Anders cursed his traitorous heart, which swooped drastically at the sight of Hawke, slouched against the hood of his supremely shitty car, sideways grin in place. This grin, however, was not the grin Anders was familiar with. It was empty. The old Hawke's smile would often leave Anders breathless with its vivacity and openness.

"Anders!" Hawke called brightly. "How was institutionalization?"

"Oh you know," Anders shrugged, swirling his pointer finger around his temple. "Too much time alone with the voice in my head." He looked down at the small plastic bag he held in one hand. His life over the past few years in one place. It was pathetically small, containing a single change of clothes, a few trashy romances, his keys, wallet and a carton of cigarettes with no lighter. Anders frowned. He knew he could light it with a snap of his fingers, but the thought of using magic after nearly two years made his hands shake. And he hardly trusted Hawke with fire so near his face.

Hawke's smile remained empty, and this time Anders' heart constricted painfully.

"Well, I do hope you and Justice are getting along after so much quality time."

"Yes," Anders fiddled with his cuff. "We painted each other's nails and talked about boys."

"So sorry I missed it," Hawke replied with a wry smile that looked a little more like his old self. "It's good to see you again." His eyes dragged down Anders' frame familiarly. "You look good. They feed you regularly in there?"

"Regularly, yes. Well? Not so much." Hawke had lost a distressing amount of weight, and he had dark bags under his eyes. Anders, tactfully, didn't mention it. Hawke was still wildly attractive despite it all, which really was entirely unfair, so Anders figured it wasn't worth mentioning anyway. "Is canned spinach and boiled chicken really a meal?"

Hawke made a face. "Didn't you eat rats back in Darktown?"

"That was a rumor you started," Anders tried to defend himself. "I never ate rats."

Hawke laughed, a small snort, but it was enough for Anders. For now.

Anders had a terrible habit of trying to fix people. A nasty side effect of a natural talent for healing. Part of why he'd originally fallen for Hawke had been the appearance of uncomplicatedness, the misconception that maybe for once he'd be the more fucked up one. But then everything went down. Merrill, the demon, Justice, Bethany, Carver. Everything fell apart. Hawke fell apart.

"So," Anders began. "You going to tell me why I'm checking myself out of self-imposed isolation and excessive drug use?"

"Sounds delightful," Hawke muttered. "I need your help, actually."

"Just like old times then?" Anders quipped. "What brought this about?"

Hawke gave a helpless little noise. "Would you believe me if I told you God told me?"

Well, that was new.

###

The self-proclaimed angel was more beautiful than Anders could have imagined. All long, dark limbs encircled by pure white markings that matched his ethereal hair, all of which seemed to glow with what must have been heavenly light.

He also held a great disdain for all who practiced magic of any sort, though he seemed more willing to forgive it in Hawke than in Anders. If Anders didn't doubt that divine beings could even feel desire, he would believe the reason for that was in the way the angel and Hawke couldn't seem to stop staring at each other. There was, however, no question about Hawke's capability to experience desire, and by God was the angel desirable. It wasn't as though wanting to fuck an emissary of God would make them any more damned than they already were.

Anders felt sick.

The angel, Fenris, was talking solemnly about a 'rising darkness' and Hawke's eyes lit up with glee. Anders had to cut him off before he could say anything about 'something else rising'.

"Why is it our job to fix this?"

Fenris leveled a cold glare at him. "Believe me when I say it was not my choice. You would not have been my choice."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well," Anders muttered.

Fenris ignored him, instead turning his attention back to Hawke. "The conflict begins in Kirkwall."

"Doesn't it always," Hawke sighed dramatically. "The things I've done for this city…"

"We are aware of them," Fenris agreed. "Which is mostly why you were chosen. It also appears to be an opportunity for redemption."

Hawke looked as though he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

###

"Are you sure about this?"

"Not at all, but I need you to live, Carver. Hold on."

###

"Sebastian would have believed him."

"Oh the joys of working with a believer," Anders called from where he was hunched over, fiddling with ingredients. He had yet to cast a spell since leaving the asylum, instead devoting all of his excess magic into making countless potions. He was actually running out of places to store them at this point. Hawke was getting fed up with accidentally ingesting mysterious liquids with unforeseen side effects when not paying close enough attention to which mug he had grabbed. "Too bad neither of us have seen more of God than of Hell."

"I don't know," Hawke was sprawled across his couch, perusing and ancient text on what looked to be elemental magic. Hawke's favorite. "Fenris might be able to make me believe." He gave Anders a sidelong glance, tiny smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "Worship, too."

"You heretic," Anders said mildly. "That's probably the ultimate sin. Lusting after such a pure being."

Hawke snorted. "Hardly. After what I did to my own brother and you, there's no question about where my eternal soul belongs."

"You do know that's not your fault, right?" Anders asked. "My choices were my own and you were just trying to save Carver's life." Anders didn't bring up the fact that both were entirely his own fault. The last thing Hawke needed was to reassure Anders. "We were just trying to survive."

"I sold my own brother's soul," Hawke said emphatically. "And if it weren't for me, we would never have been in that situation."

"You were only trying to help. It's what you do. You couldn't have controlled any of us if you tried," Anders said. Anders didn't say it was my idea. I told you there was another way and you were just too desperate to save him. My fault. I sold us both.

"Not anymore," Hawke murmured.

Anders looked up in surprise. "What have you been doing for two years? Rotting away in this fancy house?" The fancy house was actually rather stark and utilitarian, reminding Anders of a bomb shelter. The lack of windows brought back rather unpleasant memories of Darktown.

"Essentially," Hawke sighed, tilting his head backward in a rather tantalizing manner that made Anders want to kick himself. Now was not the time. "After Varric and Isabela cut ties, most of my connections did too. Left poor old me with nothing to do."

And that really was the crux of it. Hawke had gone too far, gambled and it had not paid off, and it scared everyone away. Probably would have scared Anders off too if he didn't know that what he had done was worse. As it was, Anders had still run, he had just come crawling back, as always.

It must have been lonely. At least Anders had spent his solitude with a spirit of justice, which did lack a sense of humor but was at least constant company. Hawke had removed himself from everyone he loved.

"If it makes you feel better," Anders really hoped his tone was comforting instead of bitter. "I doubt Fenris is going to let you sit on your ass nearly as much as you have gotten used to."

"Hopefully I'll be sitting on his—"

Anders coughed pointedly, cutting him off. "Ultimate sin," he reminded. Really, Isabela had left a lasting impression on Hawke. A bad influence, that one.

###

Anders had been right about the angel riding their asses at least. He made a mental note not to say that out loud around Hawke.

They were back to ridding the city of demons and other things that went bump in the night, and if it weren't for the horribly empty house and the distinct lack of banter as they wandered the streets looking for evil to fuck up it would feel like old times.

There was also the fact that Anders wasn't entirely comfortable using magic yet. He hadn't yet used it with Justice there since, well, then, and didn't know what would happen. The magic was still itching underneath his skin demanding to be let out, which he did in small ways, still making too many potions and small charmed objects with ancient inscriptions.

Justice called him weak.

Hawke said nothing.

Anders still did his best to not be useless, doing all the research and trying to prepare, knowing that once they got there, he wouldn't be able to help.

The first time he did cast magic, it was an accident.

Something they thought they had banished slithered out of the shadows from behind Hawke, preparing to sink its dark claws into his back. Suddenly every bit of power that Anders had been holding back sprung out of him, slamming the shadow to the ground, crushing it with a burst of pure, arcane force. Hawke stumbled forwards, glancing behind him with raised eyebrows, then turning to Anders with calculating eyes.

He finally nodded in recognition and they went home.

###

There was blood. Too much of it. Flowing too freely. Head wounds, his mind supplied uselessly as the demon parading as his friend continued to wreak havoc around them, they bleed a lot.

Please please not him, no one else. Please. I'll do anything.

###

It was as though a dam had broken. Suddenly no task was too mundane to complete with magic.

Anders had taken to having a constant tendril of healing magic trained on Hawke that pinged every once in a while when he may have had a small muscle ache or a bruise.

Some nights when he'd come home late at night and already coming down from a buzz, Anders would carefully remove all the alcohol from his system and heal the scratches down his back or the more obvious bite marks, all the while hoping Hawke wouldn't notice that he didn't wake up with a hangover or any other marks from the night's activities.

But eventually healing just one person was not enough.

"I want to reopen the clinic."

"You mean the illegal one?" Hawke questioned, suspiciously peering into a mug before determining it was indeed coffee and didn't smell excessively of herbs. "The one that nearly got you arrested?"

"Come on Hawke," Anders reasoned. "Hardly anything we do is legal."

Hawke shrugged. "Do whatever you want, just don't get caught. The last thing I need is you in prison, or back in the asylum."

"I know what I'm doing," Anders reassured, seeing Hawke's blasé attitude for what it was. "I know people are reluctant to believe that they were healed by magic, I have quite the array of legitimate sounding placebos."

Spending most of his time with one person and a spirit whose sole purpose was to judge was draining him, and being surrounded by familiar faces all day was refreshing. Small talk, the pleasant contentment that came from healing and an outlet for all his restless energy was doing him a world of good. The only downside was he spent most of his time back in Darktown. Not that he had much of a choice. Authorities avoided it, the people here needed it and were far less likely to ask questions.

Some faces were more familiar than others, much to his discomfort.

"Well well, didn't expect to see you out of the looney bin so soon."

"I was in for two years," He reminded, turning to face her. "Isabela," he acknowledged.

"Anders," she replied mockingly. "You got time for one more patient?"

"It's not a rash of questionable origin again is it?"

Her laugh washed over him and it seemed like too long since he'd heard anyone laugh so genuinely. "Not this time, I actually think I broke my arm."

He took the proffered arm as gently as he could, always a little too aware of his patients' pain. She winced, trying to cover it up, but he sent out a pulse of soothing energy anyway, feeling out the injury.

"Definitely broken," he declared, already beginning to knit the bone together. "I can heal it enough to set it in place but you'll need to wear a splint for a few weeks so you don't mess it up again too soon."

"Me? Mess things up?" She laughed hollowly. "When have I ever done that?"

He cupped her jaw carefully, tilting her head so she would look him in the eye. "We all messed up. You least of all, actually." The people of their little group without the natural propensity for magic could hardly be blamed. It was the actual practitioners whose curiosity had led to the disaster, and half of them were dead now.

All my fault.

"I ran," she said simply. "It's kind of always been what I do."

"Everybody ran," Anders reminded her. "I ran straight into solitary confinement."

"It's different," she insisted. "You were more afraid of yourself than of Hawke. You were only trying to save us all. And he wasn't halfway in love with you."

"I'm fully aware," He said, unable to conceal the tang of bitterness in his words.

Isabela, always more perceptive than they gave her credit for, placed a consoling hand on his thigh. "He does tend to have that effect on people."

Another thing Anders was fully aware of. Everyone loved Hawke in one way or another.

Or had. Maybe they all still did.

Anders sighed deeply. "That he does."

He probably should have been expecting it when he was pushed down, not quite rough but definitely not gentle either, against the cot and Isabela slotted her mouth against his.

It had been too long, but she was familiar. All her softness and curves belying her cutthroat nature, her overwhelming need to be in control, even the noises she made as he thumbed her hip and trailed fingers sparking with electricity up her ribs. He was careful not to let her put any weight on her still healing wrist, entwining their fingers loosely as her other hand drew deep crescents in his shoulder, they might have even drawn blood but Anders couldn't bring himself to care in that moment, with her undulating above him hypnotically. He groaned, arching his back, up into her.

When it was over, they lay there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, before she sinuously slithered from the cot, redressing with a practiced speed Anders could only marvel at. He tripped over his pants on a daily basis. Perhaps it was because Isabela didn't wear pants, that must make things easier.

"Thanks for the walk down memory lane," she said cheerfully, kissing him on the cheek. He was still sprawled, very naked, on the narrow cot. "It was fun. Don't let Hawke get you down too much."

And she was gone, slipping from the clinic like a shadow, making Anders question if she had even been there.

###

Hawke flicked the prominent hickey on the side of Anders' neck playfully the next morning.

"Looks like reopening the clinic really has been good for you," Hawke said, sounding all too amused. "Play a little doctor last night?"

Anders scowled. "You know that would be unethical. I would never sleep with a patient."

Hawke's eyebrows stayed raised, smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. He was winking exaggeratedly.

"Fine," Anders gave in. "I slept with a patient and it was just as dirty as you are imagining."

"Were there latex gloves?" Hawke asked delightedly. "A stethoscope?"

"All of the above," Anders admitted magnanimously. "And a white coat."

"Rectal thermometer?"

"Yes," Anders put on his best suggestive tone. "A thermometer."

Hawke let out a lascivious laugh. "Despite the puppyish boy-next-door looks, I know about your sordid past. I'm onto you."

Anders felt his stomach drop. "Isabela exaggerates every time she tells that story. The orgy wasn't nearly so public."

He knew his mistake the instant he saw Hawke smile sag and turn false. Isabela was so salient in his mind he hadn't even thought about how it had ended between them.

Hawke was so obviously trying to save face. "Anders, I was there for much of your wild youth. I know. Didn't you sleep with a teacher once?"

Gracefully, Anders let him have this one, all while flushing madly. He had been the subject of school gossip for the rest of the year because of that particular tryst, but thankfully not legal action. "You don't need to know everything about me."

Hawke cocked his head, looking Anders up and down. "I suppose I don't. I like a little mystery."

###

It was probably fair to say that the case had gone south.

Generally speaking, when he was dragging the unconscious body of, arguably his best friend, which currently housed a demon, it had gone south. Especially when the only person who could help was decidedly not his best friend.

Not for lack of trying, as he was unfailingly forgiving. He just, grated on Anders' nerves. No single person could be that perfect.

After everything, he had frustratingly been the one to handle the guilt the best. Catholicism must have given him a lot of practice. He'd also not fully abandoned Hawke, instead it had been Hawke who had pushed him away, from what Anders had gathered.

Anders was still afraid to knock on his door, despite all that.

It wasn't as though he had a choice at this point.

He knocked.

It was late, and even though Sebastian looked sleepy and rumpled, he was still devastatingly handsome, with no bags under his eyes or scraggly stubble.

"Anders." He didn't even sound surprised.

"Sebastian, or is it Father now?"

"Sebastian works." He blinked. "Is that Garrett under your arm?"

"About that," Anders shuffled, readjusting Hawke. "I could use some of that Catholic faith right about now."

###

"I had always hoped you'd ask for guidance, but I rather hoped it wouldn't be an exorcism." Sebastian, bless him, was making tea, alongside the holy water, offering a steaming mug to Anders, ignoring their unconscious, possessed friend tied to a chair in the corner.

"You and me both," Anders muttered, sipping the tea. "But this demon is powerful. I can't get it out on my own. My exorcisms have always been… lacking," Anders admitted, hiding behind the tea.

"Your talents lie elsewhere," Sebastian replied. "I have never met a better healer."

And he sounded like he meant it too, instead of what he clearly had been trying to say. You're so much better at letting the demons in aren't you Anders.

Justice rumbled in his chest at the thought.

"You merely lack the Faith required to eradicate the more tenacious ones," Sebastian continued, turning to face Anders handing him an ornate knife. "Take this."

"What is it for?" Anders demanded, already knowing, but daring Sebastian to say it out loud.

Sebastian's eyes softened. "I need you to be strong for this. For Hawke." He took Anders' hand into both of his, pressing the dagger into his palm. "You do not believe in God, but believe in Garrett, believe that he can fight this, and you will not need it."

Anders took the weapon.

His hands free, Sebastian took up a bible, the holy water and slung a rosary about his neck. "Are you ready?"

"No," Anders admitted just as he positioned the blade just under Hawke's jaw.

Sebastian flicked water onto Hawke's face and uttered a single word in Latin.

Hawke's lids snapped open to reveal the demon's eyes, a smirk that was all evil with none of Hawke's charm spread across his lips, like the rictus of a skull. "Well. An exorcism. Been a while since I had a priest so cute."

Sebastian wasted no time, setting right into the heavy rhythm of words that Anders barely understood. He'd only ever learned enough Latin for casting, even then he relied more on instinct than incantations.

The demon flinched, but seemed to remain calm. "Really now, can't we just talk."

But Sebastian refused to let up.

The demon jerked violently, hissing in pain as it writhed between the pure iron cord binding its limbs and the blessed knife to its throat.

Its eyes focused in on Anders, probably realizing that Sebastian was no easy prey. Horribly intuitive lot, demons were.

"You wouldn't be able to cut his throat, you know." The demon said it like a fact, like it knew the chaos in Anders' head at that moment. Justice clamoring that the demon was trying to manipulate him was not helping. "You're too in love," it whined, putting emphasis on the last word, drawing it out unpleasantly.

"Fuck off," Anders said eloquently, and nicked the flesh of Hawke's neck, barely enough to bleed.

The demon let out a hiss that gradually turned into a chuckle. "I could give you everything you wanted." Its voice had gone low and gravelly, and hearing the demon's words in Hawke's voice was only adding to the horrible disaster inside his head. It didn't help when the demon brushed its knee against the inside of his thigh. Purposeful, despite the bindings only allowing for minimal movement.

Anders bit his lip, nearly drawing blood in his haste, but it was too late, the demon had heard the tiny exhalation.

"I would never do that to him," Anders reaffirmed. For Justice, for himself, for the demon. For Hawke, if he was listening somewhere in there.

"Did you know he wants to fuck you?"

The steady stream of Latin faltered.

"Finish it, Sebastian," Anders growled. The demon was getting desperate, sweat was beading along its forehead, the eyes flickering between the demon's red and Hawke's familiar blue. "Fucking finish it!"

The incantation continued and with it the demon spewed forth everything in a hurry.

"He wants to fuck you, and he hates himself for it. Even more than he hates himself for wanting that angel." The demon spat that word out like a curse. "You'd be doing him a favor, he'll never tell you how much he wants you, how bad he has it, how often he thinks about it, when you're not home. Sometimes even when you are, trying so desperately to hide it. That hickey, it nearly drove him over the edge, knowing someone else had you, thinking about what they did to you."

"Demons lie, Anders," Sebastian reminded him in a worried tone.

"I know," Anders yelled back at him. "Fucking finish the exorcism, now."

"It won't be long before he hates you too," the demon was spitting out words mixed with a dead language no mortal could understand. "For everything he can't have. It will turn to bitterness and… and…"

The demon let out a guttural roar, throwing its head back as the pressure of its release nearly blew out Anders' eardrums, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

###

They were too late. Bodies were already strewn across the room.

The demon held and impossible rictus across the usually sweet face.

"She did my bidding well."

Hell raged behind it.

###

They were still in Sebastian's house when the angel visited.

Afterwards Sebastian had helped move Hawke to the couch, and calmly put everything back in its rightful place, returning furniture to its upright position, reshelving books, calmly rerolling the cord used to bind Hawke down. He'd even gone so far as to make Anders more tea before returning to bed.

All while Anders had sat on the floor by the couch, unable to do anything but hold Hawke's hand.

Fenris appeared just as Sebastian's breathing evened into raucous snores. Despite all their disagreements, Anders found it horribly endearing that he snored.

Anders snorted as soon as he caught sight of the angel. A divine being in his own house and Sebastian wasn't even awake to witness it.

"You've got impeccable timing," Anders sneered. "Couldn't have shown up a few hours ago, flaming sword and divine retribution?"

"The flaming sword is Michael's," Fenris pointed out solemnly. "And I am not allowed to… interfere."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" Anders waved his had vaguely in the air. "With all this? Interfering?"

"I am guiding," Fenris corrected pointedly. "So you do not stray from the path."

"If you wanted people who stick to the path then you've probably chosen unwisely," Anders informed him, not without a touch of bitterness.

"Despite what you may think, and how unfortunate it was to lose so much, it has put you on the right path."

"Oh, so killing one of my best friends, letting another die, losing Carver, becoming possessed is the 'right' path?" Anders hissed furiously. "I'd hate to see the wrong one."

Justice flared angrily for a second and the markings swirling down the angel's arms and neck lit up in response, simultaneously calming him and displaying a readiness for action, like soothing a wild beast with one hand while prepared to kill it with the knife the other if it made a wrong move.

Anders pushed Justice down. The spirit did not take kindly to being cowed by the angel, but reluctantly retreated to the back of his mind, still prepared for action, reminding Anders of a pacing tiger.

"The right path is not the most desirable one, but it will lead you to your destiny," Fenris clarified. "I cannot tell you more."

"Of course you can't." Anders rolled his eyes, turning back to where Hawke lay prone on the couch. He was only vaguely surprised to notice he had yet to let his hand go.

The blood had dried where Anders had cut him earlier, but Anders healed it anyway, with a gentle caress along the line of his jaw, where unruly stubble was becoming full grown beard. It was more something to do other than talk to the angel, who remained a tense presence behind him, than for the fact that it actually required healing.

"You… care for him a great deal," Fenris observed.

Anders snorted. "No shit. Why do you think I'm still here?"

"A sense of misguided guilt?"

"Touche," Anders granted. "But that's secondary."

"Was the demon correct?" Fenris wondered. "Are you in love with him?"

"Of course you heard that," Anders groaned. "So what if I am?"

Fenris shifted awkwardly. Which was strange, considering awkward was just about the last adjective Anders would have assigned to him. "Hawke is the kind of person that is easy to fall for."

"Very astute of you," Anders agreed, thinking of the romantically aloof Isabela who had to run away because of whatever Hawke made her feel. Then he cocked his head to the side, teasing smile in place. "And how did you come to this conclusion?"

"Observation," Fenris replied coolly, pointedly ignoring Anders' implication.

Anders forced it, despite the fact that he knew doing so may earn him a divine smiting. "If you were listening in on the exorcism then you know how wildly attracted he is to you, right?"

"Could I not say the same for you?"

Anders felt those words like a shock of lightening down his spine. "Demons lie," he reminded Fenris. And himself.

Fenris had no reply, which, Anders figured, said it all.

###

Justice is blind.

Justice is blinding him, everything is light and nothing but elimination matters.

###

When they had been young, teenagers, really just kids, there had been nine of them.

Hawke first and foremost. The one to bring them all together. The morbid fascination they shared with the occult hadn't done anything to tarnish his reputation, instead he was the golden boy, excelling in school, never without a beautiful girl on his arm and while he lacked any skill in sports, the jocks still loved him, much to his brother's dismay, as he had been trying to muscle his way onto the football team for years.

Carver, the insecure boy looking for love who hid it all beneath an overinflated ego. Even though he was more often than not the group's buttmonkey, he refused to leave. Stubborn ass. Probably because he felt like he needed to keep his siblings safe.

While it had been Hawke to bring them all together, it had been Varric who really introduced them to the occult, revealing ancient tomes and artifacts every few weeks, much to their collective wonder. No one knew how he got them. No one questioned it.

Sebastian had seemed too pure for them, a good little Catholic boy. But he had held the same incurable curiosity about other worlds, probably only fueled by his unwavering faith.

Isabela was the opposite of pure. Already renowned for her talented fingers, both for what they could in the bedroom and in thievery. The shadows were where she worked best, and that is where they found themselves more often than not. If sometimes those shadows were between the tall shelves in the library, giggling softly with Hawke, well it certainly hadn't made Anders burn with jealousy.

Merrill had been too sweet, with only the occasional worrying obsession with things too dark for even them to contemplate. They had just attributed it to her insatiable curiosity. None of them had seen it coming.

Aveline had come along with the Hawkes, with zero interest in the occult and full interest in keeping them safe.

Anders had been the weird kid, scrawny, pale and used to the dark. He hung out in cemeteries, smoked too much, had once dyed his hair black to impress the group he'd run with before meeting Hawke, before promptly realizing it was not his color. He had quickly developed somewhat of a reputation as the school slut, which confused him at the time, but he blamed Isabela for giving everyone that impression, even if there were a tiny bit of truth in it. Despite all this, Hawke had seen something in him.

And then there was Bethany.

Bethany had been the overachiever. Wide eyed and voracious when it came to any new information and even beat out Hawke for raw natural talent.

It still hurt to think about her delicate wrists twisting as she cast, and her open face lit up with excitement and she and Merrill pored over old books filled with forbidden magic.

Only a few of them turned out to have the talent for it. Hawke and Bethany excelled especially in everything they did. Merrill was nearly as talented, and her desire to learn rivaled even Bethany's. Anders however had struggled to even light a candle until he'd discovered healing. After that, everything came much easier.

The others could do rituals and incantations, but lacked the power needed for on the spot casting.

They had all been so young, barely beginning to dabble, totally unaware that their lives would soon revolve around it.

###

"I wanted to thank you."

"It was no problem," Anders replied absently. "Though you really should do the dishes more often."

"I'm not talking about the dishes."

Anders actually looked up from whatever shitty romance novel he had selected this time, they were all starting to blend together. Hawke sounded serious. "Oh?"

"I mean, thank you for not taking… taking the demon's deal."

"You know I wouldn't do that," Anders chided. "Not to you. Not ever. And anyway, you can never trust a demon."

"Right," Hawke's voice was tight with an emotion Anders couldn't recognize, which disturbed him greatly. No small amount of empathy was required for healing and for that to fail him now was disconcerting. "Demons lie."

"Demons lie," Anders repeated quietly, like a prayer.

###

"You can never trust demons."

It becomes lesson one for the dead pupils with their heads cradled in his lap.

###

"Couldn't sleep?"

Anders looked up to see a hollow eyed Hawke slouching in the entry to the kitchen. He shrugged ambivalently. "Didn't want to."

Anders observed quietly as Hawke stumbled around, making a fresh pot of coffee. Having completed that task, he plopped own heavily across the table from Anders, making grabby hands.

Anders stared at him blankly, uncomprehending.

"Gimme," Hawke demanded rather petulantly.

"You want my cigarette?" Anders' eyebrows shot up. "You hate smoking."

"Desperate times," Hawke supplied cheekily, plucking it from Anders' limp fingers. "Besides. I don't hate smoking, I hate it when you smoke."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that distinction," he snarked, nimbly stealing his cigarette back.

They fell into silence, amiably passing it back and forth.

Hawke must have the dreams too. Nightmares really.

The ones full of the demon that wore Merrill's face, Bethany's body, tiny in death, bent at too many odd angles, Carver arching toward her, bleeding out too fast from his wounds poisoned by dark magic. The carnage surrounding the epicenter, the gaping maw of Hell.

You don't just stare into Hell and sleep well at night.

He could only imagine the images he himself had made. None of them had been a match for the demon and it was all too easy to summon a spirit, especially when the demon had knocked Hawke against the wall, and he had been bleeding profusely from a vicious head wound.

That night had been one long blur of desperation. Anders' desperation to save everyone as they all fell one by one, overcome by the demon and the onslaught of hellish power oozing from the portal. Even Justice had been desperate for survival, finding Anders' beacon of pleading in a moment of pure luck.

The aftermath had been no prettier. The majority dead or dying, even Justice lying dormant, with only Anders to drag himself to the portal to close it, leaving a trail of blood along the way.

And then Hawke woke up and it was just more desperation to save his brother at all costs.

And Anders had provided a solution. Damn it, all the blame fell on him for this one.

Hawke was reaching for another cigarette and made a move to light it from his fingertips before Anders snatched it away, lighting it himself.

"Your magic should be purely for combat," he explained at the sight of Hawke's pout. "Would hate to singe that magnificent beard."

Hawke rubbed his palm along his jaw self-consciously. "You like it?"

"It's growing on me," Anders admitted wryly.

"Technically," Hawke said grinning in anticipation. "It's growing on me."

The combination of sleep deprivation, the nauseous nicotine high and the way Hawke's lips were wrapped around the butt of the cigarette was really getting to his head, and he actually giggled, which escalated into a full laugh, aching, twitching stomach muscles and all.

When he could finally see through the tears, he looked to see that Hawke's eyes were soft, and his right hand was raised in an aborted motion that looked like it was directed towards Anders' face. "You have a really nice laugh," Hawke said. "I really don't hear it enough."

"Likewise," Anders said breathlessly.

Hawke's hand moved from midair to rub through his hair, sighing deeply. "I think I'm going to have to try sleeping again."

"Oh, okay." Anders struggled with the sudden change in tone. "Sleep well."

"I'll do my best." Hawke left the kitchen with a hand trailing along Anders' shoulder. "You should too."

Anders' brain was too addled to fully comprehend what had just happened.

###

Apparently word had gotten around that Anders was out and Hawke was back in business because he had a slew of visitors at the clinic after Isabela.

The first of which, not surprisingly was Aveline.

Anders had never gotten the impression she was the type to abandon Hawke easily. He must have cut all ties when the others pulled away.

She showed up with a homey picnic basket full of freshly baked goods and a contrastingly calculating look in her icy eyes.

"Aveline," he cried in delight. "I didn't know you baked."

"My husband does," she replied, slight flush showing up too easily on her fair complexion.

Would the wonders never cease? "You're married?"

"Yes."

"And he bakes?"

"Yes."

"Aveline," he said saucily. "It seems you've done well for yourself. Congratulations."

He suddenly felt pinned by that calculating look. "I never approved of you," she confessed. "But hopefully you'll take better care of him than that harlot ever did." And then she was gone.

Always right down to business, that Aveline.

The next, remarkably, was Varric.

"Tell Hawke I'm sorry, and I lost a brother too."

That was all, but Hawke and Varric had always had a certain camaraderie that had been utterly foreign to Anders.

What was most shocking was that these people who so clearly still loved Hawke, and had never much cared for Anders, and after everything he'd done, would come to him instead of going directly to Hawke.

Hawke's smile when Anders delivered Aveline's basket was blinding. And as he demanded all the gossip about this new husband, with the same fervor as times past, it almost felt like healing.

And Varric's uncharacteristically short message nearly moved Hawke to tears.

Seriously, Anders would never understand.

Surprisingly, the angel made regular appearances as Anders closed shop every night. They would bicker and disagree, sometimes getting dangerously close to a physical altercations, however he would conveniently disappear before Anders could snarl, Justice ready to bare its fangs.

However, once, he hadn't left in time, after a rather heated debate about destiny and free will, and Justice had lashed out violently, a poignant flash of blue. The reaction had been instant, markings flaring bright and a slam of ethereal power so strong and foreign it forced Anders to the floor, shocking him out of action, but it brought Justice roaring back with a vengeance, struggling up to his knees.

And once again, he was pushed down in his own clinic and kissed.

If this could be called a kiss. It was vicious and investigative, almost as if Fenris was trying to find something and pull it out of him. It seemed as though he hadn't found it because it progressed until they were naked and writhing, nails and teeth finding a purchase wherever they could.

Sharp canines found the juncture just below his jaw and drew blood.

The markings were raised, he noticed as he dragged his nails across them, and a constant reminder of just what was fucking him into the hard cold tile. Anders wanted to laugh. Now this was divine retribution.

At least it wasn't on the cot this time. Anders was relieved despite how cold the floor was. It probably wouldn't have been able to take it. He shivered. Maybe he should invest in heat.

After, Fenris placed a joltingly gentle kiss against his forehead like a blessing.

"You were made for him and if I were to ever touch him I would not be able to accept this. You should take what you want more often, it is a luxury not all have."

Perhaps it was a concession. It was hard to tell who had won.

Anders was left with the thought that he should stop touching people who really wanted Hawke.

###

If Hawke noticed the bruises this time, he said nothing.

Anders had never bothered to see if he could heal himself, so the ache of them stayed with him for days. It seemed counterproductive, to address his wounds with his own life force, leaving him vulnerable one way or another.

Hawke was looking infinitely better these days, and Anders truly hoped this meant the remnants of his support structure were returning, willing to make amends. He needed them.

It had always seemed like Hawke needed people.

If only Anders could bring back Bethany and Carver too. Those were who Hawke really needed.

As he recovered, Hawke became more and more like his old, flirtatious self. This was simultaneously heartening and maddening.

Anders was used to Hawke flirting with him, Hawke flirted with everyone, but usually he had several outlets, and even with the return of some of them, he was still around Anders the most.

So Anders was the one to deal with the bedroom eyes and consistent remarks on his looks and rumored skills in bed. Apparently he was talking with Isabela again, judging from his sudden knowledge of such things.

Maybe they could reconnect in other ways as well.

In some ways the thought made Anders ache, but for so long, it had been Hawke and Isabela. Sometimes Hawke with others sometimes Isabela with others, and even Hawke and Isabela and others. But they always ended up back together. It seemed like they had been made for each other, both horribly sarcastic and outrageous flirts.

They had once invited him to join, and he had been tempted, knowing from experience that threesomes with Isabela were better than threesomes with anyone else, she took full control of the situation, knowing exactly what would and wouldn't work. The thought alone of being pressed up against Isabela's soft curves and Hawke's spectacularly formed torso made him drool to this day. However, even his horny, infatuated, nineteen-year-old self had known it wouldn't be fair for anyone involved.

Perhaps now wasn't the best time to be reminiscing about potential sexual exploits, as Hawke was looking at him again when he was purportedly sorting through the multitudes of enchanted objects they had acquired over the years.

"What?" Anders asked pointedly, at Hawke's look.

"You'll never guess what I just found," Hawke said, and he was grinning widely, his eyes shining with mischief.

That was a bad sign, but he couldn't help the age old butterflies that glimmer still induced. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Hawke responded, lifting the familiar pendant. "Remember this?"

Anders let out a long groan. "How could I forget? It was only one of the most mortifying nights of my life."

When they had been young and stupid, before they fully understood the consequences magic sometimes could have, they had used it so casually and recreationally. For Anders, sex had become his outlet, Isabela coining his 'electricity thing' that was probably what had earned that invitation in the first place. They had come up with combinations of herbs and spells that caused an almost drug-like high.

This pendant had not been their creation, however when they had found out what it could do, being teenagers, they had gotten very drunk and made use of it.

It was a truth charm, prompting whoever held it to tell the truth. Meaning they had spent the night drinking and learning a little too much about each other.

It hadn't been too bad for some of them. Hawke and Isabela had no shame, so anything they said was no surprise. Aveline and Varric were smart enough to not participate and merely watch the train wreck, which, thinking back, Anders really should have done but he had trouble ever backing down. Merrill and Bethany were innocent through and through, so all confessions they gave were painfully adorable. And Carver was a little too used to their teasing, and barely had anything to tell, except for an adorable and unsurprising thing for Merrill. So those who had gotten the worst of it had been Anders and, surprisingly, Sebastian.

Anders had always had a tendency to ramble and when all of it was truthful it had led to a little too much information. Drunk and under the pendant's spell, he had spilled details about the sexual fantasies he'd had about most of the people there, excluding Bethany because the Hawke brothers would have killed him for sure. But describing his thoughts on Aveline and Carver had made him fear for his life anyways as they both glared at him, but he couldn't stop. He'd continued on to describe his sexual history, prompted by a giggling Isabela and a genuinely curious Merrill, including the infamous incident when he'd slept with the history teacher, Mr. Thekla, which all of them had wanted confirmation on. As he'd trailed off, Isabela and Hawke were in stiches. Merrill looked all too interested, and kept asking him for details and explanations of just how one would do that. Varric had looked all too amused, Aveline had still looked like she wanted to kill him and Bethany and Carver were both blushing messes.

And Sebastian had winked at him.

Sebastian had spilled much less than Anders had, but coming from him it was so much more of a shock. Their resident choirboy had apparently had quite the past.

Surprisingly, no one had asked him about feelings, too caught up in learning what had garnered him his promiscuous reputation, so the one secret he hadn't spilled had been his terribly embarrassing crush on one Garrett Hawke. The admitted attraction was buried under the fact that he apparently wanted to fuck all of them.

Hawke was smiling fondly at the memory. "You really were a slut. You gave both me and Isabela a run for our money."

Anders actually blushed. "High school was dull. I didn't have things to do back then. The clinic and, you know, being possessed and institutionalized has kept me a little busy recently."

"Not busy enough apparently," Hawke commented dryly, smirking. "If all those bite marks you've had recently are any indication."

"Ah," Anders replied, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "You noticed those."

"They weren't exactly subtle," Hawke pointed out, and Anders had to admit he was right.

Hawke was still holding the pendant, and held it up, so the chain was dangling in front of Anders, who stared at it dumbly.

"Come on," Hawke cajoled, cocking his head enticingly. "For old time's sake?"

And Anders walked over to where Hawke sat on the table, thighs spread just a little too invitingly, and took hold of the chain, because he never could say no to Hawke and it would be his undoing someday. Hawke was still holding it too, he noticed vaguely. Hawke looked serious all of a sudden, and alarm bells were going off in Anders' head.

"Who have you been fucking in that clinic of yours?" Hawke attempted to sound playful, but his eyes were sharp, and Anders was very confused.

"Isabela first," he felt the familiar tug deep in his chest as the pendant demanded that he spoke. He registered the shock on Hawke's face and felt a pang of regret. This was a terrible idea, but he couldn't stop now. "Then Fenris. Well technically he fucked me but I don't think that's what you were getting at." Hawke seemed even more surprised at that and a lot jealous, and the rambling was back. "I'm sorry, I know that was a bad thing to do, what with you and Isabela and how bad you want Fenris, but they just kind of happened? I know you're hurt and really jealous right now." Anders winced as the uncharacteristically intense look in Hawke's eyes didn't go away.

"Oh, I am jealous."

"I'm sorry, they wanted you anyway," Anders offered hopefully. "I was just a proxy. Second best."

"You're not," Hawke interrupted. "Second best, that is. I came to you first."

Anders snorted disbelievingly, which was stupid because Hawke was just as compelled to tell the truth as he was. He just couldn't help it. "Only because what I did was so much worse than what you did. You never had to fear rejection from me."

"I do."

Anders looked up, quirking an eyebrow. "What?"

"I do fear rejection from you."

Anders' heart was speeding up. "Oh. You have no reason to."

Hawke played with the pendant idly, looking down at the thin chain that connected them. "Hm." He looked up, suddenly making eye contact. "Do you want me?" He didn't say it seductively, it was simply a question. All the same Anders felt his heart stop and start up again at a pace like it was trying to jump right out of his chest.

"Yes." Because he couldn't stop himself.

Hawke's grip on the pendant tightened. "In what way?" His voice was low. Anders hadn't realized until now that their knees were touching, the thin chain barely allowing for any distance between the two of them.

The dam broke and the rambling was back. "In every way," he gasped out on an exhale, like letting out a long-held breath. "Jesus Garrett, I'm in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, which is terrifying. I've been in love with you since—"

He didn't get to finish his excessive declaration of love because Hawke suddenly yanked on the chain, pulling Anders into him, settling him perfectly between his legs. Anders didn't have time to consider that this is exactly where he had wanted to be before Hawke cupped his jaw and slowly pulled him into a kiss.

His mind went entirely blank for a moment. There was nothing but Hawke's slightly chapped lips against his own and his beard scratching his face and those powerful thighs on either side of his hips, fingers toying lightly with a strand of hair come loose from his haphazard ponytail. Everything was sensations, and it was perfect.

And then all the thoughts poured back in, most notably, Justice made its presence known. Justice had never approved of what it described as an obsession, but it had allowed it, because it looked like it would go unrequited. But now, Justice was muttering in the back of his mind. Distraction, he will only hold you back. Pull away. Now.

He did. His own doubts mingling too much with Justice until he could no longer tell the difference. He leaned his head against Hawke's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent deeply, until he could think straight. He felt Hawke's hands running up and down his back in steady motions.

"Why?" He asked when he felt like his voice would come out as his own.

"Because I wanted to," Hawke said simply. And then Anders could almost feel him smirk. "Besides, your dramatic confession was getting a little embarrassing. I needed to save you from yourself."

Anders laughed weakly. "That fucking necklace has caused me so much trouble."

Hawke laughed too, his thumb distractedly brushing along the shell of Anders' ear, making him shiver. "It got us this far."

Anders couldn't argue with that.

"You okay?" Hawke asked after a minute.

"God yes," Anders replied, turning his head to place an openmouthed kiss against Hawke's neck, pulling away with just the slightest hint of teeth. Hawke groaned, baring his throat in response, and oh was Anders totally on board with that. He placed a kiss on Hawke's Adam's apple, watching fascinated as it bobbed as Hawke swallowed thickly. He tilted his head, placing biting kisses up the length of Hawke's neck, beard pleasantly rasping against his lips and cheek as he finally made his way up to kiss Hawke's lips softly. Hawke, however, was having none of that, opening his mouth instantly, spreading his legs and tucking his hand into Anders' back pocket, pulling him on closer while liberally groping his ass.

Anders gasped, which Hawke took full advantage of, pushing forwards insistently, swiping his tongue along the inside of Anders' bottom lip, which he accepted immediately, never able to deny Hawke anything.

The kiss was turning filthy, fast. It was open mouthed, and Hawke was already grinding up against him in small movements, the low noises in the back of his throat driving Anders a little bit wild.

Hawke slid from where he was sitting on the desk and running his hands along the backs of Anders' thighs he quickly switched their places, hands firm on Anders' hips, pressing him back against the desk, and sank to his knees and oh. Oh.

"Oh," Anders gasped out as Hawke thumbed at his hipbones, before pulling down his pants in one go, the cool air a sudden shock, and he was unable to control a full body shudder as the air turned warm again with Hawke's breath, teasingly just an inch away. Groaning, Anders looked down just as Hawke made eye contact and deliberately ran his tongue up the underside of his cock and dip slightly at the slit, swirling around the head before sinking down a few inches, and the groan died in his throat.

"Fuck Garrett." His fingers tightened against the edge of the desk behind him.

Hawke hummed and pulled off to place a kiss against his thigh. "I like when you say my first name, I've been Hawke for so long now." Like the rest of his family didn't exist.

"I'll say your name as much as you want," Anders let out in a rush. "As long as you don't stop."

In response, Hawke sank back down onto him, hollowing his cheeks and as promised Anders let out a stream of just his name over and over. The pleased noise that Hawke made in the back of his throat nearly caused Anders to sob, burying the fingers of one hand into Hawke's hair, relishing in the thick texture, while the other tried to support his weight against the desk. Hawke picked up the pace, taking every one of Anders' responses as a challenge.

"Please," Anders tugged gently on his hair. "Come back up here, I need to kiss you, now."

Hawke obliged him, and the sound he made as he pulled off was so obscene Anders almost regretted telling him to stop but then Hawke was kissing him deeply and pressing him against the desk and the taste of them intertwined on his tongue was heady and Hawke's cock was pressing against his bare thigh, still clothed and Anders needed to feel it. His nimble healer's finger failed him as they shook, trying to undo Hawke's pants as quickly as possible. And there it was, hot and thick in his palm and already hard and holy shit had Hawke been enjoying himself. This was familiar territory, even if it was Hawke now, Anders pulled it out and twisted his wrist as he tugged upwards. Hawke's breath hitched and he pulled away from the kiss to lean closer to Anders, hissing a low drawn out yes into his ear.

And then they were sliding together, Hawke leaning over him, one hand firmly on the desk, the other splayed against Anders' lower back. In return, Anders was clinging to him desperately, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him, rutting up against him, grinding their cocks together like he hadn't done since he was a teenager, not even caring about the spectacular bruise that would form on his ass from slamming back against the desk with each rolling thrust. They were still wearing their shirts, and the contrast between the rough fabric of his shirt on his oversensitive skin, and Garrett, sweat slicked and smooth, was only bringing him closer.

Hawke moaned and Anders realized he'd been chanting his name like a mantra again. He didn't stop, interspersing it with please and close. Groaning impatiently, Hawke removed his supporting hand, and began roughly jerking both of them off. Anders muffled his surprised cry, by biting into the juncture between Hawke's shoulder and neck, hard.

Hawke came with a broken off noise that might have been Anders' name, pitching forward onto the desk, and Anders couldn't help but follow, keening into Hawke's neck even as his back slammed into the desk with Hawke's full weight behind it.

They slouched, sprawled against the desk, sweaty and half-naked, still pressed together.

Anders poked at one of the trinkets Hawke had allegedly been sorting before, now scattered everywhere. "What do you think happens when you get cum on a magical object?"

Hawke laughed. "Nothing so far. You want to continue experimentation?"

"Not yet," Anders admonished. "And on a bed. Also fully naked."

"Anything you want," Hawke said, like he meant it.

His hand convulsed around the pendant, chain still tangled in his fingers, and let it drop to the floor in favor of bringing Anders in for a soft kiss.

###

When Anders woke, every one of his muscles ached pleasantly, there was a heavy warmth at his back and a possessive arm around his waist, and someone was pounding insistently at the door. He moved to untangle himself from the arms and legs wrapped around him, and succeeded, despite Hawke's sleepy protestations.

Anders stood above him, probably for too long, smiling stupidly, before another thud against the door reminded why he was out of bed in the first place.

He stumbled to the front door, and opened it, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight that silhouetted the very tall and broad person in their doorway. He grunted, like a question.

"Anders?" The tall silhouette sounded surprised. "I thought you were in the asylum. Why aren't you wearing a shirt? Oh my god, are those hickeys? You really haven't changed."

Anders' eyes shot fully open, painful light be damned. "Carver?"

"Yes, that's me," Carver seemed irritated. "Are you going to let me in? Is Garrett here?"

"Carver."

The voice was raw. Not just from sleep, or even their activities the night before, but with the mixture of seeing the brother he hadn't seen in two years.

Carver looked over Anders' shoulder and nodded. "Brother."

Anders suddenly felt very out of place.

"I heard you're out of retirement," Carver said carefully.

"Something like that," Garrett said, far less evenly.

"I'm going to let you two talk," Anders said, grabbing the nearest hoodie, pleased to find it had his wallet and keys in it, and made his escape, looking back at the door to see that Garrett had enveloped Carver in a hug, one that Carver wasn't resisting.

Anders felt a small smile tug at his lips.

Maybe this is what healing felt like.

Author's Note: Sorry about the bad sex scenes I'm embarrassingly bad at them. But I've started writing a whole slew of really shitty Dragon Age 2 AUs that are a lot less angsty than this one, so you have that to look forward to.