Warnings: Mentions/hints of abuse that can be interpreted as either sexual or general physical, but I would recommend those who finds sexual abuse triggering to not read this, to be on the safe side. It deals with the aftermath and confused feelings of such abuse, as well as the aftermath of flogging.

"They kept me silenced. I couldn't heal it." His voice is too hollow for his liking and his shoulders tense enough to hurt, but that pain pales in comparison to that on his back and elsewhere, deeper. At least his hands no longer hurt, as ugly as they look.

He can feel Karl doing his best to mend the damaged flesh on his back. Their healing skills are nowhere near evenly matched, but until his own magic is once more within reach it is the best he is able to receive. In a way, having Karl do it for him is a comfort he needs as much, if not more, than the actual healing itself; to be taken care of, be so clearly cared for by someone, and that care is able to diminish some of the pain that healing magic is unable to reach.

As it is, healing magic is not going to be able to take care of his back either, not completely. Too much damage has already been done to it, and been left to scar. He can feel it; his back is forever beyond repair now. He can feel it in the scars and he can feel it in the way Karl carefully cleans off the dried blood; the touch is hesitant, almost afraid to reveal the no doubt unsatisfactory results of his efforts.

And then the silence confirms it beyond any doubt he might have held.

"It is ugly, isn't it? I knew it would scar." Anders looks over his shoulder for a moment; one painful in its briefness, but meeting Karl's sad eyes for too long is another kind of painful, and one that might be worse. Worse enough to make him return his gaze to his lap where his damaged hands rests. Those had been taken care of first, the rawness, gashes and bites sealed up, but the chipped nails and new skin still makes them look damaged.

Karl tries to speak, and hearing his sadness hurts, too. "You could heal it again when –"

"It won't be enough, they are still going to be there!" His own voice is shaking with anger, not directed at Karl but the world at large for putting him here, at the mercy of people who do things like this and worse. He touches the scars with the backside of his hand with none of the gentleness Karl had present. "They were left untreated for too long."

Karl reaches out to take his hand in his, to carefully stroke its fingers to soothe.

"It looks disgusting. They wanted me to look disgusting." Anders whispers, unwanted or wanted tears in his voice; he still does not know whether he needs to cry or not.

"You don't." Karl says and lets go of his hand to wrap both his arms around him instead, and in his touch is a world of difference from anyone else's. His arms are comforting and his hands are kind, and nothing about them is like the touch of a templar. As Anders fails to keep his sobs down and tears held back, Karl lets one hand wander upwards to stroke them away together with his shame over showing how deep his hurt is. "You never could."

"But I do. And I am. I am and they know it and they wanted it to show, too." He spins around to face him. "You know why I am! And they want everyone to know it!" To simply judge him, silently or loudly, is not enough for the templars. No, everyone has to know, everyone has to see and pass judgement on him, to look at him and know and sneer and judge. For not being strong enough, for not fighting back enough. To be able to accuse him for somehow inviting it and still doubt him. It was dark and the hours and days floated together, making it impossible to clearly know whoand when, leaving him with no way to be believed, only questioned and accused. As if he would imagine, as if he would not know. When they judge and accuse him for even being born, surely they would blame him even for -

"Anders, no. No." Karl puts his hands around his face, coaxing him to meet his eyes, the look in them more serious than he has ever seen before. "You are not. It does not make you disgusting – this is important. You are not disgusting."

Anders does not know if he wants to believe him or not, if he wants to press himself down in his feelings of disgust and self-loathing or if he wants to let Karl help him chase at least some of them away. He does not know what he wants to feel or what he is supposed to feel, if there is a right feeling he should have, if he is somehow failing in this as much as he failed to prevent what has made him feel like this in the first place.

All he knows is that Karl is the only one who cares and the only one who ever will, and that is why he lies down to put his head in Karl's lap, to have all his current and future tears gently wiped away and his hair stroked.

"It feels as if it looks disgusting, though," Anders insists after a while in a vain attempt to chase as much of the previous discussion away as possible, because he does not want to think about it and he does not want Karl to, either. No one is going to think about it, picture it in their mind's eye, no one is going to see Anders like that.

Karl lets him have that as he lets him have so much else; too much, just as Anders is much too glad for it.

"Don't worry about it. Girls will still like you."

Anders tries a smile, to make his face show something other than fear or despair. "And slightly older men with beards?"

Karl smiles back, making Anders' own smile widen in response; a true one this time. "Always."