards by an iron grip around his ankle. He tried to kick and claw his way out, but he was completely useless. A sharp pain on his thigh and then his world went black.