Ok I need to ask this; Will's and Hannibal's reaction of their daughter killing an animal at a young age and then later on a person?

(if she was raised by both Will and Hannibal I mean)

If their daughter killed an animal at a young age, Will would meet the revelation with his usual blank expression, perhaps just the barest furrow of his brow, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He’d ask her why. Did the animal hurt her? Was she curious? He wouldn’t raise his voice. Instead, he’d make her bury it or dispose of it properly, watching her the entire time, searching for signs. If she was curious, he would redirect that curiosity: introducing her to anatomy through already-dead creatures, controlled, methodical. If it was self-defense, he’d teach her how to avoid harm without inflicting it in return.

But in the back of his mind, he would know. He’s seen this before, hundreds of times, on crime scene photos and in interrogation rooms. The first tell-tale sign, the first domino in a chain that doesn’t end well. But how could he judge? How could he call it monstrous when he himself had stood on that same path so many times?

Hannibal, on the other hand, would be amused. He’d watch Will’s reaction with veiled interest, perhaps even suggesting to their daughter that she keep it from him, just to see how long she could. He wouldn’t scold her, not as a child. But he would explain the concept of unnecessary cruelty, not out of morality, but principle. Killing for a reason is art; killing without purpose is wasteful. He would let the moment pass, filing it away for later.

And later would come. When she was eighteen, maybe twenty, and a body lay at her feet instead of an animal’s.

Will would stare. Silent for a long moment, before asking in that slow, measured cadence of his, “Why did you kill this person?” The same way he asked if the social worker was inside the horse. Not condemning, not accepting…just peeling back the layers of an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted.

He would help her. Of course, he would help her. Moving the body, hiding the evidence, all with the efficiency of a man who has done this before, who knows exactly how much blood will seep into the floorboards and what it takes to scrub it out. But when it was done, he’d take away her weapons. He’d tell her, not in anger but in frustration, that she was being reckless. That she was jeopardizing herself. That she was too young to be this careless.

And depending on her reasons, he would either lecture her in that circuitous, disorienting way of his, never fully condemning, but never truly approving…or, if he found himself understanding her, if he agreed in some way, he would say nothing at all. Just a blank stare, a slow nod. “Next time, you tell me,” he would say, his voice even, unreadable. “Don’t take matters into your own hands.”

Hannibal, predictably, wouldn’t care in the slightest. If anything, he’d be more offended by the lack of refinement. He would chide her, not for the act, but for her lack of precision, her lack of grace. He’d insist she learn, properly, under his guidance, he’d want to shape her hand around a blade. And then he would probe. For hours, for days. Picking apart her reasoning, setting her mind through a labyrinth of psychological experiments, orchestrating little tests of control, just to see what she would do.

And as for Will and Hannibal themselves, there would be arguments. Will would say they ruined her, Hannibal would insist that nothing is ruined, that everything is subjective. They’d circle each other with words the way they always do, pushing and pulling in a dance we all know too well.