[Every time White claims that he knows is another needle being shoved into the pincushion. He may not mean it as such, may not mean to pierce Will without any sense of care how deep he goes, how terrible the bruising will be later, but that's all Will can feel. He knows, what? He knows names, he knows snippets that he's been given, but White still feels he has a right, he has the Goddamn authority to claim that he has actual knowledge of the full picture. A picture he's gotten from everyone who is not Will Graham. White's gall, his arrogance stabs Will more than his words, has the bitter tinge of blood on his tongue. He's free to ask but when that asking comes with declarations he already knows, Will doesn't take to it quite so kindly.]

I don't miss him. No reason. [Because Hannibal doesn't have to be present for him to be there, for Will to hear his voice and work out how he'd react to any given situation without effort. Sometimes it comes in handy—mostly, it helps Will know which direction to not go to. Sometimes.] And I don't need an outside opinion to tell me that we're not good for each other. I have enough sense to know that for myself.

[Ouch.]

What I'm not sure on is these similarities you mention. I assume the differences are—you and Pinkman aren't cannibals? Is that it?

[Blunt as a fucking brick, he is. But Walter's just stabbed him in the brain several times over, he deserves it.]