Thread by @ruinedbythdevil

Water drowns his lungs, block his airways, suffocates him. He's aware of the intrusion even prior to reaching consciousness, aware even before he begun spewing salt water like a fountain from his mouth. Adrenaline shoves his body sideways, a »

« trusted compaginan assuring he does not re-choke on the one thing choking him. The sting is unbearable although he is unsure where it's coming from; his throat or the stab wound on his cheek, arm, chest... Only aware when he'd emptied the »

« water out of his lungs and replenished it with a well-needed breath of clean air. It's coming from everywhere. His whole body aches to no bound. That's when his brain begins to function and his eyes refocus under the blinding sunlight. Was »

« this heaven? He'd be heavily disappointed if it was. Sand that could barely be described as such, more so boulders, ink into his injured skin. Seagulls squawking, cawing, and screeching as if they were the ones who'd just washed up on shore »

« bloody and beaten swarm ahead. A thirst only a dehydrated man knew cracked his raisin-shriveled skin raw.
This was not heaven. And he's still just as fucking devastated.
He expected to die. Embraced the idea of death. Welcomed it. Needed it as »

« much as as he needed the man that unleashed his most perverse desires. He wasn't suppose to survive. That wasn't the plan. He was supposed to die. With Hannibal. Locked in his embrace for eternity. So why was he here. Wherever he was. Alone. »

« Where the fuck was he anyways, where the fuck was Hannibal?!
Defeat. Fear. Panic. — Not even the urban dictionary could define how distraught and utterly confused Will was. It was a scene for the movies; no ordinary man survives what he's been »

« through, and yet, there he half stood unable to steady himself on two feet without stumbling, far less walk along the unsteady ground. He persisted nonetheless, stumbling and losing his balance about a dozen times as he rounds a full circle, »

« searching, looking, trying to find-- until he identified what he had misjudged as a crumpled plastic bag as his - it’s hard to desbribe his and Hannibal’s relationship in one word - although he’d have to stick with, despite the cliché of it »

« all, his other half.
He stumbled, threw himself, literally dove inch by inch towards Hannibal until he was just fucking crawling on all fours; like a dying lamb searching for salvation in the comfort of his companion. Each individual lunge »

« lasting eternally, killing Will inside, awakening a sadness fueled panic. His determination nonetheless never faded. So intense he was bruising himself more than the impact of falling of that godforsaken cliff could ever give »

« him.
"Ha-Hannibal. Hannibal?"
He attempted to speak, yet his injured vocal chords would not give. He continued to call his name regardless; like a mantra, a plea to the heavens asking one thing; let him be alive, oh please God, let him survive »

« this with me.
"Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal."
The only word he knew. A broken record on loop, and that is what he was indeed, broken. Will arrived the body what felt like eons later. Crying tears no man had ever cried before, gushing over his »

« blood-stained cheeks like a sad, heavy flow. He shoves the body - corpse? - onto his back. Knelt at Hannibal's side as he instantly begun compressions at his chest. Each heave of his body splitting open a newly discovered wound although he »

« didn't care, he didn't care that he was beginning to bleed all over again. One-two, one-two, one-two. He's not sure if he can feel a pulse, doesn't even want to check, he just wants Hannibal. He needs him. This wasn't how their story ends. »

« This wasn't the end. It couldn't be. Even in death, the tide had brought them together. Fate wouldn't be so cruel to punish them this way.
"Hannibal. Please."
And he would not stop attempting to draw the water out of his lungs until he cracked »

« all of his ribs.