Author's Note: Greetings, my fellow Dragon Age fans! Welcome to yet another fanfic I'm adding onto my work load. Originally this was meant to be a oneshot, but I noticed it getting longer and longer, and thought that it might make a nice mini-series. I always thought that Leandra's death was skipped over far too soon, so this is my take on the events that ensued. A bit on the AU side as well, considering Carver doesn't actually go to Kirkwall when he finds out, at least, not in cannon.

Having just played as a mage recently, I have a newfound admiration of Carver. Sure, he's kind of a dick sometimes, but that's why I like him. There's so much room for growth, whereas Bethany pretty much stays the same the entire game, and that's boring.

Anyway, I won't keep you. On with the story!

Tourniquet

Chapter 1: Madness

"Brother!"

Carver Hawke knew it was his own voice thundering through the Amell Hightown estate, but it was with great detachment. He wanted to cry, but he'd done enough of that already. He wanted to beat someone to a bloody pulp, and perhaps he would before the day was done. He couldn't allow himself to focus on anything but the blood thrumming through his veins, making his heart pump so fast it was full to bursting. Without the anger, he was nothing but a walking mass of hurt. Without the anger, he'd fall apart all over again, and he couldn't afford that. Not now.

At first, he hadn't wanted to believe the letter his Uncle sent. 'Murderer in Hightown…your mother is gone, I'm sorry lad….' Impossible. Gamlen just wrote it in one of his drunken fits, right?

The truth set in and Carver settled on numb disbelief.

Then came sadness, then anger, then pain…followed by more anger and his request to return to Kirkwall.

His tears had abated in favor of blinding rage. This was Garrett's fault. Why the hell hadn't he been with mother? He'd promised he would take care of her. He'd promised!

Now she was dead. Bethany was dead. Carver himself was doomed to succumb to the taint in thirty years, and where was big brother Garrett? Right at the top, where he'd always been. Father asked him to take care of the family with his dying breath, and what had that earned them? Grave markers right next to his.

Why? Damn it, why? If Garrett was so blighted perfect, why wouldn't he show his true colors? Why wouldn't he prove himself worthy of all that attention he'd been getting over the years?

Oh, Carver knew how ridiculous and childish he sounded. He knew it, and yet he didn't give a shit.

"Damn you, Garrett! Show yourself! Drag your sorry carcass out here and face me!" With little thought otherwise, his armored feet pounded up the stairs and down the hall toward what he assumed was the master bedroom.

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd expected to find, but whatever it was, it hadn't been this. Carver froze in the doorway, puzzled by what he saw. Suddenly his legs seemed to have led weights holding them down.

With all the noise he had been making, there was no way Garrett Hawke hadn't heard his approach, and yet he made no move to acknowledge his younger brother's presence. What a self-righteous ass. The least he could do was turn to look at the sibling he hadn't seen in over three years. Why was he sitting on the floor like that? There were plenty of perfectly good chairs perched around the room.

Some distant part of his mind knew that should have set off a few warning bells, but he was seeing red. He was far too angry to deal with the details just now. Everything had built up to this moment. A lifetime of anger and resentment burst forth, and Carver couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Well you did it, didn't you? You finally did it! Drove every last one of us toward our graves. Who's so blighted perfect now, Garrett? Where have you been whenever we needed you? If you're so incredible, why didn't you step in front of Bethany and tell that Ogre to sod off? Why didn't you tell mother you wanted her suitors to come here before she went out with them? Why didn't you tell me to stay away from the Deep Roads so I wouldn't get hurt? Huh? Tell me, big brother! How could you allow this to happen to her? I entrusted her to you. How could you do this to me? To us? Tell me!"

Almost immediately after the words were out of his mouth, Carver regretted them. He winced. Harsh. Far too harsh. His brother didn't deserve to be blamed for every misfortune befalling their family. His face burned with shame. When would he learn to think before he spoke?

To his disbelief, however, Garrett said absolutely nothing. Didn't move an inch from his spot on the floor. If not for the steady rising and falling of his chest, Carver would have thought he was dead. Oh, very funny. Just let Carver yell until he ran out of steam, was that it?

And damn it all, he couldn't object to the method, because it always worked. His brother could read him like a book. Ever since they were children, he'd been calming Carver down from some fit of rage or another, usually by blatantly ignoring him until he shouted himself into submission. Well, that or casting a silence spell on him, but ignoring always seemed to work better.

Suddenly, Carver felt incredibly stupid. Why had he come here? To vent some anger? Getting pissed off at Garrett wasn't going to help either of them grieve. He should have seen that before.

"Ugh. Forget everything I just said, okay? I'm hurting, and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

Carver was sure he'd get some sort of reaction from his brother then. The game would end, Garrett would smile, and then he'd say, 'There. Feel better now?'

Carver was wrong again. Garrett still said nothing. Didn't even flinch as he sat gazing blankly into the hearth, flames flickering this way and that. In fact, he was sitting so close to the fire, some of the sparks were burning him. There were tiny little singe marks on his skin.

What the hell?

His heart seized in his chest. Something wasn't right here. His brother had never let the game go on for this long before. Carver pulled out a throwing knife and hurled it at the wall above Garrett's head. He wasn't actually trying to hit him, of course. Only snap him out of whatever trance he was in.

The knife passed just centimeters above Garrett's skull.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

This was not normal. Carver's rage cooled completely as his blood turned to ice. Suddenly, he was worried.

Very worried.

"B-Brother?"

It seemed an eternity passed before Garrett finally cocked his head in Carver's direction. Then, with all the speed of a sloth abomination, he locked a pair of glassy gray-green eyes with Carver's blue ones. The madness in them was so complete, it sent shivers running up and down his spine.

Whoever this was, this was not the Garrett Hawke he remembered. This was a man who knew nothing at all. A man who sat huddled on the cold stone floor, idly twirling a dagger between his fingers. Suddenly, his hand was cut and dripping with blood…where had he pulled that blade from? Maker's breath, he wasn't even paying attention to what he was doing! He was going to chop off a finger or something.

Maybe that was the idea.

"There you are little brother. I was sure you would come. You'll help me won't you? You will? Of course you will."

"What…what are you talking about?" All of the horrible, snide things he'd said slipped from his mind like water between a cupped pair of hands. He'd walked through these doors itching to punch his brother in the face. Now, he felt the absurd urge to hold him and tell him they would get through this together.

Abruptly, Garrett laughed. Garrett laughed, and Carver shuddered. He thought it had to be one of the most terrifying sounds ever conceived. Loud, hysterical and echoing through the corridors until he was sure the neighbors must have noticed.

"You already know, don't you? You've dreamed of it. It's why you came here. You're going to kill me, aren't you? Aren't you?!"

"I…" No. That wasn't true. It couldn't be. Carver had been angry, yes, but he would never want Garrett dead. Would he?

The thought was too terrible to ponder. Was he such a dreadful excuse for a brother, he had actually desired so much pain to befall his kin?

He almost staggered, his horror was so great. Garrett merely continued to speak. "Please help me, Carver. Please kill me. Please? You always wanted me dead anyhow. Now you have an excuse." Those words…uttered with such longing. He couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe his eyes.

He couldn't believe he'd ever wanted this for his brother.

"Brother I…no. You have it wrong. It's true that I've harbored resentment of you, but I never wanted you dead. Not really."

"I'm begging you. Please. I don't wanna do this anymore. It's not worth it. It hurts. It hurts too much. I failed you. I failed father. I failed mother, and Bethany, and all of the mages and the templars, and the Qunari, and Kirkwall, and the Viscount...everyone. The demons…they won't shut up. They won't leave me alone. Carver, please! Make them stop. Kill me before they take me!"

Tears stung the backs of Carver's eyes. The poor sod was bleeding mad. It hurt more than he'd ever thought possible to see his larger-than-life big brother beaten down so far.

It hurt even more to know that it was partially his fault.

This was wrong. He had to fix it. He had to help the only family he had left. Well…excluding Uncle Gamlen, but Carver wasn't sure if he counted.

"Garrett…calm down, all right? You're not thinking straight. Just hand me that blade before you do something you regret. Okay?"

"Only if you promise you'll help first." His voice was that of a pleading child, begging for a sweet after he'd finished his dinner. That was just…creepy. Carver had to work at schooling his expression into something placating. He wasn't entirely sure he succeeded.

"I will. I swear it." It might not be the exact sort of 'helping' his brother was talking about at the moment, but it was the truth all the same. He'd do whatever it took to pull Garrett out of this. Even if it meant his life and then some.

Something in Carver's expression must have given him away, because his brother suddenly jerked into a standing position, and he scrambled to press himself against the far wall. "No. You're lying! You're looking at me like they did. You're looking at me with the big sad eyes. They looked at me like that. They told me it wasn't my fault, but they're lying. It was my fault. Everything is my fault. I should have listened to you. You knew. You always knew."

"I didn't mean those things, Garrett, just…you should never have listened to what I said then, but you have to listen now. Put the blade down and we can sit and talk like old times. You're not well. Please let me help you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Garrett's pain-filled eyes flashed with a terrible light, and before Carver could utter a single word to stop him, he raised a shaking hand…and made a move to run himself through.

Before he even had time to register what was happening, he was across the room and on top of his brother, pinning his arms to the ground and hastily prying the dagger from loosened fingers. Garrett didn't even put up a real fight. He just lay motionless where Carver had wrestled him to the ground, his broken sobs the only noise to shatter the eerie silence. Cautiously, Carver sat up, and without a second's hesitation, pulled him into his arms.

His invincible big brother clutched him like a life raft and sobbed into his chest until he fell asleep.