Fic: Dream On
Fandom: Hannibal (TV)
Characters: Will Graham, Nightmares
Summary: The shadows are dancing again, the play of light from no discernable source creating whirling shapes that skip and play across his face.
A/N: Just a little Hannibal drabble. Somebody Help Will Graham.
Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever. ― Aleksandar Hemon
He watches the walls, and shivers.
The shadows are dancing again, the play of light from no discernible source creating whirling shapes that skip and play across his face and surround him.
He imagines they feel like fingers brushing softly against his skin, tracing the lines left by fear and pain, softly caressing his brow the way a mother might do to comfort her child.
He watches the walls.
His shirt is sticking to his body and soaked through. The bed is damp with sweat and the smell of fear clings heavily to his skin.
Still the shadows dance.
There is a noise, a soft huff of breath that winds across his ankle. A scratch. A rustle of fur.
Breathe, Will. He thinks. It’s one of the dogs. Calm.
He can hear his heart beating in his ears.
He can feel the curl of fear at the base of his spine, unfurling throughout his body and making the hairs rise on his arms and neck. Feels the sweat continue to cool against his back.
He clenches his eyes shut against the swirling shadows.
He sees flashes of dreams, mere fragments of blood and anger and death, and opens them just as quickly.
He clambers out of bed, resisting the urge to check under the bed like a child, and stumbles to the shower.
The steam creates more dancing patterns.
The sun is rising as he dresses for the day.
The dogs curl around his legs.
He watches the walls.
Characters: Will Graham, Nightmares
Summary: The shadows are dancing again, the play of light from no discernable source creating whirling shapes that skip and play across his face.
A/N: Just a little Hannibal drabble. Somebody Help Will Graham.
Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever. ― Aleksandar Hemon
He watches the walls, and shivers.
The shadows are dancing again, the play of light from no discernible source creating whirling shapes that skip and play across his face and surround him.
He imagines they feel like fingers brushing softly against his skin, tracing the lines left by fear and pain, softly caressing his brow the way a mother might do to comfort her child.
He watches the walls.
His shirt is sticking to his body and soaked through. The bed is damp with sweat and the smell of fear clings heavily to his skin.
Still the shadows dance.
There is a noise, a soft huff of breath that winds across his ankle. A scratch. A rustle of fur.
Breathe, Will. He thinks. It’s one of the dogs. Calm.
He can hear his heart beating in his ears.
He can feel the curl of fear at the base of his spine, unfurling throughout his body and making the hairs rise on his arms and neck. Feels the sweat continue to cool against his back.
He clenches his eyes shut against the swirling shadows.
He sees flashes of dreams, mere fragments of blood and anger and death, and opens them just as quickly.
He clambers out of bed, resisting the urge to check under the bed like a child, and stumbles to the shower.
The steam creates more dancing patterns.
The sun is rising as he dresses for the day.
The dogs curl around his legs.
He watches the walls.