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peopleofthedas2011-07-10 03:28 pm
ouyangdan) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-07-10 03:28 pm
Monthly Prompt Response: Without Dad
Rating: T+ because Carver has a potty mouth
Word Count: 1,691
Characters: Carver and Bethany Hawke
Summary: Basically, this is the anniversary of my own father passing away. Until that time, my own brother and I never really got along. This is immediately after Malcom would have passed away. My brother and I had a serious bonding moment shortly after the funeral and a lot of personal family crap aftermath. I wrote this with that in mind, and found it oddly cathartic.
Thanks to the player of Bethany at DAO:R for helping me work through this dialogue, and who also did this adorable sketch of her Bethany and my Carver from the RP forum. Also, to Miri, as usual, because I am apparently incapable of writing a Carver who is not related to Saoirse now.
Word Count: 1,691
Characters: Carver and Bethany Hawke
Summary: Basically, this is the anniversary of my own father passing away. Until that time, my own brother and I never really got along. This is immediately after Malcom would have passed away. My brother and I had a serious bonding moment shortly after the funeral and a lot of personal family crap aftermath. I wrote this with that in mind, and found it oddly cathartic.
Thanks to the player of Bethany at DAO:R for helping me work through this dialogue, and who also did this adorable sketch of her Bethany and my Carver from the RP forum. Also, to Miri, as usual, because I am apparently incapable of writing a Carver who is not related to Saoirse now.
The ashes were barely cold, and a fog of mourning hung over the Hawke household.
Carver tromped in the door, covered in dirt and sweat. He'd had to do something other than sitting around missing him.
So, he'd split wood and mucked the barn for the umpteenth time. His arms ached from swinging the axe, but not even driving the blade into the cut logs could pound out the empty feeling.
He stopped to rinse his face over a basin and smoothed his hair back off of his brow and lifted some of it off of his neck.
The house was quiet. Good. He didn't want to talk about it. Everyone wanted to talk about it.
He trudged into the main room, weary and thankful there was no one around. It hurt too much and he didn't need anyone seeing him like--
Well, shit.
There was Beths.
She sat in front of the fire, knees drawn up to her chest and her chin resting on them. She stared at the flames as they licked the logs. She didn't even act like she knew he'd entered the room. Kind of hard to miss, a big oaf like him stomping around.
“Hey, Beths.”
She didn't even look up.
Carver frowned at her. He was pretty sure this was hitting her harder, if not differently than, the rest of them.
“What do you want, Carver?”
He sighed heavily, hesitated, took a step back, another one forward, and then sat on the floor next to her.
They sat in stiff silence for several moments.
Finally she laid her head on his shoulder and reached up, playing with his hair like it was an old habit. He swatted her hand away gently. “Lay off my hair.”
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I don't make life easy for you, do I, brother?”
“No.” Carver tried to not look grumpy with her. He sighed. “But s'fine.”
“Nothing's ever been easy for you, Carver.”
He raised an eyebrow down at her, surprised. Not what I'd expected. “You don't have to coddle me.”
“I'm not. I'm being honest.” She paused. “I'm just … glad that you're here for me. It … really scares me to think that I could lose you just as easily some day.”
Carver's face went solemn. He didn't want to think about that. It was too soon.
“I'll always protect you. It's what I'm good at, remember?” He leaned his head onto hers.
Bethany looked up at him without moving her head. “Carver, what's it like?”
“What's what like?”
“Not having to … worry about demons?”
Carver looked surprised by her question. How would he even know? “I …”
“Or templars.”
“I always worry about templars, Beths.”
“Right.”
They sat in the silence again, the crackling of the fire the only sound.
“I don't know what I would do … if they took you.” He tried to never think about it.
“Well, so long as you're around, that won't happen, right?”
Was she trying to make him feel better?
“Of course,” he harrumphed.
“It must be nice,” she began, and paused. “To be able to go to bed and not worry about what the Fade might do with you.”
“I … I don't know that I'm the right person to talk to about that.” How was he supposed to know? “I don't understand anything about that, Beths.” He waggled his fingers. “About magic.”
“You don't want to, trust me on this, Carver.”
He tightened his lips into a strained smile. “You are probably right about that.”
“I love you, brother. No matter what.”
He groaned slightly and put an arm awkwardly around her. “I … I'm here for you, no matter what, Beths. Wouldn't you rather talk to Saoirse about this?”
She smiled a small, fragile smile and huddled against him. “Why? She wouldn't understand it either. Remember?” She elbowed him a bit, teasing. “Carver, what are your dreams like?”
He sat quietly for a long time. “I don't know. I don't really remember most of them. I'm usually too sodding tired.”
“Huh, that must be nice.”
He paused. Odd. “Is something bothering you, Beths? Who do I need to strike with my pommel?”
She made a sound that might actually have been mistaken for a chuckle. “The other night … I dreamed I was a girl again. There was a chair, in a tree, in the middle of the house here, and I couldn't reach it. Father was sitting in it. I tried to climb it, but I couldn't.” She hesitated. “He reached out to me. Like he used to.”
Carver clenched his jaw. “You know that wasn't real, right?”
“Of course I do. I know.”
“He's gone, Bethany. He's not coming back.”
“I know, Carver.” She sounded exasperated with him.
He gave her a little squeeze with his arm. “You were his favourite, you know.”
She snorted this time. “Was not. Saoirse was, remember? She's the eldest”
“You were the smart one.” He rolled his eyes. Beths had all the patience where he and Saoirse could never wait to get outside. “We never had the patience for whatever he tried to,” he waved a hand, “tried to teach us with the reading and all of that. But you. He would just light up when you would get something.” He remembered the way their father would look at her. He never felt that look given to him.
She looked up at him and smirked a bit, but it faded quickly. She opened her palm and a small spark ignited in it. She let it dance back and forth over her fingers.
Carver eyed it warily.
She closed her fist around it and snuffed it out. “I never wanted this, Carver. None of it.”
“I know.”
She sniffled slightly, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I never …”
“He was always so proud of you.” He thought for a moment, and added “Of both of you.” He scowled a bit. “Family full of mages, at least stupid Carver could manage to milk the cows, right?”
Now she swatted him. “It wasn't like that. You know that right?”
He snorted. “Of course.”
“I never wanted to be such a burden on you.”
Why was she talking to him? “You are not a burden.”
“Yes, I am, we are. You are always protecting us, hiding us. We've always moved so much to keep us safe.”
That was true enough. He couldn't say that right now. “I'd do it all again. I just … I wish I could have done something. More.”
“You do lots of things,” she hiccuped, and it was really only then he realized she was crying. “You can,” she waved her arm back and forth, “you know, with your sword. I could never do that.”
“That's because it's bigger than you, and you have puny mage-flower arms.”
“You're stronger than you think you are. Than you give yourself credit for.”
“I've mucked a lot of stalls.”
“That's not what I mean. You don't have to have magic to be strong.”
“I know.”
He grumbled to himself. Or he thought it was to himself. “If I could've joined the guard or … anything. We were always sodding moving.”
She cried a bit harder. “I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I'm just being me. Stupid Carver, whinging again. Poor Carver. Let's feel bad for him.”
She slapped him on the chest lightly. “Stop that.”
He made a show of pretending it hurt, and it made her smile.
“You really don't remember your dreams?”
“I really don't,” he snorted.
“I wish I could forget mine.” Her voice dropped softly.
“Sometimes I think about … I don't know … maybe some day …” he stopped and looked at her. Of course. This was about her. “Is something troubling you? You aren't, uh, seeing things are you? That go,” he made little walking motions with his fingers, “Grr … Argh …?”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “Not really …” She took a deep breath. “Carver, I'm a mage. More often than not my dreams are traps.” She closed her eyes tightly, wiping tears away again. “I'm scared without him, Carver.”
He nodded. Maker, he missed him too. But, wow, was he ever the wrong person to talk to about this. He stiffened a bit. “You … you're strong. You can handle it, I'm sure.” He pursed his lips a moment. “I don't understand it, but I think you'll be fine.”
“It's been getting worse, now that he's gone.”
He frowned. Say something encouraging. “We've seen some terrible things. Maferath's balls, I'd be surprised if you weren't having bad dreams.” Nice, Carver. That probably didn't help.
She took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. He knew it was forced, but she'd do it to make him feel better.
Carver continued on. “What do you want me to do, Beths? I can't put a sword through your dreams.”
“I … I just need you to listen.”
He sat for a long moment. Why me?
Because he was her twin. They'd close the hole together.
“I can do that,” he said finally. He thought momentarily before adding, “Just … don't use any of those big fancy words he taught you.” He made a tight-lipped smile down at her.
She finally laughed with a sound that was closer to right, and he smirked at her, happy he actually seemed to say the right thing.
“Duly noted, brother.”
“Hey, Beths.”
“Yes?”
“I uh …” He scrubbed the back of his head. “I love you too.”
Carver tromped in the door, covered in dirt and sweat. He'd had to do something other than sitting around missing him.
So, he'd split wood and mucked the barn for the umpteenth time. His arms ached from swinging the axe, but not even driving the blade into the cut logs could pound out the empty feeling.
He stopped to rinse his face over a basin and smoothed his hair back off of his brow and lifted some of it off of his neck.
The house was quiet. Good. He didn't want to talk about it. Everyone wanted to talk about it.
He trudged into the main room, weary and thankful there was no one around. It hurt too much and he didn't need anyone seeing him like--
Well, shit.
There was Beths.
She sat in front of the fire, knees drawn up to her chest and her chin resting on them. She stared at the flames as they licked the logs. She didn't even act like she knew he'd entered the room. Kind of hard to miss, a big oaf like him stomping around.
“Hey, Beths.”
She didn't even look up.
Carver frowned at her. He was pretty sure this was hitting her harder, if not differently than, the rest of them.
“What do you want, Carver?”
He sighed heavily, hesitated, took a step back, another one forward, and then sat on the floor next to her.
They sat in stiff silence for several moments.
Finally she laid her head on his shoulder and reached up, playing with his hair like it was an old habit. He swatted her hand away gently. “Lay off my hair.”
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I don't make life easy for you, do I, brother?”
“No.” Carver tried to not look grumpy with her. He sighed. “But s'fine.”
“Nothing's ever been easy for you, Carver.”
He raised an eyebrow down at her, surprised. Not what I'd expected. “You don't have to coddle me.”
“I'm not. I'm being honest.” She paused. “I'm just … glad that you're here for me. It … really scares me to think that I could lose you just as easily some day.”
Carver's face went solemn. He didn't want to think about that. It was too soon.
“I'll always protect you. It's what I'm good at, remember?” He leaned his head onto hers.
Bethany looked up at him without moving her head. “Carver, what's it like?”
“What's what like?”
“Not having to … worry about demons?”
Carver looked surprised by her question. How would he even know? “I …”
“Or templars.”
“I always worry about templars, Beths.”
“Right.”
They sat in the silence again, the crackling of the fire the only sound.
“I don't know what I would do … if they took you.” He tried to never think about it.
“Well, so long as you're around, that won't happen, right?”
Was she trying to make him feel better?
“Of course,” he harrumphed.
“It must be nice,” she began, and paused. “To be able to go to bed and not worry about what the Fade might do with you.”
“I … I don't know that I'm the right person to talk to about that.” How was he supposed to know? “I don't understand anything about that, Beths.” He waggled his fingers. “About magic.”
“You don't want to, trust me on this, Carver.”
He tightened his lips into a strained smile. “You are probably right about that.”
“I love you, brother. No matter what.”
He groaned slightly and put an arm awkwardly around her. “I … I'm here for you, no matter what, Beths. Wouldn't you rather talk to Saoirse about this?”
She smiled a small, fragile smile and huddled against him. “Why? She wouldn't understand it either. Remember?” She elbowed him a bit, teasing. “Carver, what are your dreams like?”
He sat quietly for a long time. “I don't know. I don't really remember most of them. I'm usually too sodding tired.”
“Huh, that must be nice.”
He paused. Odd. “Is something bothering you, Beths? Who do I need to strike with my pommel?”
She made a sound that might actually have been mistaken for a chuckle. “The other night … I dreamed I was a girl again. There was a chair, in a tree, in the middle of the house here, and I couldn't reach it. Father was sitting in it. I tried to climb it, but I couldn't.” She hesitated. “He reached out to me. Like he used to.”
Carver clenched his jaw. “You know that wasn't real, right?”
“Of course I do. I know.”
“He's gone, Bethany. He's not coming back.”
“I know, Carver.” She sounded exasperated with him.
He gave her a little squeeze with his arm. “You were his favourite, you know.”
She snorted this time. “Was not. Saoirse was, remember? She's the eldest”
“You were the smart one.” He rolled his eyes. Beths had all the patience where he and Saoirse could never wait to get outside. “We never had the patience for whatever he tried to,” he waved a hand, “tried to teach us with the reading and all of that. But you. He would just light up when you would get something.” He remembered the way their father would look at her. He never felt that look given to him.
She looked up at him and smirked a bit, but it faded quickly. She opened her palm and a small spark ignited in it. She let it dance back and forth over her fingers.
Carver eyed it warily.
She closed her fist around it and snuffed it out. “I never wanted this, Carver. None of it.”
“I know.”
She sniffled slightly, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I never …”
“He was always so proud of you.” He thought for a moment, and added “Of both of you.” He scowled a bit. “Family full of mages, at least stupid Carver could manage to milk the cows, right?”
Now she swatted him. “It wasn't like that. You know that right?”
He snorted. “Of course.”
“I never wanted to be such a burden on you.”
Why was she talking to him? “You are not a burden.”
“Yes, I am, we are. You are always protecting us, hiding us. We've always moved so much to keep us safe.”
That was true enough. He couldn't say that right now. “I'd do it all again. I just … I wish I could have done something. More.”
“You do lots of things,” she hiccuped, and it was really only then he realized she was crying. “You can,” she waved her arm back and forth, “you know, with your sword. I could never do that.”
“That's because it's bigger than you, and you have puny mage-flower arms.”
“You're stronger than you think you are. Than you give yourself credit for.”
“I've mucked a lot of stalls.”
“That's not what I mean. You don't have to have magic to be strong.”
“I know.”
He grumbled to himself. Or he thought it was to himself. “If I could've joined the guard or … anything. We were always sodding moving.”
She cried a bit harder. “I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I'm just being me. Stupid Carver, whinging again. Poor Carver. Let's feel bad for him.”
She slapped him on the chest lightly. “Stop that.”
He made a show of pretending it hurt, and it made her smile.
“You really don't remember your dreams?”
“I really don't,” he snorted.
“I wish I could forget mine.” Her voice dropped softly.
“Sometimes I think about … I don't know … maybe some day …” he stopped and looked at her. Of course. This was about her. “Is something troubling you? You aren't, uh, seeing things are you? That go,” he made little walking motions with his fingers, “Grr … Argh …?”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “Not really …” She took a deep breath. “Carver, I'm a mage. More often than not my dreams are traps.” She closed her eyes tightly, wiping tears away again. “I'm scared without him, Carver.”
He nodded. Maker, he missed him too. But, wow, was he ever the wrong person to talk to about this. He stiffened a bit. “You … you're strong. You can handle it, I'm sure.” He pursed his lips a moment. “I don't understand it, but I think you'll be fine.”
“It's been getting worse, now that he's gone.”
He frowned. Say something encouraging. “We've seen some terrible things. Maferath's balls, I'd be surprised if you weren't having bad dreams.” Nice, Carver. That probably didn't help.
She took a deep breath and put on a brave smile. He knew it was forced, but she'd do it to make him feel better.
Carver continued on. “What do you want me to do, Beths? I can't put a sword through your dreams.”
“I … I just need you to listen.”
He sat for a long moment. Why me?
Because he was her twin. They'd close the hole together.
“I can do that,” he said finally. He thought momentarily before adding, “Just … don't use any of those big fancy words he taught you.” He made a tight-lipped smile down at her.
She finally laughed with a sound that was closer to right, and he smirked at her, happy he actually seemed to say the right thing.
“Duly noted, brother.”
“Hey, Beths.”
“Yes?”
“I uh …” He scrubbed the back of his head. “I love you too.”
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The Dead Dad's Club has sucky membership dues. *hugs* I do find, however, that most of the members are pretty awesome.