His feet were heavy and his shoulders heavier. The mud caking his boots didn't help with the weight; it stuck to the soles and crusted off the tops with every swing of his legs. Every step took more energy than the last and after days of running, of walking when he couldn't run and crawling when Justice gave him the last of his strength and Hawke gave him the words he needed to hear, Anders didn't have much left.
Hawke didn't seem to be faring any better. The rogue was always full of energy, whether it came as a skip to his step or a joke on his smiling lips, but the constant travel had worn even him down. He was quiet, lips pressed into a thin line, save for a mumbled warning of a change in the terrain or a labored breath. He kept his eyes down, only glancing up at a sound to search for its source until he was sure it wasn't a Templar and he'd look down again – and it was then Anders would see the circled under his eyes, dark purple bruises that hurt Anders more to see than it did Hawke to have them.
Garrett caught his stare and gave him a smile muted by the unkempt beard and the lines that creased around his mouth. Anders turned away from it. He had caused all of it, all the the exhausted marches forward away from the city he'd burned, all the lines of worry and stress than marred his lover's face, the tired look in his eyes. Tired of running…tired of him? His shoulders dropped further and he wrapped his arms around himself. Who wouldn't grow tired of him? He'd made Garrett drop everything he owned, everything he worked for, to sleep on dirt in the wind and rain, never to see another person or enter another tavern so long as they were wanted rebels, listening to him babble about the rights and wrongs of his decision every single day, to his whimpers and sobs of regret every night.
"I think this is the least mud we'll find," Hawke called. His voice echoed in the trees and Anders flinched out of his spiral but he was sure he wouldn't have heard the man if he'd spoken any softer. "At least we won't sink in our sleep, right?"
"We have time to continue – it's not close to dark – we should use as much time as we can moving," Anders tried to explain, but Hawke was already letting his pack slide to the ground, hands on his hips as he bent back and cracked his spine, mumbling on about the winter days being shorter than the summers and having to set up camp earlier. Anders gave him a small smile for it. There would be apologies later in the night, for making him raise camp so early because he couldn't continue, for having Hawke come along at all, but for now, while Hawke was there to distract him with meaningless excuses, he was glad for the chance to rest.
For once, Justice agreed.
They set up camp as close to the trees as they could, the shadows hiding their tents as well as they could in the coming dusk. The ground was drier there and the threat of sinking was certainly a true one if they dared to sleep anywhere else. The fire was a meager thing, flames tinged with blue magic licking at a rabbit more bones than meat, but it was better than either could have hoped for. With the sounds of fighting so often heard, it was a wonder most of the prey animals hadn't run for higher ground away from it all.
"First watch?" Hawke asked, and Anders shook his head. "Love, we've been walking for days-"
"And you should rest," the mage told him. "There's no point if I'll be up anyway." Hawke's frown was easy to miss in the shifting firelight and Anders pretended he didn't see it. "I'll wake you for your shift this time, I promise." He lifted a hand with a smile and a flash of blue raced up the veins of his palm for emphasis. Anders' smile twisted but Hawke laughed. He'd never be able to understand how the man managed to find it in him to laugh but he thanked the Maker every time that it was still possible to hear the sound.
"You could laugh, too. It's okay to."
Anders' head snapped up, a flicker of blue lighting up his surroundings at the sudden panic that made his heart beat wildly and his hands shake. He whipped his head around to find Hawke, to ask why he hadn't heard someone approach, but the man was already halfway in his tent. Anders ran his hand through his hair, fingers clutching desperately at greasy strands held back by a rotting rope serving as a tie. Was he hearing things now, too?
"You can see me?"
Anders couldn't find the space in his tightening chest to draw a breath. He couldn't see anything in the dark and even if it the soft voice wasn't coming from a Templar, it didn't mean they weren't dangerous.
Justice hummed in his veins, a reminder to Anders of the protection he still had and a threat to the stranger to stay back. Anders wrapped a hand around his wrist, thumb brushing one of the pulsing lines, seeking the strength his spirit offered underneath the panic and exhaustion.
"You can see me," the stranger said, and they finally moved forward.
Anders felt the Fade swell within him and his grip on his own arm tightened trying to hold it back. They weren't being attacked, and how just would it be to throw themselves at an unarmed boy doing nothing but talking? Justice rumbled in his thoughts and the taste of lyrium and smoke left his mouth but the light still played beneath his skin.
How could Hawke not hear them?
"He won't unless I want him too. I don't want to. He's sleeping." Anders stared at the boy, scrawny and looking even smaller in his patched clothing. The wide hat on his head only made his shoulders seem thinner. He lifted a hand and took another step closer. "I didn't want you to either, but you saw me."
Anders tried to keep space between them but he couldn't find it in himself to move, to stand up and back towards the tent, towards Hawke and safety. He thought it mostly of his fear until he found Justice's hum had a different tune. It was softer, less threatening, and, Anders almost didn't belief it, but curious.
"My name is Cole. I didn't want to scare you. I wanted to stay hiding. You were already scared – you're still scared. Hold on."
Anders opened his mouth but the boy took another step closer and the words died in his throat as a strangled exhale. "D-don't come any closer."
Cole stiffened. "It didn't work? You didn't forget?"
"You're standing right there, how can I forget when you never left? Now, please, stay right where you are…" His shaking voice didn't hold much weight.
"Because he can see me." Cole was looking at the ground, the hat covering his face. "There but not, just under the surface. Is he the one that makes it hard? To laugh, to smile, to be?" The hat trembled when he shook his head. "Better now. Maybe? It's so hard. Can't feel him, can't hear him, can't touch him. Who am I?"
Anders felt bile rise in his throat as the words came pouring out, a rough but true reflection of his thoughts. They hurt more, out in the open, than they did even at night, when the silence of the darkness gave him nothing to combat the thoughts that lay buried. "You – you can read my mind? Who – what are you?" Justice gave him an answer. It echoed softly, almost unsure, and Anders had to probe at the thought before he could draw it out. His eyebrows rose and when he looked at Cole again the boy was watching him. "A spirit?"
"Like you and not." Cole pressed a palm to his chest. "I am me. I was Cole and I am Compassion and I am whole. You…you are Justice and you are Anders and you are…bleeding. Part Fade part human part nothing at all and it's hard, Maker so hard, to tell who am, who am I, who am I?" Anders nearly felt the strength to stand and escape. "Justice. I am justice." Anders couldn't feel his hands, gripped tight on his knees to keep them from shaking any harder. "Not Vengeance. Still hard but safer, calmer, love."
He couldn't do it. He couldn't listen to the thoughts that bombarded him day and night to assault him like this. But Cole wasn't finished and Justice didn't let him go.
"You help people." The boy rocked on the balls of his feet, unwilling to move back but careful to stay in place and Anders was relieved for that one small mercy. "Like me. Not like me. It's harder and it hurts but you help. It's good."
There was nothing good about killing. There was nothing good about hurting his lover and ruining what was left of the world.
"He's sleeping but he still thinks. He thinks of you – all the time. Your hands, you hair, your voice. One Chantry, or two, or three. Again and again for love. He is…happy."
Anders buried his head in his hands when Justice finally let go and the blue fade fire left his veins. Happy. How could Hawke be happy? How could Hawke choose him over and over? Someone like him? He almost laughed.
"You can laugh. It's good for you." Anders did chuckle at that and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw swirls of color. Cole nodded to himself. "I can see them but they can't see me. I can watch."
Anders felt himself rise and knew it was Justice than prompted him towards the tent. The boy spirit disappeared into the trees and he pulled back the tent flap with a faintly glowing hand. He was afraid to trust Cole to watch and even more afraid to trust his words. No one could be happy with him. But when he slipped under the blanket, Hawke shifted, murmuring sleepily, and tossed an arm across his waist. Anders curled up close to the warm embrace and Hawke exhaled heavily, content.
Anders couldn't trust Cole – but he could hope.