It came as little surprise to find out that Hannibal was richer than God. With high expectations that were always met, Will had come to expect nothing less, and the man's manner and preferences hinted to a better existence than what Will was used to living. He tried not to resent Hannibal too much for it. It was due to that wealth they were currently road tripping in the Winnebago. That was what Will had deemed the recreational vehicle in his mind when in actuality the mini mansion on wheels was better than most places Will had lived in. Hannibal remained a bit miffed by it, the fully functioning kitchen not up to his standards for some reason.

On top of a sizable inheritance, Hannibal had done his own elaborate bookkeeping, diverting funds from people the good doctor deemed unworthy of their fortunes into foreign bank accounts the FBI had no clue about. With a preparedness that any Eagle scout would envy, Hannibal even had enough hidden caches of hard cash, clothing, and expertly prepared fake passports and travel documents to go anywhere and do just about anything.

Hannibal probably regretted giving Will a stack of cash now and letting him decide their destination and method of escape. In hindsight, Will couldn't say what had motivated him to purchase the RV. Perhaps being stashed underground and surrounded by gray walls and iron bars had something to do with it. Their stay at Baltimore's State Hospital for the Criminally Insane had certainly been lacking a scenic view. Will assumed he just needed the constant movement, and the control over his destination with an open sky above him. Hannibal's own needs were incredibly basic, the cannibal simply wanting to stay with his present company. He didn't care where they went as long as they went together, though Florence and the rest of Europe was definitely on a later agenda. Will had been informed that there was already a villa and false identities waiting for them in Italy.

Given Hannibal's thoroughness and predilection for the finer details, it was a small wonder the man had been caught at all. Will voiced as much on the road while driving through Tennessee, the pair on their way to Wisconsin. After some rather eloquent hemming and hawing that Will cut through like a hot knife through bullshit, Hannibal eventually admitted that it had been pride and whimsy that had brought about his own downfall, by a FBI trainee of all people. Miriam Lass was now an agent after making one of the most impressive collars in law enforcement, and all it took was one sketch carelessly left out to do it. Later, Hannibal could come to regret telling Will that story. He was never going to let Hannibal live it down. In Will's defense, he'd had an excuse at least, having almost died from his brain boiling over.

The Winnebago, or Dead Cow as Will later lovingly deemed it for the way it steered like a bloated bovine corpse on wheels, made its way easily enough across country. Will did most of the driving while Hannibal puttered around in the back. More often than not though, he kept the driver company along with a good book, reading aloud from it. There was only so much classical Will could appreciate before he started wanted to hit something, but he could happily listen to Hannibal for hours on end and often did. They would converse and enjoy their conversations, but Will was the quiet one in this strange little relationship of theirs. He often only interjected enough to create a new tangent and keep Hannibal talking.

Their sightseeing mostly consisted of parks and natural wonders. Best things about their destinations was there was very little to no security or surveillance. Most of where they stayed was off the beaten path, the couple spending many a night under a blanket of clearly seen stars. It was ideal in a way, because who the hell expected the Chesapeake Ripper to be boondocking?

In their down time, the pair pursued their own interests when they could. Will fished and made lures while Hannibal sketched and went antique shopping in the little towns chosen for their farmer's markets where they got their gas and some of their food at. The Dead Cow was soon furnished with lavish decorations and strange little knick knacks that Will would roll his eyes at. Hannibal's tasted in décor and furniture were not his own, but the RV had been Will's idea so he let Hannibal do whatever he wanted with the interior.

They kept relatively low profiles and appearances though Hannibal had tried wearing an old suit of his once. Will had been exiled out of their bedroom for a night for laughing at him. Despite the consequences and the sharp look of warning Hannibal gave him, paisley still made Will giggle from time to time.

After Wisconsin and all its wealth of cheeses, the pair escaped winter before it has a chance to fully set in, the Dead Cow heading down South and out West to enjoy the dry heat of the Painted Desert and Grand Canyon in Arizona. Will always wanted to see it in person and knew if he didn't go now, he never would. They ended up taking their time out there, wandering down great stretches of seemingly endless, sun cracked road. Eventually coming to a decision and half sick of rock, Hannibal voiced that he wanted to see the redwoods so they ended up in the Northwest to crane their necks looking up at them. Hannibal preferred the taller ones found in Muir Woods, a park right outside of San Francisco while Will liked the ones big enough to drive your car through. There was something surreal about being inside a living tree though Will couldn't put his finger on the right wording.

Little whims and curiosities were their motivational guides for travel. Odds were once he left this country with Hannibal to parts unknown, Will knew he would never step foot on American soil again. They both were aware of it so Hannibal was patient with him. There was talk of Paris after they had their fill of Florence because Hannibal seemed determined to go to France for some reason. Will found out later it is because Hannibal loved the bread there, the water and yeast used to make it specific to its country of origin. Will was quietly grateful that his senses were not as keen as Hannibal. He was positive having a nose like the cannibal would drive him insane….in an entirely different manner than he was used to.

For all their separate hobbies, Will and Hannibal shared one together. There were two bedrooms in the RV. The largest of the two was their bedroom, an elegant dark space decorated in rich shades of calming blue, and filled to its brim with lush, soft materials and a mattress that could have been made from marshmallows for all Will knew or cared.

The other room was as sterile as any hospital's operating room. Their kill room was a near perfect thing, a space filled with medical equipment that did very little healing and helpful handheld power tools that usually didn't have culinary applications. All its surfaces was covered in disposable plastic, and its window tinted opaque and permanently sealed. When not in use, it was disguised as a mobile workshop, the men themselves pretending to be free spirited, wandering artists. In a way, it wasn't too far from the truth, though by the time most of their creations were discovered deep in the woods, desert, or plains they were placed, the local wildlife, weather, and bugs had all taken their expensive tolls, leaving behind very little for the authorities to worry about. Just another missing person turning up in the middle of nowhere the local newspapers would report to be soon forgotten by most. No one would ever make connection in all the killings that spread from one end of the country to the other.

Most people who met them mistook Hannibal and Will for newlyweds. Hannibal did nothing to dissuade this notion while Will found he lacked the energy for social situations. He didn't actively dislike people per say, just was more exhausted by them, not caring to put in the time or effort to pretend he was human. Their not, not really, just a pair of monster wearing meat suits. Social butterfly that he was, Hannibal handled most of their interactions with other people, more often than not paying the unofficial host around the communal campfire. Will enjoyed long walks in wherever they are at the time, fishing if the environment and parks allows, and spending time with Hannibal who watched him back with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if Will were saner and other people. They shared a lot of time doing just that, watching each other, like they can't believe the other exists. Being stuck in a cell and separated by a wall of concrete for a long period of time could do that to a person though, couch this sort of codependency.

It's not love. It is something far more disturbing and grotesque. Will refused to try and label it, define it. Whatever they have was without name, infinite because of this quiet refusal. Their bond was fluid and ever-changing and Will wouldn't have it any other way.

Will let Hannibal fuck him because he doesn't care who tops. With his level of excessive empathy, it hardly mattered, not when he can take on Hannibal's perceptive and top from the bottom without even really trying. All the mattered was that they make each other feel good, feel, complete, and something in general. Coupling with Hannibal felt natural to Will, not stifling and stilting like it had with everyone else. There was no awkwardness before, during, or afterward, no regrets. When Will was put on his belly and his legs parted, the sensation of Hannibal slipping into him was met with feelings of elation and complete acceptance. It hurt sometimes but in a comforting way. Everything about their lovemaking made Will feel alive.

Sometimes Hannibal was rough with him, and even that was fine because Will trusts the sadist utterly and completely. He knew he would he tested to his limits and be rewarded for surpassing them. Will appreciated that there would be a long hot bath scented with fragrant herbs and oils afterward, and an even longer massage from a former surgeon who intimately understood every nuance of the human body. After he was made lax and loose, Will could look forward to sleeping like a dead man in an indulgent bed, the mattress softer than anything he has ever slept on before in his life, on top of cool silk sheets that always smelled like vanilla and them. In the morning, there would be a special breakfast made especially for him, something simple he preferred like a protein scramble. Returning to their bedroom. Will would lounge for hours on end while Hannibal drove them to someplace new to waste time in.

When Will asked, Hannibal let himself be fucked, though it was difficult for him on a so many different level. Will always put Hannibal on his back so he was made to face the empath and stripped down past his bones to what was left of his soul. Will told Hannibal that he likes to look at him like this. Like to watch the play of light, dark, and the ocean of grey that lies between those two points. Will gently fucked Hannibal even when he demanded that Will not. A person or people in Hannibal's past were not so kind, cruel even to the point of ensuring the birth of a monster, and Will promised Hannibal that he would never be one of those pigs, not like this.

By then, Hannibal begged Will to be quiet, but he would keep right on talking, whispering sweet words to him, calling the cannibal pet names and other terms of endearment. They were all little kindnesses that no one should ever be able to say to serial killer who tortured and ate people because he could, but Will does. Even more importantly, he meant every word. In the end, Hannibal allowed him to do so. Such bravery should be rewarded after all.

Despite all his misgivings about being treated so delicately, Hannibal was a narcissist at heart. He can't resist being the sole focus of that incredible empathy, especially when it cooed at him about his latest sounder, the skill he used to dispatch it. Will always made him come first like this, just so that he could make a show of licking Hannibal's spent off of his fingers. The sight of it always made Hannibal tremble and lean up so he could taste himself on Will's lips.

This little world of theirs, this little life they have made together was not perfect, but it was theirs. Pity the fools who tried to deprive them of it.

OoOoO

Oh fuck if I know if this is the end. I keep writing this.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I bet you thought I was going to write about Italy or France. NOPE. They are fucking driving around in a tricked out RV, looking at fucking nature.

Also, I don't answer anything here on fanfiction cause it's a hot mess. You can find me on AO3 and on Tumbler under DarkmoonSigel if you have a burning urge to ask me something or bitch at me in person. Politeness costs you nothing, but rudeness can end up being very expensive. ;)