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]

"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.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Sparkle as best he could, and held on. He had other things to say to that, but not until Sparkle could hear them. For now, he held him, and he hummed - no words, no tune, just a comforting rumble.

[myownface]

This time, Sparkle didn't flinch. Didn't go tense, didn't lean away, didn't pretend Hannibal wasn't there. There were arms around him. Strong arms, if careful ones, offering him comfort. And comfort was something he'd been needing more and more, lately. He found himself leaning back into those arms, just the slightest bit, aware of the fact that the person holding him was injured, that leaning too hard would make matters worse.

He cried. He cried and he felt small and he felt scared and he felt like the world was closing in around him and the air was all gone, but he was being held.

He cried until the tears were gone, and he was just left in a quiet ball, his head full that weird, faraway sort of gauzy ache that only came after a good cry, and he punctuated the silence with the occasional sniffle. And when he was done crying, he didn't move away. He just let himself stay there, let himself sit with those arms around him, and wished so, so damn hard that he'd done anything but this, because this wasn't supposed to feel so safe.

[sharp_as_knives]

But in the arms of a benevolent predator was the safest place to be, surely? A snake protected its young with strong coils and deadly venom.

"You've been needing that for some time, I think," Hannibal said softly. He cradled Sparkle like something precious.

[myownface]

There was a quiet few seconds that felt like a short eternity, and then Sparkle nodded his head just a little, still not completely trusting himself with more words. He pulled in a breath, though, and it was shaky, and deep, and desperate, as though he'd been holding his breath for a very long time and was just now giving in and coming back up for air.

"Mmm," he agreed with a quiet, disjointed little hum. He still didn't make any motion to pull away. He didn't have it in him to try.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal rubbed Sparkle's back and shoulders gently. "You say you'd forgotten how to breathe - now remember. Deep and slow." He couldn't quite demonstrate at the moment, but he did his best. "Breath is the essence of life. The best place to begin. Breathe."

[myownface]

Deep and slow. Grounding, steadying breaths. Sparkle... could probably handle that much. He could probably manage an inhale that wasn't threatening to turn into a sob, and an exhale that wasn't a ragged mess. It seemed like the basics, right then. He could handle breathing for now, and the rest, he'd sort out later. But he couldn't sort anything if he didn't breathe.

So... breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Good," Hannibal crooned. "Very good." He matched the rhythm of his words to Sparkle's breaths. "You see? You can do it. You haven't forgotten at all."

[myownface]

Sparkle let himself just breathe for a few moments more. Tried to ground himself in it, to clear his head, or at least get himself back to a point where he could speak without having to worry about... just... exploding.

But here he was, and he felt as though he was going to burst.

"S'not as easy as it looks..."

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal gave a breathless chuckle. "Few things are. Don't let worrying about it distract you from doing it. There is no wrong way to breathe, unless you stop."

[myownface]

Sparkle was quiet again, just breathing for a little while longer, before, almost inaudibly quiet, he ventured, "Don't you ever get that feeling? Where your breath has been stolen away and it doesn't matter how much gasping you do, you wonder if you'll never catch it again?"

[sharp_as_knives]

Physically, he was still rather feeling like that, but Hannibal knew that wasn't what Sparkle meant. "Not in quite some time. The trick is to remember that that feeling is a lie - the air is always there, always waiting for you. Endless."

[myownface]

He bit his cheek again, this time without really thinking of the blood he'd drawn earlier, and Sparkle winced a bit at the stab of sharp pain in his mouth. He felt like he would choke on it, like he could drown in it, and at least if he did it meant he knew what was coming for him.

He licked his lips. He shifted his weight just enough to let him stare tiredly down at the floor. And then he nodded, just a little.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I suppose it is."

Right up until the next time he thought too hard about any one of a million things.

[sharp_as_knives]

"Keep that in your thoughts," Hannibal said. "Whatever else is there. Stop and remember from time to time. Never forget to breathe." He squeezed Sparkle's shoulder. "So long as you live, your breath and your mind are two things nobody can take from you. Use them; keep them close and safe; let them protect you and each other."

[myownface]

"My breath and my mind," Sparkle echoed, tiredly. And then he looked back at Hannibal. "Do... do you remember, when reality was tearing itself apart...?"

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal nodded. "I remember. I had adopted you."

[myownface]

Sparkle nodded his agreement. That was exactly the thing he'd been referring to.

"Yeah," he said. "And I knew."

And he'd delighted in it, too.

[sharp_as_knives]

Hannibal nodded back. "I considered telling you then, how close that reality was to our own, but you didn't seem ready."

[myownface]

"I still don't think I'm ready," Sparkle admitted. "I'm not that kid. I'm not okay with this."

He wasn't okay with basically all of this. The Sparkle of a couple of years ago might have learned to be, if he thought that was what it would take to get the one caring role model in his life to approve of him. But Sparkle now wasn't that kid.

Sparkle now was too damn tired.

[sharp_as_knives]

"You don't need to be," Hannibal assured him. "I don't require all my friends to agree with me or share my tastes. I will continue to care for you, enjoy your company, teach you what you like, and cook for you only what you will eat."

[myownface]

'What Sparkle would eat' seemed to be a rapidly shrinking list of things that could be even reminiscent of human flesh, at this point. Not because he didn't think Hannibal would slip any to him, but because he really didn't want the reminder.

He decided to chew on his lip instead of aggravating his aching cheek any more than it already was.

"I think I need time," he decided, after a long silence. "I need to figure out what to make of... everything. This summer has been too much. Everything is just too much."