Happy Friday Jay! I am currently feeling some Carver (in the Inquisition hunts Hawke AU maybe??) + ❝ keep your eyes on me— just focus on me. we’re gonna be okay. ❞ from the Emotionally Charged Sentence Starters list! HAVE FUN :D
yesssssssssss okay as usual I took some liberties with the prompt phrase but. IT'S FINE IT'S FOR FUN. tho a couple of Hawkes aren't having fun. hehe.
oops forgot to tag @dadrunkwriting
Warnings: uhhh casual anti-mage sentiment mostly? implied violence in the background
Rating: T
Word Count: 1311 words
If you missed the first installment in the Inquisition hunts Hawke AU, it's right here!
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Being with the Wardens meant that news was sometimes slow to reach them. Between excursions to the Deep Roads and a general avoidance of settlements, it was a full six months before Carver heard of the uproar in Kirkwall. The city’s Knight-Commander, murdered in her own bed barely three years after the Viscount had died under similarly mysterious circumstances.
He didn’t need to listen to his fellow Wardens trading rumors with the merchants to know who had likely done it.
What have you gotten yourself into, Sister?
Still, nothing he could do from here. Even if he knew where to look—surely she had fled Kirkwall—the odds that the Senior Warden would let him leave on family business were exactly zero. Wardens weren’t supposed to keep ties with family, after all. There were a few rare exceptions, the Hero of Ferelden being one, but she’d killed an Archdemon and lived to tell of it. She’d earned the exception.
Carver very definitely had not. Sure, he’d done what was asked of him. Investigated reports of darkspawn all across the Free Marches, trekked through the Deep Roads to refresh and expand their maps, endured the wariness of villagers who were convinced Grey Wardens were themselves darkspawn. (They… weren’t wrong, if his suspicions were accurate.) But there was a vast difference between a Warden whose only accomplishment thus far had been surviving the Joining and a Warden who’d ended a Blight.
Within a year, it wasn’t just rumor. In a village a few days north of Ostwick, a farmer told them that the Chantry was hunting an apostate believed to have murdered the Knight-Commander. On the road to Markham, an innkeep mentioned that the Divine had re-established the Inquisition of old.
Its mission?
I hope they brand that witch, the innkeep had muttered. Brand her. Make her Tranquil.
Serafina, Tranquil? Unimaginable.
Carver didn’t bother to ask permission. In the middle of the night, he slipped out of the inn with no one the wiser, and started walking.
Most people would seek familiar territory to hide in. For his sister, that would be Kirkwall or Ferelden, and he was fairly certain she wasn’t quite so reckless as to have gone back to Kirkwall. But then, she wasn’t most people. Neither was he.
If her goal was to simply evade the Chantry, that would be easy enough. The Orlesian Chantry had no pull in the Tevinter Imperium, or at least not enough that its new Inquisition could march across the border uncontested. But she’d never been one to run. When they were children in the hills outside Lothering, she’d stood up to an older boy who stood head and shoulders above her, and probably would have given him a reason to fear the entire Hawke household if Carver hadn’t stopped her. Serafina didn’t run.
If this Inquisition tried to corner her, though, it wouldn’t end well for anyone.
As he came upon the city of Ostwick once more, two days later, there was a great clamor spilling out of the city. He passed people fleeing with their children, most of whom barely spared him more than a glance. Under normal circumstances, a Grey Warden was an oddity—but they had passed through Ostwick barely a few days ago, and these were clearly not normal circumstances.
A single city guard stood by the gate into the city. He barely even glanced at Carver before he shrugged and said, “If you’re of a mind, Warden, there’s… well, something’s happening in the Circle. It was on fire last I saw it. Can’t miss it.”
It was entirely possible that Serafina had absolutely nothing to do with this. She could easily be on the other side of the continent for all he knew—but it would be just like her to dig herself in deeper.
If his sister was anything, she was definitely stubborn.
Indeed, Carver had no trouble finding the Circle. It appeared to be burning, despite being clearly made of stone, but the fire was green rather than red and orange. He’d heard of things that naturally burned different colors, but he’d grown up with mages for siblings. He knew magical fire when he saw it. There were several clusters of city guards and templars alike gathered around the burning building, many of the latter stained with soot. No one, he noted, appeared to be going in or coming out.
“—too dangerous, I’m not sending any of my men in there,” a man said nearby. He wore the same armor as the rest of the city guard, but his hair was solid gray and Carver got the impression he’d been serving in the city guard for decades. “Apologies, ser, but I think it’s safest just to let it burn.”
A templar standing opposite the guard shook their head, as non-descript as any other templar with helmet on. “The mages are our responsibility. We can’t just leave them to die,” she said. Then she paused, glancing over the guard’s shoulder and directly at Carver. “You, Grey Warden.”
Reluctantly, Carver acknowledged her with a stiff nod.
“I am Knight-Captain Elisa. We arrested an apostate this morning, whom I believe is responsible for the fire currently consuming the building. If you are willing to join a unit of several of my templars to find and deal with her, I will reward you handsomely. What say you?”
Maker’s fucking tears, Serafina. What are you trying to do? Aloud, he replied, “If she’s capable of this,” he said, gesturing at the burning building, “what makes you think she won’t simply kill us?”
The Knight-Captain audibly sighed. “True. I would promise to send your reward to your family, but Wardens don’t have family, do you?”
If he was right, if this was his sister, he was in no danger from her. Rather, he was concerned he might have to kill the templars—and even a layperson would be able to tell that they were killed by a blade rather than magic. “I’m not concerned about the reward,” he said finally. “Just tell me where to go. Can’t be as bad as the Deep Roads.”
And so he found himself perhaps ten minutes later, utterly alone in a maze of a building. The fire, as it turned out, only surrounded the exterior of the building, leaving the inside untouched. Of the four templars who had entered with him, two were dead and the other two had simply vanished—but that was a problem for later. First priority: where the fuck was Serafina?
The answer, as he soon discovered, was in the cellar.
He found her sitting with her back to the wall, knees pulled to her chest and muttering inaudibly to herself. She didn’t react to the sound of his footsteps, nor the way his armor creaked as he crouched down in front of her. “Hey,” he said, “Serafina. Let’s get out of here.”
She stopped muttering, but otherwise didn’t move for several seconds. Then she glanced up—and he realized with a start that her eyes were a vivid yellow.
Not gray. His sister’s eyes were gray. Always had been, as long as he could remember.
Then she blinked, and the eerie color was gone. “Carv,” she murmured.
“What’s going on?”
Serafina quirked a wry smile at him. “Made a deal. I—” She stopped, then inhaled sharply. Yellow flickered in her eyes again, and she gritted out, “I have—some control. Not enough.”
A demon. She’d cut a deal with a demon, he realized.
Right, because things weren’t fucked enough already.
“Okay, you know what?” he said, grabbing her by the forearms and hauling her upright. “Look at me. Focus on me, okay? We’re gonna be okay, but we have to get out of here first.”
She laughed, the sound just off enough to be unnerving. “Out. Right. Lead the way, little brother.”
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billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.
he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”
billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.
they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.
and everything’s perfect. sort of.
they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.
billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”
those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.
when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.
billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-
turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.
it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.
billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.
it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.
pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.
he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.
says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”
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priest: i don't, ah, quite know what to say to you. if you are in such terrible danger, why are you taking it all so calmly?
constantine: hmh! i dunno, father. i had a bloke beaten to a pulp earlier this evening. that sound calm to you?
priest: you did what...?
constantine: i must've been off me bleedin' rocker. i've never done anything like it before in me life, y'know?
constantine: but there's header gets his guts blown out, and george is stickin' his head in the noose, and helen gets ... jesus, then friggin' sarah bites me head off — ! everything's coming to bits in me hands and it's so easy to just see red and now, shit, they could've killed the tosser for all i know!
and now i'm just like the bastards i've hated all me life! kill him! fire him! close them down! piss all over him! screw you, i can do whatever i want! i so much as blink and you're dead, pal! i'm in charge!!
...
constantine: 'scuse me, father. i'm always like this when i don't get me own way.
— hellblazer #81, "rake at the gates of hell pt. 4"
babygirl you are just....so, sooooo offputting. (and grieving, and guilty, and terrified, but yeah: offputting.)
anyway, it's issues like this one that remind me why i kind of hesitate over some of the retcons in the recent spurrier runs, like the one with him now having opened dream's pouch of sand and stolen some before they even met. because like, it's easy enough to look at john constantine now — with 70 years of worst possible choices and unresolved trauma crystallizing underneath his skin to cover up all the soft, hopeful bits where he's used to getting hit — and assign him arbiter of ill intentions, magus of wasted potential, saint of shit choices, but man . . . he was new to this, once. he was still new to this 80 issues in.
80 issues in, and he's not used to losing friends yet; he even has time enough between catastrophes to grieve each individual one. still has enough left to live for at this stage to necessitate running and hiding, instead of bodily throwing himself at the problem like he learns to later, or sitting apathetically by to do nothing except smoke and watch the world fall apart when he finally gives up. fuck, he still apologizes.
and you're telling me this guy, this soppy wet cat motherfucker hiding from the devil in a church basement, so guilty over not knowing what happened to the guy that he paid people (paid chas, so chas could pay people) to attack that the bottle he's holding in this scene isn't even his second or third........this guy's past, more innocent self lied right to the face of DREAM OF THE ENDLESS and got away with it?
hm. i just don't know about all that.
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