Eta, Interlude
Garrett is slicing through a Coterie lackey's belly, spraying blood through the fetid Darktown air, so he doesn't see Anders, in the corner of the cavern, focused solely on the blue glow at his fingertips. A distance away, the deep gash in Fenris' leg heals itself.
Garrett also doesn't see the thug drop from the rafters behind Anders, mace in hand.
There's a sharp crack of metal on skull, and Garrett whips around in time to see Anders stagger for a second, stunned, legs wobbling, and then another brutal swing catches him the chest, smacking him into the wall, and he's down.
The room feels like it's on fire.
The thug veers for another hit, towering over Anders' dazed body, but Garrett's already there, slicing the bastard from groin to throat, bone crunching beneath his blade.
The last of the Coterie group charges at him, and Garrett dodges the strike, darts behind him, sinks the long dagger deep through his spine. The man screams, gurgling, but Garrett doesn't have time for this bullshit, and he kicks him off the knife to die on the floor.
Silence fills the room, punctured by death rattles and Anders' hitching breath. Bubbling panic overtakes Garrett's adrenaline, so strong he can taste it, or maybe that's just the bile in his throat, and he's at Anders' side faster than he's ever done anything in his life.
Anders is crumpled against the wall, curled in on himself, and before Garrett can think about how stupid a move it is, he's gently pulled Anders onto his back, head resting on Garrett's thighs. Anders' light hair is completely matted with sticky blood on one side, and his eyes are glazed and black, not unconscious but might as well be.
"Shit," Garrett breathes, then looks up at Fenris, who hands him a potion without a word. It won't suffice, not anywhere close, but Garrett still tips the glass bottle to Anders' lips. It's hard to hold it steady with his hands shaking so very much.
Fenris stands away, looking over them impassively.
A bit of the viscous potion dribbles out of Anders' mouth, down his chin, and somewhere in the panic-addled recesses of his mind Garrett thinks something rather nasty. His heart is thundering in his chest as he cups Anders' jaw, clammy and gray, coaxing him to swallow, and this is not the time for jokes.
Anders barely stirs, just sort of shifting unfocused glances around the ceiling, and Garrett's stomach sinks out through his feet. They're so bloody far from the main levels of civilization, too far to carry him. Garrett's head is hot like a flood, and that's something he typically associates with being monumentally pissed off.
Anders groans, and Garrett decides that yes, anger is appropriate.
"Why didn't you protect him?" he snaps at Fenris, whose eyes narrow in response. "That's how this works, this team, or at least I thought we were. You have the big sword, why weren't you bleeding using it?"
Fenris growls. "I am not your Guard-Captain, and he," he jerks his head toward Anders, "is not my charge."
"He was healing you," he says, struggling to contain his snarl, and losing that battle more than not.
"From injuries I sustained fighting at your side."
Garrett can't deal with Fenris' sanctimonious prattle right now, not least because he's right, which is a feat quite infrequent, at least the way Garrett sees it.
Anders shudders, blinks slowly, the magic-imbued potion doing its work, and Fenris might as well no longer be in Kirkwall. But Anders' breathing is labored, rattling, and another spike of overwhelming worry courses through Garrett. He fumbles at the buckles on Anders' thick coat, bitching under his breath about how irritatingly complex they are, but his heart nearly stops when he feels warm wetness beneath his hand. The coat falls open, and blood has blossomed through Anders' soft undershirt.
He groans again, trying to speak, but it's all retching mumbles as he stares at a spot that isn't quite Garrett's face.
"Anders," Garrett whispers, urgent. "Anders, be a healer and heal yourself." He takes Anders' hand in his, drawing it featherlight over Anders' own chest. Faint blue tendrils of magic eke out from his fingertips, healing smashed ribs and pulverized brain matter, but Anders is shaking in Garrett's arms with the effort, and he's barely begun when he has to stop.
"I..." Anders manages, awareness back in his lovely eyes, and that's a better sign than anything, really. He squeezes his eyes shut, gathers breath, then finally meets Garrett's heavy gaze. "Sorry. I can... do the rest later."
The weight lifts off Garrett's shoulders, the relief a raucous roar in his ears, and he barely registers Fenris telling him yes, yes, the mage is up, we need to leave.
Anders sits up, sliding his hand from Garrett's to gingerly touch the bloody side of his head, but he jerks it back with a hiss of pain, swaying a bit.
"I can't decide if there are four of you or not," he says with a weak laugh. "Or if that's a good or bad thing."
"A good thing," Garrett laughs. "The best, actually, just imagine all those mes to go out there and do my work for me, be noble so I don't have to." He slips his arm around Anders under his still-open coat for leverage to help him up, taking care to not jostle him too much. "I guess it'd be a bit cramped right now, though," he says, and tries to hide his devious grin.
Anders is quiet for a moment, looking too tired for this back-and-forth, and braces his hand on Garrett's shoulder to help pull himself off the dirty ground. He's wincing with every movement, and he still looks a bit green, which in turn makes Garrett feel a bit green.
Garrett sighs, this sort of emotional thing takes it out him. "Sod it, Anders, love, you've got to start watching your back. Maker knows I haven't got it, if today is anything to judge by."
Anders' gaze is still a bit bleary, but there's a recognition, almost alarm but fonder than that, and he smiles right before he throws up.
A/N: Written for a fill on the LJ kinkmeme (hence some story elements I don't usually do) and I figured, hell, this p much fits my other fic, why the fuck not. It's kinda rough, but whatever, totes wrote it in a commentbox. Gosh, I love boyhurtins.