Hannibal's house (which Jono's not speaking to him in (ha) ), Friday

[sharp_as_knives]

Lucille, Hannibal had no doubt, had heard the entire altercation with Jack. But she was inclined to murder herself, and had helped him after, so he wasn't worried about that.

Sparkle, on the other hand, he had little doubt had also heard, and he'd not seen hide nor hair of the boy since. And while Sparkle did seem to harbor his own sort of ruthlessness, it hadn't yet extended to murder save when they hadn't entirely been themselves.

So, Hannibal had phoned him and left a message. A request, not a demand, to speak with him.

Now he waited and hoped.


[Hannibal's home all day; open post other than Sparkle's thread. The nature of Jack's beef with Hannibal and the discussion of murdertimes NFB!]

Comments

[myownface]

Sparkle swallowed, and then he shrugged.

"It's... I mean, not fine. It's not. But it isn't like anybody but you three got hurt." Hannibal, Jack, and Starsmore. It could've been him or Lucille, though. There had been a gun waving around, after all. Sparkle had to remind himself that. "Optimistic about what?"

That part seemed... odd. A cop shows up with murder in mind. What is there to be optimistic about?

[sharp_as_knives]

"Jack was my friend, and is an FBI agent," Hannibal answered. He sat on the couch and urged Sparkle to do the same. "He has always been a good man. At the worst, I hadn't thought he would endanger anybody but me."

[myownface]

Sparkle's teeth clenched, but he sat down, maybe a foot or so farther from Hannibal that he would have normally. And when he did, his back was stiff as a board, and he was sitting ahead enough on the sofa that he could dart to his feet and bolt if need be. He probably could have stood to be subtler about it, but he wasn't really in any state to care.

"He didn't sound like much of a friend from where I was sitting," he said, voice flat. "He sounded like an angry cop trying to murder a--"

He choked on it. Whatever word was going to leave his mouth next, he couldn't.

[sharp_as_knives]

"That, too," Hannibal agreed. "He has been through quite a bit of stress recently, and likely more I'm not aware of. It would appear to have made him more vicious than previously."

[myownface]

Sparkle swallowed, and then stared quietly down at the floor, heart beating a tattoo in his ears, breath... not cooperating, so much.

He licked his lips.

"Sounded to me like he felt pretty certain he was doing the right thing."

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal gave a shrug, slightly aborted due to his sore ribs.

"Most people do. People rarely set out to do something they believe is wrong. We all see ourselves as the heroes of our stories."

[myownface]

"How about you?"

Sparkle glanced Hannibal's way, trying to keep the hurt from his face. Trying to find some sense in all of this.

"What story are you the hero of?"

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal thought about it. "I do my best to make the world a better place, and to help those I care about to be true to themselves and live as successfully as possible."

He gave Sparkle a calm and direct look. "Nobody should be afraid of themselves, or hindered by the specious expectations of others."

[myownface]

Sparkle bit the inside of his cheek, gently at first, but harder as Hannibal spoke until, a few moments later, he could taste blood.

He swallowed.

"And killing people helps that?"

Really, it was a miracle he managed to get those words out at all. An even bigger miracle still that he didn't shrink back once he had.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal just smiled a little. "I think it does. I've killed quite a few people the world - or worlds - would be better off without." He thinned his lips. "There are regrettably many of them. People who revel in making life difficult for others, in preying upon children, in abusing their power."

[myownface]

... Oh, Hannibal. Invoking children. You were good.

Sparkle swallowed, and pulled in a deep breath. He couldn't even argue that. Couldn't point out that Hannibal was listing the exact sort of thing that the police were there for. After all, the police hadn't done such a great job of protecting kids like him. And now he was a fugitive, himself.

"You're a hunter, then."

A beat.

"No. A predator."

[sharp_as_knives]

"In the more traditional sense of the word, I suppose I am," Hannibal agreed. "I cull the undesirable animals from the herd."

[myownface]

"Animals," Sparkle echoed, and a desperate little noise followed it, a brief, high-pitched giggle. He reached his hands up and wrapped his arms around himself. "Fuck, seriously? Animals?"

[sharp_as_knives]

"Is there a better word for them?" Hannibal asked. "Most animals are better intentioned than the ones I kill, it's true. A cow or a pig doesn't force itself upon others or make their lives miserable. A deer or even a wolf never intends to behave cruelly toward its young or others of its kind. Humans often do. Regrettably so."

[myownface]

Sparkle... was feeling like he wanted to be sick, again. Sick, because he'd lived under that. He'd been taken away from it, but those scars ran deeper than most.

"Then the word for them is 'human,'" he replied, quietly. "If nothing else is as cruel as we can be, that's the only word that fits."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Human, then." Hannibal offered Sparkle a hug if he wanted it. He seemed to need it, but Hannibal wasn't going to presume. "And what does that make those of us who strive to be better? Are we gods? Monsters?"

[myownface]

"Human, too." Sparkle considered that offered hug quietly. Wanted to crawl into it and just pretend yesterday hadn't happened. Instead, he balled himself up that much more tightly, and tried to ignore the tears that were stinging at his eyes. "That's the great thing about humanity. We have this awesome potential to be as kind or as shitty to one another as we please. Even our monsters are only human. And not even the fucking pope is actually divine."

[sharp_as_knives]

"All true," Hannibal said. "So it would appear I am merely human after all."

He reached for the nearby box of tissues, wincing as he did so, and placed them discreetly next to Sparkle in case he needed them.

"I promise you I have never lied to you, save by omission. I have only ever wanted the best for you, and continue to do so. Can you believe me?"

[myownface]

"I..." Sparkle took a shaking breath, and then hitched his shoulders upward. "I mean, I don't know. Lying by omission doesn't hurt any less when it crawls back to smack you in the face."

He should know. He was a master liar. At least when he was on point, anyway. He hadn't been that so much lately.

"And I've never met anybody so good at it."

That scared him a little. Almost much as the killing. Almost as much as the eating.

[sharp_as_knives]

"By necessity, I'm afraid," Hannibal answered. "I would be pleased to be open with everybody, but that would rather limit my options, I'm afraid." Mostly to death or jail.

He shook his head. "I am truly sorry. I never intended for you to learn of it like this. Particularly not after the summer you've had. I had hoped to continue to be a safe place for you to retreat."

[myownface]

"I'm sorry, too," Sparkle murmured, and after a moment he did make a reach for the tissues. The stinging tears had become rolling tears, and he was mostly just refocusing his efforts on stopping himself from breaking into little hiccuping sobs, now, instead. "God. You've been family. I've never had anybody in my life who even tried to be what you've been. A-and I can't... I mean..."

Still no sobs, but a frustrated sound, and then he was pressing his face into his knees.

"Snakes," he muttered. "It's all snakes, all the way down."

Another Sparkle, a different lifetime, looking at Hannibal as a father. Smiling and laughing and talking about hurts and healing and swapping favourite recipes. Knowing damn well what he was putting into his mouth. Who he was putting into his mouth. He'd put that time to the side, he'd dismissed it as nothing. Just another trick of the island.

Not real.

The only difference had been himself.

[sharp_as_knives]

Still moving carefully, from necessity as much as anything, Hannibal slid a little closer and put a hand on Sparkle's back. "I still would like to be that, if you'll have me. Eventually, if not right now."

[myownface]

Sparkle didn't pull away, or even really look up. He just stayed there, face in his knees, tears soaking into his jeans. God, the universe was one big fucking joke, wasn't it? One big, sick fucking joke, and his life was the punchline.

He wasn't even using that tissue he'd taken. He was just holding it in his hand, in a crumpled ball, knuckles white.

"I don't know. I don't feel like I know anything, right now."

[sharp_as_knives]

"Then allow me to tell you a few things," Hannibal said. "You are stronger and more resilient than you believe yourself to be. You have, nevertheless, experienced a great deal of trauma, both recently and generally. It can be difficult for even the strongest to deal with that. I have faith you will, but don't expect it to be instantaneous. And never be afraid to lean upon your friends, even when they are partially the cause of the problem."

Which would probably benefit Atton's cause as well, but some things couldn't be helped.

[myownface]

... And Sparkle had been doing such a good job of not sobbing, too. Here Hannibal came, with that same calm voice he always used, speaking the same reassuring words he always did, and Sparkle had spent years taking them at face value, certain that Hannibal understood and that he was a better person for following his lead.

And now there were little things, clicking into place. Those glimpses of other realities, back when the island... broke. The way he'd calmly but firmly reassured him that the life he'd taken when fleeing captivity wasn't something that he should beat himself up over. That crawling off feeling about Hannibal that Atton complained about more frequently than not.

For the first time ever, so many things about Hannibal made a complete, terrifying sort of sense. And they raised an infinite number of other questions.

"I'm... so... fucking... I'm just tired. I'm tired and and and breathing hurts and I want... I just want but I don't even know what anymore. I don't know what I want or what I fucking need right now. I think- I think this is where people say they want to go home, and I can't, I never could. I feel flat, I haven't felt flat like I feel flat these days since I was a kid, since it first really hit me that I couldn't go home again, and I miss. I miss my sister. I miss when we'd hide up on the roof and the stories we'd make up so we couldn't hear what was going on downstairs and I miss running away, miss when a walk down the street was a big adventure and there was nothing in the world to be afraid of, miss feeling like so long as I wasn't there I was invincible. I miss stupid things, I miss living where people call it pop instead of soda, miss watching stupid Canadian content garbage cartoons on Saturday mornings and remember when Saturday mornings were actually for garbage cartoons? I miss when I thought Lewis cared when I thought the police cared when I thought somebody would teach me what a home was before I learned that I was too old to be wanted, too damaged to be desired, cute, I was cute, but just not what they were looking for at this time. I miss when I didn't know what it meant when my heart fluttered when Lewis looked at me a certain way, I miss believing him when he told me it was okay to cry and I was normal no matter what the world said or how many times I'd have to fight just because I painted my nails or tried on some girl's shoes or was caught looking at the wrong guy and I miss winters so cold they burn and fireworks three days earlier in the month of July and when I almost believed that Christmas meant something even if I couldn't ever bring myself to believe that it was somehow a good thing that some big man was sneaking down the chimney, not after knowing too fucking well what it was that strangers could do, not after knowing that it wasn't half as bad as the things that could be done by the people you're supposed to trust. I miss not flinching when the lights go out. I miss sleep. I miss sleep and dreams that aren't just flashes of lights and screams and the smell of burning, greasy burning meat and terror and fucked-up renditions of Cabaret and I miss waking up and not wishing I was still asleep because the nightmares are better than feeling like I'll never breathe again. I miss my cat. Oh god, I miss my cat. And I miss school and I miss-- I miss me, and I wouldn't know him to see him, he forgot how to breathe when he was six years old and he's been flat and tired and scared ever since."

Maybe he would have kept going. Maybe he had more to say. But it was difficult to get the words out around the choking, racking sobs, so he just curled up all the more, and he continued to cry.