[Bets and Bargains]

"I won't lose your soul again." AU heavily inspired by Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus. In which the good doctor is more than smoke and Will is more than a man with an empathy disorder— demon!Hannibal and reincarnated!Will. Act 1 out of 5 complete.

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"Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris."

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-Act 1-

"I don't find you that interesting."

Hannibal pauses, chrome thermos resting in his calloused hands. His gaze flickers from the knife at his side to his companion's jugular. It would take a fraction of a second to lean over the small, uneven table (which had a single copy of Dante's Divine Comedy of all ironies steadying one leg) and slice open the smooth skin of Will's neck, letting the coagulated blood drip down his white shirt in pleasing waves of red.

But it's only a fantasy; there's something positively devilish about his newfound friend and he wouldn't stop until he poked and prodded his headspace into revealing its darkness. Only when Will was ready to open up to the wickedness so common in his species would Hannibal rest—when he could finally claim his soul after all these centuries of waiting. Luckily, the demon was far from impatient.

"You will." He cracks a small smile, the lines in his cheeks becoming more prominent at the action.

The special agent stares back silently, fork nearly slipping from his fingers.

Hannibal sees the glint of apprehension in the other man's eyes. Before Will can speak, he motions to his half-eaten meal.

"Now, finish your breakfast." His voice leaves little room for retort.

With a sigh, Will stabs his fork into the masterfully prepared breakfast scramble. He chews slowly, already lost in the thoughts machinated by Hannibal's taunt. So entangled in his own mind, he does not see the inky darkness that invades the psychiatrist's sclera. The black fades with a single blink of his eyes, returning to their natural pearly hue. And so he adjusts his tie, clears his throat, and also eats what is left of his meal—even if he knows he could go centuries without eating.

Will's consciousness fades in and out during the car ride to the Hobbs house. He hears countless voices which swirl unabashed and in tandem in his head, none of which seem to belong to Hannibal.

"I am Wrath… I was born in hell— and look to it, for some of you shall be my father."

"If we say that we have no sin,we deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us.Why then belike we must sin, and so consequently die.Ay, we must die an everlasting death."

"What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?"

They rock incessantly in his bone arena, so familiar yet so alien all the same. They clamber to be heard, overloading his sense of sound until even the calming classical music the good doctor has playing in the car seems like a cacophony of screams.

Unable to ignore the voices any longer, Will jolts from his reclining position against the window, bleary-eyed and disoriented. He swats at the radio's general direction, fingers trembling. "T-turn it off. Please."

Hannibal frowns but obeys, pressing the off switch.

"What is wrong, Will?"

The curly-haired man shakes his head, pulling off his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

Without another word the psychiatrist pushes the hazard button, pulling the car onto the side of the road. The gravel crunches against the tires as Will slips his glasses back on, blinking at the man's sudden action.

"What are you doing?"

Still silent, Hannibal unclasps his seatbelt, allowing himself full movement in the cramped confines of the vehicle. He points to the man's coat pocket.

"How many pain killers have you taken today, Will?"

The man racks his brain, biting his lip in thought. "…Seven, twelve, I don't really remember. But I'm fine, Hannibal—"

The doctor interrupts smoothly, placing a warm hand on Will's shoulder. "I don't think you are in any position to be interrogating suspected killers. I will go inside the Hobbs house alone. You will stay in the car."

Will begins to retort, but something makes the words die in his throat. Fear replaces confusion as the visage of ivory ram-like horns spouting from the temples of the doctor's head overtakes him.

"W-what…?" He trails off weakly, clutching at his hair. Perhaps he had taken too many pills—he was seeing horns for God's sake!

"Tell me Will, what do you see?" Hannibal questions, tilting his head to the right. The horns follow with his motion, tips glinting dangerously in the harsh rays of sunlight that filter through the car window.

Will stutters out a thin response, haggard breaths cutting through his speech. "T-there are… horns. Ram horns... on your head. W-why… why would I… imagine that?"

Just as he is ready to pass out from the storm of unwanted stimuli, he hears Hannibal's final words. They seem to be wrought with all the truths of heaven and hell and everything in between.

"It is not your imagination."

Then, everything is unbearably silent.

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"It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery."

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a/n: After surviving finals, I decided to let myself start a little mutli-chap fic for arguably my favorite tv show right now. I love NBC's Hannibal to bits and can only hope that I'm doing the characterization and story justice, given this is my first fanfic in this fandom. There will only be five chapters, and as you can tell from this act, Hannibal's demon-ness will change the plot and course of the story, making this very, very AU. If AU's are your cup of tea, I invite you to stay awhile and enjoy the misery to come.

If anything was in italics, it was quoted verbatim from Doctor Faustus, will also be the shortest of the chapters, as it is really only a prologue. Chaps should be longer— I'm just getting into the swing of writing Hannibal and Will.

((Also, it isn't necessary to have read/seen the play, but knowing some backstory to Doctor Faustus may help; though this story will hardly follow the play's guidelines, haha, given that it's more of a sequel but yeah, whatever))

Review? Not doing so would be… unspeakably rude :P

-isis