Chapter Text
Life went on, even in times of war. At least that was Aldo’s observation. People could still fall in love despite hopeless situations with death at every possible turn. The Basterds witnessed this first hand with the Fisherman and the Cannibal, though no one talked about it. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Hannibal Lecter was obsessed with Will Graham from the get-go.
After joining the Basterds, Hannibal took it upon himself to ignore all others and travel solely beside Will, engaging the quiet man in conversation whenever he could. It learned him strange looks and constant glaring from the Cajun, who appeared confused about the older man’s attention upon him.
No one new much about the Fisherman, who liked to keep it that way. Backwater redneck or not, the dark haired man from the bayous of Louisiana was good in Aldo’s book. Even in the middle of a fire fight, Will could fix just about any machine shot to shit in less than twenty minutes with nothing more than a knife, some duct tape, rusted wire, and a whole lot of good ole Southern cussing. He was smart as a whip, but obviously self educated if his non-conversations with the former privately tutored, Lithuanian count were anything to go by.
Master of the silent treatment, Will never once turned down anything Hannibal offered him to eat though, which everyone, including Aldo, didn’t dare do after confirming the doctor’s odd eating habits. What Will lacked in polite dinner conversation, he more than made up for in appetite. He ate anything and everything Hannibal gave him without question or regard from where, or more accurately who, it came from. It got to the point Hannibal would only cook for himself and Will.
In Aldo’s opinion, you didn’t need to be an expert to see that the man was in love, or at least some sort of twisted version of it as one sided as it was for a time. Though resistant at first, Will Graham changed his tune toward Hannibal Lecter after an incident with one of his dogs.
For one reason or another, the Fisherman always had some sort of canine with him. The man seemed to pick them up as easily as his pets did fleas. They’d travel with him and the Basterds for a time, but were usually frightened off by gunfire or other violence. One in particular though stayed with Will through thick and thin, an older mongrel Will named Applesauce.
Applesauce, Aldo blessed her doggy heart, met an unfortunate end but saved all their asses. The situation the Basterds found themselves could only be termed as ’fucked’, all the men pinned down between two fully armed Nazi patrols, about forty enemy soldiers in all with nothing better to do than shoot any Basterd they found full of holes. Hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, the Basterds hid in underbrush, half buried alive in France’s cold ass dirt, doing their damnedest not to breathe too hard.
Shit happened and someone fucked up, an inadvertent noise drawing the patrols down right on top of them. To his dying day, Donny swore it wasn’t him though it had been his hands gripping his beloved bat so hard its wooden handle cracked. General location given away but not their exact hiding spots, the Basterds readied themselves to meet their Maker with a bang. Good ole Applesauce had some other thoughts on the matter though.
Whether motivated by terror or the grace of God himself, the dog darted out from under cover, barking her fool head off and biting anyone stupid enough to go near her. She ended up scaring the hell out of some Nazis. She was put down quickly enough, the soldier who shot her laughing his head off while he did it.
Clearing the area, the soldiers left soon enough, leaving some very alive Basterds in their wake, not for lack of trying on a few people’s parts. Will had only been kept from following after Applesauce by Hannibal, who had laid directly on top of the man to keep him hidden with his hand shoved into Will’s mouth. Hannibal had gotten bit by the Cajun for his troubles, but didn’t seem too mind all that much.
It was the only time the Basterds ever saw Will cry. He might have gotten some shit over it, the normal good natured gallows humor, from the others if not for Hannibal. With open murderous intent, he stared down anyone who dared to even so much as breathe in Will’s direction wrong.
After helping Will bury poor Applesauce, Hannibal even said a few elegant words in eulogy for the canine. He disappeared not long after that, walking out of the Basterd’s camp without anyone noticing. The Cannibal’s absence left the Fisherman a broken man, bereft of any sort of friend. If it weren’t for the fucking Nazis, Aldo was pretty damn sure Will might have taken his own life. Goals were good things though, and Aldo made it a point to often remind Will that he still owed him a hundred or so scalps.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Hannibal showed up out of the blue a month later, rejoining the Basterds one fine afternoon in the south of France like he had just been out for a stroll.
“Where the fuck ya been?” Aldo said by way of greeting to the long absent Lithuanian. A small rucksack was thrown at his head in answer, its contents a fairly gruesome discovery to anyone else who wasn‘t Aldo or a Basterd.
“Holy shit, there’s gotta be like over fifty in there.” Donny said, wide eyed at the pile of scalps that was dumped out onto the ground the Apache’s feet.
“You know what I call that? A damn good start.” Aldo grinned. “Consider yourself a Basterd again. You still owe me another fifty!”
Aldo’s words and other soldiers’ greetings were ignored by Hannibal who obviously only had one person on his mind. Finding him soon enough, Will barely bothered to look up from his boots to acknowledge Hannibal though, his wayward attention more intent on his mud stained laces. Patiently, Hannibal waited for the other man to give up the ghost of his farce and deign to glance his way. Catching the Cajun’s sad blue grey eyes long enough to direct his attention down to a finely carved box Hannibal carried at his side, the Cannibal presented the gift to Will.
Blinking in surprise at the present, Will opened the wooden tentatively to find the scarlet velvet lined space inside it to be filled to the brim with salt. Digging his fingers into it, Will discovered what the preservative kept hidden underneath its clinging white. A human heart was pulled from the box, kept intact and preserved perfectly by the salt. It didn’t take Will long to guess who’s it had been.
“Did ya make him die slow?” Will rasped out, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear about it for himself in detail. Hannibal had a voice he could listen to all day.
“Yes. I made him savor everything I did to him. He was begging for it, even without a tongue and most of his teeth, pleading for his death, for me to kill him. I made him wait and wait and wait. I made him suffer for his cruelty. I took his heart only when he was dead, and it couldn’t keep him alive any longer.” Hannibal murmured the words like they were the sweetest of nothings.
“Good. He deserved it. Can we still eat em’ like this?” Will asked low, his voice rusty from disuse. A kiss was pressed to his forehead in answer, Hannibal clearly delighted by the man before him, the Fisherman who held his heart in his hands.
“Oh Will…I thought you’d never ask.”