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Title: Personal Strength
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: Quotables, Part 2, tv_universe
Prompt: "You might not be strong enough. But maybe we are."
Author's Note: Sequel to "An Important Opinion."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Will sighed softly, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap.

"I don't know if I can deal with getting these flashes of the future," he told Hannibal, his voice trembling. "I don't want to see my own death, and know that it's true."

Hannibal shook his head, frowning as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. "Will, you don't know for certain that you are visualising your own death."

But he did, Will wanted to shout. He had seen himself, lying there still and pale and cold, very obviously dead. How could he see that vision in his mind, and not know that it was his own death that was right there in front of him? "Yes, I am," he finally answered. "I'm sure of it."

"You have to be strong, Will," Hannibal told him. "You can't simply cower in fear because of something you have seen in a vision, something that may not even be true."

Will knew that Hannibal was right, that those words should give him strength. But somehow, they just made him feel smaller and more helpless.

How could he fight this? How could he not be afraid of what he was seeing?

No one wanted to know when and how they would die, did they? That was something better left to the fates, something that he didn't want any concrete knowledge of.

Knowing that he was dead in that vision, but not knowing just how he had died, was driving him insane. A part of him didn't want to know, but another part of him had to.

Will took one deep breath, then another. He didn't know what else to do but to let the visions show him what they would, even though he was torn as to whether he could deal with seeing more of what they apparently wanted to show him. He couldn't control the visions; he had no idea when they would come.

That was the scariest thing, really. Knowing that he had absolutely no control over what he would see. Control was something that he wanted to take a firm grip on.

Being out of control, for him, only had the most frightening connotations. And seeing his own death, knowing that he couldn't prevent it, was about as out of control as things could be.

"You are not alone in this, Will." Hannibal's voice was very soft, very quiet. "You may feel that you are, because no one else can see what you are seeing in your mind. But you have people around you, people who want to help you. Please allow us to do that."

How was he supposed to manage that? He'd never been good at letting other people in, and Hannibal knew that. He was more likely to shut others out than allow them to help.

And after that horrible dream he'd had where Hannibal had been the one to kill him, he didn't know whether it was safe to let Hannibal in or not. He was almost afraid of this man.

Still, what choice did he have?

Hannibal might be the only person who could help him get to the bottom of this. Hannibal could very well be the only one who was equipped to navigate the maze of his mind.

Without Hannibal on his side, those visions of his death could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. But then again, what if that dream had been a prophecy in itself?

What if Hannibal was the person who would be the cause of his death? What if that hadn't just been some awful nightmare, but the real prophetic vision, the true one? What if he was wrong to be here even now, wrong to trust this man, wrong to let Hannibal see into his mind?

Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to center himself. He couldn't let himself think like that. A dream was just a dream, nothing more. It wasn't real.

"I don't think I'm strong enough to figure this out on my own, or to deal with it alone," he admitted, his voice sounding very small and helpless. "I think I need other people to help me."

Hannibal's gaze was on his face, steady, not looking away.

Hannibal nodded, doing something that Will definitely hadn't expected. Hannibal reached out to take his hand, holding it in his own warm hand, then giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You may not be strong enough. But maybe we are," he said, his voice firm and steady. "You and me, Will. And anyone else who may be able to help with this."

Will wanted to believe in the assurance that he heard in that voice. He wanted to believe that together, he and Hannibal, and as the other man said, anyone else who could help them, would be strong enough to find out just what these visions meant -- and that he would find the personal strength to see this through.

He didn't have a choice, though, did he? He had to find out what was causing these visions -- and maybe, if he was seeing his own death, he could find a way to stop it.

"I hope we are, Hannibal," he said, shaking his head, looking down at their clasped hands. "I really, really hope so. I'm not ready for the alternative. Not yet."

Hannibal said something then that shook Will to his core.

The words he spoke were low, a mere whisper, but Will heard them loud and clear.

"Neither am I," he murmured. "I couldn't bear it."

***