Inspired by a post on Tumblr and the song "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckly. I don't own Dragon Age (sadly), Bioware does. I'm just borrowing their things.
Anders/M!Hawke (Handers).
Warning: M/M, minor language, graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of self harm, previous poor relationships.
Word count: 1,619
Please R&R!
Anders-
The first time you met Garrett Hawke, it's Varric leading a red-haired woman in City Guard armor carrying him. Not the best first impression, especially considering he's about near torn to pieces beneath that armor; you swear the metal suit was just about all that was holding him together. He cries out and thrashes when you try to heal him at first, and it really doesn't make things better. You save him, even though he loses a lot of blood and it takes the guard- Aveline- and Varric to hold him down and he still struggles and tears his wounds open here and there.
It's a close thing, but you save him.
You drop on the chair beside his cot, rubbing your hands dry with a towel, and take a moment to really look at him. He's a bit pale from the blood loss, and his hair is a mess from fighting and struggling, but you can tell the Hawke is the kind of guy who's tall, dark, and handsome. Someone with endless amounts of charisma and charm with just enough danger and asshole to be something bad for you. Don't fall for him, you tell yourself- or, maybe that's Justice talking. You honestly can't tell anymore. Don't hurt yourself like that. So what do you do?
You fall for him.
You can't help it, really. He's everything you might have wanted: pro-mage, sassy, easy-going, and with an endless store of really cheesy jokes. You find yourself growing more and more attached to him every time you accompany him. But still, you try to keep your feelings for him squished into their nice little box. Because you've seen the way he eyes the pirate, and you know that you don't have a chance. Best deny your feelings and let them fade, unless you delude yourself into thinking you're actually in love- or worse, you delude yourself into thinking he'll actually love you back.
Except those feelings don't fade. If anything, they only grow stronger. You find yourself spending all the time you can with him, even after he moves to Hightown and it becomes dangerous to walk him home at night.
And then he start walking you home after nights at the Hanged Man, and you can't help but tumble head-over-heels for him, because he's such an utter gentleman and you definitely don't deserve that. But every time you try to put distance between the two of you, you're overwhelmed by the distinct fear that somehow he's going to get hurt and you're not going to be there to help him.
And then Aveline and Varric come in carrying Hawke again, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach.
The slash is diagonal from shoulder to hip, shallow at the top but gradually deepening as it progresses downward. His armor is rended beyond saving; in fact, some of the metal had actually gotten into the wound, making things even worse. You order Aveline and Varric to get him out of that- carefully, damnit!- while you get health poultices and potions and bandages ready. Varric and Aveline are trying to explain to you what exactly happened, but you only half listen. Your mind, however, is racing a mile a minute- embrium and elfroot, have to stop the bleeding, clean out the metal pieces, oh Maker what if he dies? No, don't think about that. Focus. Check for poison, make sure there's no magesbane. Hold on for me, Hawke.
By the time Hawke is stable and not in any risk of dropping off the deep end on you, he's as pale as when you first met him, and you're so exhausted you can barely keep on your feet. Aveline gives you a solid pat on the shoulder, tells you you've done all you could, puts out the lantern on the way out. Varric reminds you to eat something before he leaves.
They leave you alone, with your terror and a wounded Hawke.
You sit on a crate beside his cot. Every muscle in your body is tense and sore, but you still find the energy to carefully brush some of the hair out of Hawke's eyes. He's sleeping soundly, the rise and fall of his chest a bit quick, but present. This is the second time I've helped him cheat death, you think.
You muse that there has to be something to that as you fall asleep sitting at his side.
You wake up to the kind of racket you'd expect from the Hanged Man, except it's all coming from one person. Hawke is awake and standing- partially. It seems he's tripped over a crate, and he's leaning pretty heavily on the nearby wall. He's still pale, and you can tell he's still weak, and it really shouldn't be that funny that he's so weak he's having trouble walking straight, but the sheer look of confusion on his face is so priceless you can't help but bust out laughing. He gives you a strange kind of look, then chuckles with you.
"Laugh it up," he says. "Then when you're done, maybe you can help me." And you do. You help him back to the cot and bring him whatever he was looking for- which turned out to be a clean roll of bandages. You help him change them, easing the dirty ones off and rolling the clean ones one while trying to touch as little skin as possible. You wonder if it's as soft as it looks. Then you quickly banish that thought. That kind of thinking has gotten you into trouble too many times before.
But still those kinds of thoughts sneak into your mind like little seeds sprouting, slowly and almost imperceptibly until all of a sudden you can't get rid of them. You catch yourself wondering where he got that scar on his jaw, or the one on his collarbone, or the small set above his ribs. You catch your hands lingering over that last set, feeling the way they're too straight and purposeful to be from combat. You feel the way Hawke stiffens under your touch, and it's enough to shake you out of your revery and prompt you to move on.
Once you notice the first set, you can't help to notice the others. On the inside of his elbow, slightly pale and slightly raised and clearly old. You wonder if the newer ones are on his hip, out of sight. It makes your stomach curl, both at the fact that he's doing this and you know all the hiding places for it. But you don't say anything about it. You know you should, but… But you don't. Because telling him to stop would be slightly hypocritical of you, and you know confronting him about him would only make it worse.
So when you're done tying the bandages across his chest, you place one hand gently over the scars on his elbow. I'm here, you try to say. Whenever you need me, I'm here.
Hawke gave you that kind of sad smile you're use to seeing from people like that, but this time it seemed to make your heart twist in the kind of painful way you're not quite use to.
You've dated people before. You use the term "dating" loosely; in the Circle, it wasn't really something that went on between mages, and outside the Circle you had to be careful who you trusted. But when you fell in love, you gave your partner everything you had- only for them to take it and give you nothing in return. You'd come to see this as the way of the world: you would be forever loyal, and your partner would always find a way to destroy you, and you'd pull your shit together and move on and forget their name by the end of the month- end of the week, occasionally. You think that's why you started falling for Hawke. Because you'd seen the way he looked at some other people, with the blalent lust you'd seen in the eyes of your former partners, and he never looked at you that way, and you assumed that he'd never like you in that way, so you could give your everything to him and he's never break your heart, because he'd never lead you to believe that he'd given you his in return.
So of course you were completely caught off guard when Hawke brushes your hair gently out of your face, when he draws you in gently by the back of your neck and kisses you soft like you've never experienced before.
And the first thought that runs through your short-circuiting mind is "What the fuck." You don't question it though; you push right back into the kiss, trying to get back into your comfort zone of hard and rough and he pulls away.
"No," Hawke whispers against your lips. "Let me lead. Please. Let me take care of you."
He kisses you again, softly, and somewhere in the back of your mind you vaguely wonder if you're still in the Fade and this is a Desire Demon trying to get into your head, but them he oh-so-softly traces the line of your lips with his tongue and you decide that if this is a Desire Demon, you'd gladly give yourself up for this. Hawke holds you with all the gentleness in the world, as though you're something fragile, something to be treasured, and you don't think you've ever felt so wanted in your life. He pulls away slightly, his breath ghosting over your lips, and you stare into his whiskey-colored eyes, still trying to find the punchline to all this.
You don't find it.