Chapter Nine

I didn't sleep for the night.

I couldn't bring myself to, and even worse, was the urge to dip into Hannibal's dream state. It was a stronger pull this time, almost like he was trying to drag me in without actually doing it. He just laid there on the bed, silent and pale as a corpse and the comparison frightened me. It was only his beating heart that reassured me he was still here.

Jahlia had fixed his hair so it wasn't choppy and dirty. We cleaned him up, washed off the filth, healed his wounds, but the scars remained behind. Even the horrible, awful word they'd carved into his skin. His hair wasn't long anymore, but cut to his shoulders in fashionable layers and bangs swept across his handsome, scarred face. We'd changed him out of his clothes and just put him in an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants. They wouldn't have been baggy if he hadn't lost so much weight. How could someone lose so much weight in a mere two weeks? It choked me to think of what they'd done to him.

I didn't leave his side the entire time. Jahlia kept trying to urge me to go have dinner in the living room or take a walk, but I couldn't. I owed Hannibal this. I couldn't leave him. I wanted to be the first person he saw and I wanted the first thing I said to him to be "I'm sorry".

Because I was.

Yes, I was still angry and hurt over what he did to Abel.

But I was even more sick with agony over what had been done to him. No one deserved that kind of pain and humiliation and degradation. No one. Worst of all were the rumors that had been passed around Styx. Now everyone knew what Hannibal had done to Abel. And now everyone knew what Hannibal had been reduced to, and what made me ill was how many people whispered how he deserved it. But he didn't. He didn't.

Jahlia was right. Hannibal had made a mistake, and even Abel had told me that he, too, agreed with Jahlia. It was a mistake, and while no one knew the real reason why Hannibal had done it, I could only trace it back to a time of weakness in Hannibal's fight against the darkness that lived inside him.

And Hannibal didn't deserve those awful things for what he'd done. Yes, I admitted that he did deserve some kind of punishment, but honestly? I think all this time, Hannibal was punishing himself for what he'd done. Granted, I couldn't say that for sure, as only Hannibal would know the answer, but it just seemed like a very Hannibal thing to do.

"Hey, pumpkindrop," Jahlia said, greeting me with one of her weird made up endearments as she came into the room with a tray of food, "I thought you might need some breakfast. You sure you don't want to nap somewhere? I can set up my sofa." I shook my head, rubbing at my eye tiredly and giving her a weak smile.

"I'm all right, Jahlia, thank you. I don't think I'd be able to sleep anyway." I admitted. Jahlia nodded in understanding and handed me the tray that I put on the nightstand for now. Jahlia stepped back to study Hannibal, her head tilted slightly.

"Has he woken up yet?" She asked. I shook my head miserably. Jahlia patted my shoulder.

"It's okay. I'm not surprised. That was some heavy stuff we gave him. He probably won't wake up for a little while. In the mean time, all we can do is wait. And you're sure you don't want to at least go for a walk or go to your apartment or something?" She asked. I nodded and she sighed, leaning over and kissing me on top of the head before leaving the room. I watched her go, touched by her concern, before I turned back to watch Hannibal sleep.

That horrible ache to just take a peek at what was going on inside his head was overwhelming. Part of me knew I should leave. Just being near him was a horrible temptation that made my blood burn and mind race. But I didn't want to abandon him again. I wanted to be here to tell him how sorry I was and how stupid I'd been. I wanted to assure him he wasn't a monster.

The more I looked at him, the more I realized he was just a very angry, hurt boy who didn't know how to deal with it all.

That was it.

He didn't need violence and hate. He needed someone to love him and protect him and remind him that he's special.

And I wanted to be that person. I didn't deserve it, I really didn't, but I wanted to try. I may have made a mistake, but I wasn't going to let that ruin everything. I was going to fix it, even if it took eternity. Because I owed Hannibal. So much.

Even so, I just wanted a peek. A quick peek. If it was something awful that I knew he wouldn't want me to see, something I didn't already know, I'd leave his dream and come back here. That should be okay, right? And I would stay out of sight of his dream self. That way, I wouldn't get caught. It was a horrible thing to do, but the temptation was wearing me down further and further until I couldn't take it anymore.

I closed my head and leaned forward, resting myself on Hannibal's bed. I let my powers swirl and twirl, focused on ejecting my spirit and imagined the gold sparkling bridge that connected my dream state to Hannibal's. It was a surge of power that made my blood hot and my heart beat excitedly. I hadn't done this since I was a child, and last time I'd done it, I had the intention to do harm. This time, I just wanted to understand. Even if just a little bit...

There was a blank sparkling whiteness around me before it faded and fell to pieces like a broken mirror to reveal Hannibal's current dream. No, it wasn't a dream, I realized. It was a memory, reliving a memory from so long ago.

I was standing near a huge white pristine temple. It was incredibly old and large. The front was open with several columns holding the roof up, and there was a large statue of Iapetus inside with a pool going around him. The back of the temple was completely closed off, making up the living quarters. It was settled amongst the high towering evergreen pines that made up the mountain of Olympus, the home to the Greek gods. Well, most of them. Beside the temple was a very lovely barn, unlike other barns I'd seen that were made of wood and pointed at the top. This was a long one with only columns holding the roof up and wooden stables set up along the inside to protect the animals. Not far from that was their pen area and a beautiful crystal clear river that whispered softly with the voices of naiads-- water dwelling nymphs.

Inside the temple, however, I heard screaming that made me frown and inch along the side of the temple with the hope of not being caught. I made sure to look around cautiously so that I wouldn't be seen by anyone, including the naiads and dryads. I found a large glass door opened near the back from where the screaming came from and I risked peeking inside to see who was inside.

There was a tall, incredibly beautiful woman. A goddess. Her hair was thick and chest nut brown, pulled back from her face with pearl hair pins that held gold tinsel in it. She wore a long royal purple chiton pinned with a gold brooch designed to look like a butterfly. She had to be Iapetus's wife, Clymene.

Standing across from her was a very tiny little boy with glossy black hair hanging in his face and touching his shoulders, a pair of eerie glowing blue eyes peering up at her timidly. He wore a very plain beige tunic that was a bit on the big side.

Hannibal.

And on the floor between them was a shattered ceramic vase.

"Are you truly that incompetent?! That was expensive, you mongrel! Get out!" Clymene shouted and slapped him hard over the head. Hannibal squeaked and ran for the door. I held my breath, ducking back and hiding myself as I watched Hannibal run around the other side of the temple. I followed him curiously, avoiding Clymene, who was screaming for Iapetus to do something. Of course, he didn't show up. At that time, most men really didn't give two shits about their wives. They were just there to make children and make them look good.

I followed Hannibal around as I watched him hide in the barn. I frowned curiously, staying hidden behind columns and trees as I watched him duck into one of the stables where a trio of little brown calves were all curled up. They all made cute little moos of delight at the sight of Hannibal as he dropped down into the straw. He wasn't crying, but he was obviously hurt by what Clymene had said to him and my heart broke for him.

He said something in Atlantean that I didn't quite understand, but the calves seemed to enjoy whatever it was he said because they mooed some more. Hannibal tilted his head at them, child-like awe on his face at their affection toward him. He picked one up in his arms and sat against the stable wall with it in his arms. It nuzzled him and squirmed to pick at his face. The other two grew jealous and stumbled to their weak shaky legs as they made their way over to him, plopping down beside them.

Hannibal said something in Atlantean again.

Then I heard someone's voice. I winced and quickly moved behind another pillar, watching as a boy made his way out of the house. He looked maybe four years older than Hannibal, if that. He was a beautiful boy with a heavy of thick dark hair, wavy and flowing over his shoulders. He wore a very expensive tunic with incredible detail in the design and a gold brooch that held it in place.

"Hey! Whoreson! You're in big trouble! You better not be kissing with your stupid cows!" He shouted, making me clench my teeth. It took everything I had not to dart out and punch him in the face-- child or not. Hannibal's eyes widened and he looked at the calf, who was staring at him in questioning.

"Atlas." Hannibal whispered to it. He quickly pushed the calves away from them and they moaned sorrowfully. He patted them on the head before scrambling out of the stable just as Atlas had made his way into the barn. He curled his lip at Hannibal, who had straw stuck to his tunic and a piece sticking out of his hair.

"I might as well call you calf, whoreson," He mocked, but Hannibal just frowned at him like he didn't understand, "Do you know what that means, whoreson? Calf? Cow? You're a cow." Hannibal obviously didn't comprehend. My heart wrenched at that. That wasn't right. When gods were born, even demigods, they automatically knew the languages of their ancestors and parents, which meant Hannibal should know how to speak Greek. So why didn't he know? Was he just playing dumb or did he truly have no knowledge of the Greek language?

"Gods, you're stupid," Atlas mocked and Hannibal just stared at him blankly before Atlas snorted, "You really are a cow. You have that same stupid look on your face. Too bad father won't let us cook you and eat you. He says you're too useful." Hannibal said nothing. Atlas was getting impatient, so he came forward and grabbing a fistful of Hannibal's hair, making him yelp in pain and surprise. Atlas dragged him down through the stables, making Hannibal squirm to get away, but to no avail.

"If you're gonna be stupid like a cow, then be a cow." He let go of Hannibal's hair to grab the front of his tunic, and yanked it clean off. Hannibal gasped, reaching to cover himself and Atlas snorted, tossing the tunic aside and shoving Hannibal into a stable on alll fours. Atlas laughed at him, fist clenching over his belly like he was seconds from doubling over with laughter.

"Hahaha! You're just like a cow! Now if you only ate more." Atlas said, kicking Hannibal in the butt so he fell face first into the straw. With another round of wild laughter, Atlas shut the stable door and locked it before going off to the house, shouting for his brothers to come see their new cow.

This was hurting me to watch. I didn't want to just stand there and let this kind of thing happen, especially to a child, but I couldn't. If I interfered, Hannibal would know and he would be so hurt and angry to see that I'd intruded. I honestly hated myself for having caved into this temptation, but I couldn't help it.

Suddenly, the dream shifted. The scene melted, as if someone had dumped water onto a painting and it was leaking away before it was stripped off and replaced with a new dream. Things like this happened often. No one stuck in one dream for very long.

The next dream, another memory, was of a couple years later. Hannibal wasn't the tiny toddler he was previously, but a couple years older now. Maybe ten or so. He wore a dark brown tunic, his black hair swept over one shoulder, bangs swept across his face. He was standing near the temple with his brothers, all four of them this time.

Atlas, the grimy bastard, had gotten much bigger and muscular. He was probably sixteen now or so, judging from his general appearance. His dark hair was a gorgeous mane of waves to his shoulders, and he was already getting some facial hair.

I recognized Prometheus and Epimetheus. They were holding hands and leaning toward each other, whispering and giggling about something. It was so odd to see them so close, especially given how cruel they were. Matching in appearance with smooth olive skin and dark trimmed hair, they wore matching tunics and leather sandals.

Menoetius was the fourth brother. A year or so younger than Atlas, but his hair was a lighter shade of brown and cut incredbly short to his ears with a small dash of freckles across his nose and angry dark eyes as he glared at Hannbial, who was standing just a couple feet away from them.

"You're so disrespectful," He was telling Hannibal, who said nothing in response, "Wearing that ugly sheet to greet father after his battle." Atlas nodded in agreement, raking a sneer over Hannibal.

"When he sees you, he's going to vomit. You should just go back to the closet." He agreed with disdain. Hannibal looked at them with a bored expression, his hands neatly folded behind his back.

"Clymene told me to come." He said quietly, but his voice held a very thick accent and it was difficult to determine if that was even what he said. Atlas burst out laughing at that and Menoetius rolled his eyes. Prometheus and Epimetheus snickered together.

"She told you to what?" Atlas choked between tears of laughter.

"She told you to come? That's so gross," Menoetius said in disgust, "You're sick. If you're not gonna talk right, don't talk at all." Atlas nodded. Prometheus and Epimetheus just broke into another fit of giggles. Hannibal didn't seem to quite understand, so he said nothing more. He looked very tempted to leave, but before he could, a shadow fell over them and I watched as Iapetus made his way toward them.

An incredibly tall and buff man, ripped to the extreme like a pro-wrestler, with a dark mop of thick locks falling past his shoulders in a tight braid and manly stubble coloring his cheeks and jaw, Iapetus was a sight to behold. He was decked out in expensive gold and burgandy armor, a matching cape clipped onto his armor and dragging across the dirt behind him as he made his way up the short path to the temple.

Forgetting all about Hannibal, his four little boys ran to him excitedly, grabbing at his armor and cloak. Iapetus laughed, looking positively delighted to see them. He scooped Prometheus up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, passing him off into one arm before he used his other to lift Epimetheus clear off the ground as well. They pasted little kisses on his cheeks before Iapetus lowered them and he saluted the older two.

"How was it, father," Menoetius asked with obvious excitement twinkling in his eyes, "Have we declared war on the Atlanteans?" Iapetus gave a nod.

"Indeed we have, little one. We are to be prepared. The battles will take place on the mortal plane, however, which means I cannot stay for long. The humans need me at their side." He said firmly, making Menoetius pout and Atlas groan. Prometheus and Epimetheus both voiced their protest in a jumble of voices as they pulled on their father's hands. Iapetus smiled down at them, then seemed to catch sight of Hannibal for the first time since his arrival. His face darkened and I instantly saw the rejection in his eyes.

Hannibal did too.

His blue eyes swirled with immeasurable pain, but he said nothing. He just took a step back to retreat when Iapetus cleared his throat. His sons backed off as he told them to go help Clymene inside the temple. One by one they scurried inside, each making a face or laughing at Hannibal as they passed. Hannibal watched them go, then turned as Iapetus approached him.

"What are you doing here, boy? Haven't you got anything better to do than stand there like an oaf?" He demanded. Hannibal seemed to struggle to comprehend that, but it wasn't quick enough for Iapetus, as he curled his lip in repungence.

"Worthless," He spat, "I curse the day your mother birthed you, even worse the day she threw you at me. But once I'm finished with you, you'll at least have some use." Hannibal's expression was blank for a moment before he seemed to understand Iapetus's words, making him tilt his head in confusion.

"Use?" He asked. Iapetus rolled his eyes.

"War, whoreson. You're going to war."

My eyes widened at that in disbelief. But he was only ten! How he could possibly have any strength at all to fight? Let alone carry that heavy armor, hoplon, and sword. He was still far too tiny, but Iapetus didn't seem to think so as he went off into the temple and left Hannibal alone to stand there and comprehend his words. As soon as they did, Hannibal's eyes widened and he took off running back into the temple, probably to catch his father and demand what was wrong.

I wanted to stay longer, but I felt the world around me shift. It wasn't a dream change.

It was Hannibal waking up.

I pulled out so fast my head spun from it.

I shot up in my seat, blinking rapidly and gasping hard. It took everything I had to compose myself as I watched Hannibal shift slightly on the bed. His eyes opened slowly, as if he could barely handle the weight of them. Dual colored eyes of pale glowing blue and milky white. It made me wonder when he had obtained the scar, considering that in his memories, he didn't have it until after he was ten at least. Was it a battle scar?

I said nothing as I watched Hannibal's eyes adjust to the light and strange room. His lips turned own into a frown of confusion, then it steadily smoothed out into his famous flat faced expression.

"Hannibal?" I asked at last. He didn't answer. I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat as I stood up to lean over the bed and look at him. He didn't look at me.

"Hannibal, it's me... Akin." I offered. He was silent. I wasn't sure if he remembered me or if he just really hated me for what I'd done, and I honestly wouldn't blame him. I decided to just move on with what I was saying.

"Hannibal, I... I'm so sorry. What I said, what I did. You didn't deserve any of it." I tried. I wasn't sure how I'd go about this. I should've practiced what I was going to say, but I couldn't find the right words to express how sorry I was. It felt like there was no words to describe the extent of it. I hoped Hannibal understood, but he wasn't saying anything still.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Hannibal, please, say something." I pleaded. I went to touch his hand, but he jerked his hand back so fast, I'm surprised it didn't snap. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't dare let them fall. He had every right to react like this. Not just because of what I did to him, but because what everyone else had done to him. Every touch, every word, it had all been done with the intention to harm him.

"Hannibal--"

"Okiya--" He caught himself, the obvious hate in his eyes flared at himself for speaking Atlantean before he shut his eyes and tried again, "No." I frowned, not quite understanding. Did he just not want me to talk? It stung, but I understood, so I just sat back down in silence. Hannibal stared straight ahead, ignoring me. I could see the gears in his head turning. I gulped a bit nervously, and after about thirty minutes, I spoke again.

"Do you want me to get you something to eat?" I asked. Hannibal didn't give me any indication that he wanted something to eat, but his stomach did growl and he clenched his fists. I didn't say anything, just got up to go get him something to eat. I found Jahlia in the kitchen, wrapping up the last of the food she'd given me earlier.

"Can you warm that back up? He's awake." I added. Jahlia's eyes widened for a split second before she nodded and went to put it in the microwave. I started to help her when I saw Tommy heading down the hallway and into Hannibal's room. I winced and hurried after him, then paused at the doorway when I heard Tommy talking to Hannibal.

"You're awake now," He said, his voice a cute baby sound, "Did you sleep good?" Hannibal didn't answer him, but Tommy didn't get upset. Taking a peek into the room, I saw Tommy climb into my chair and crawl onto the bed. Hannibal visibly flinched at that and moved his hand away as Tommy sat and stared at him. Hannibal turned his head in the opposite direction to stare at the window. I almost felt a little sorry for Tommy, but unlike any child I'd ever seen, he didn't get angry or hurt. He nodded as if he understood something that no one else did.

"You'll feel better after you eat," Tommy assured him, hugging his teddy bear to his chest, "Mama makes good foods. But don't eat too much. Mama gets mad when we waste." Still Hannibal didn't speak to him. I was tempted to go in and get Tommy out, but I was still curious to see if maybe Tommy would get somewhere with him.

"Are you here cuz you're hurt? Cuz I asked mama and she told me bad people hurt you." He said. Hannibal glanced at him out the corner of his eye, then looked away again. And again, Tommy nodded as if he were hearing something I wasn't.

"I had bad people hurt me before too. That's why mama got me Leonardo." He said, holding the teddy bear out. Now Hannibal was giving him a weird look.

"You named your bear Leonardo?" He asked dryly. Tommy beamed, looking esctatic that Hannibal was finally speaking to him. Granted, it wasn't the nicest thing to say to a child, but still. Tommy didn't take offense as he nodded and settled the bear in his lap so it was facing Hannibal, cute and fluffy with a blue bow around its neck.

"Yeh! He's my favorite turtle. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! You has to watch it. They're super cool and I bet you they can beat up the bad guys who hurt you." He said. Hannibal looked uncomfortable at that, but he didn't say anything, because now Tommy was on a roll as he explained in great detail for a little kid everything he knew about the weird turtle cartoon. Hannibal just sat there quietly, propped against his pillows, listening to Tommy talk enthusiastically about fighting turtles.

I felt the air stir behind me as Jahlia came down the hallway, giving me a poke in the ribs to get my attention before she went into the room. Hannibal noticably tensed at her presence and his expression of amusement became empty and cold. Jahlia pulled the tray stands out and set it over in front of Hannibal before she pulled Tommy off the bed from under his arms and balancing him on her hip.

"Sorry about him," She told Hannibal with a warm smile, "He's been like this ever since he learned how to talk." Hannibal didn't say anything, just lowered his eyes to the food. I could hear his stomach from here growl hungrily. I could practically feel those phantom hunger pains in my own stomach. I drifted into the room silently, watching Hannibal just stare at his food.

"It won't bite you," Jahlia assured, "I made sure to kill it." Tommy giggled at that, then leaned over out of Jahlia's arms and placed the teddy bear on the bed.

"You can borrow him," Tommy told him, "But you have to share with him! Don't eat it all up yourself. And he likes to cuddle when he sleeps!" Jahlia smiled and poked at his nose, kissing him and teasing him as she made her way out of the room with him. Hannibal still didn't move. I walked over to the bedside. He still sat stiffly now, fists clenched so tightly, I was sure he'd have half-moon cuts in his palms.

"I know you're hungry, Hannibal. You should eat." I urged him gently. He didn't make any move to touch his food. Just stared at it like he was waiting for it to jump out at him any second.

"I'm not hungry." He said after a moment. I frowned.

"Yes, you are. Hannibal, how much weight have you lost?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat. You're going to starve yourself to death."

"I wish." Hannibal deadpanned. I flinched.

"Hannibal--"

"I can't die," Hannibal said hollowly, making me look at him in confusion, "That's what my mother's curse was when I was born. I cannot die. So it won't matter if I eat or don't eat. I'm not touching that." I winced, trying to find a way to get him to eat. I didn't care if he lived for eternity, he wasn't going to do it while starving.

"Jahlia went through the trouble of making this--"

"I don't care," Hannibal's voice was hard now, "She can take it. I don't want it." Frustration welled up inside me, but I couldn't take it out on him. I knew how he felt. The last thing anyone wanted to do after that kind of horror was eat, but he was starving. I could hear his stomach squelching in pain.

"Well," I said after a moment, picking up the tray and moving it aside to the chair, "I'll put it here in case you get hungry later. Uhm, don't you at least want to drink something?" Hannibal answered in Atlantean, then winced and looked away. He was done talking. I sighed miserably, but I didn't leave. I sat down on the side of the bed, but he still didn't look at me. He just laid with his head turned away from me, eyes staring flatly at the window.

And with each passing second, my heart felt like it was steadily shattering to pieces.

What if Hannibal didn't forgive me?

What if I didn't forgive Hannibal?

What if things just got worse from here on out?