Really, when all was said and done, the last place Fenris thought he would meet his end was in the middle of a typical suburban house, on a typical suburban street. He figured it would be some seedy drug bar or the a back alley somewhere. A place where no one would find his corpse for days and his death would disappear into obscurity.
No, instead he was at Hawke's house, the one his mother used to own with it's literal white picket fence and sunflowers out front and the french Provencal decor in the kitchen, with Danarius' claws piercing the skin of his throat and unable to move, barely able to breathe.
“Hello there, little wolf,” the creature hissed, breath fetid with the stench of old blood. Once a Magister of high renown, Danarius was nothing more than a soulless vampire now, eyes bloodshot and features twisted with hunger. “I can smell your new master on your skin, naughty boy. I will just have to take you back, won't I?”
Fenris whimpered, trapped within the power of Danarius' magics, unable to save himself from the fangs that were descending towards him. One bite, only one, and Fenris knew he would be trapped under Danarius' thrall once again. He would rather die than have that happen, but no matter how he inwardly struggled, his body would not obey his commands to fight, to flee. The creature's teeth pierced his skin, lacerated the vein. He could feel the blood welling to the surface, moments from destroying the last of Fenris' life as a free werewolf-
“I'm sorry, but what the fuck do you think you're doing in my kitchen?”
And in a brief moment, all of Fenris' prayers were answered. Hawke was here and, yes, he smelled the mage as well, just behind him. For just that horrible, wondrous second he believed that just maybe he had been saved. And then he felt the power of Danarius' magic curl around him, fuelled by the rank blood he had consumed earlier, and Garrett was flung across the room to crash through the sliding glass leading to the backyard.
He heard Anders cry out faintly, drowned by the thunderous beat of his heart, flooding out everything else. He could have accepted his own death at the vampire's hands, but Hawke's? Anders? No, it was too much. It wasn't fair!
He struggled, growled at the pain from his former master's claws around his throat. He tried to shift but the vampire's power still smothered him like a blanket, making transformation impossible. No claws, no teeth of his own, and steel toed boots did little damage. Glass crunched under someone's feet, though Fenris had no idea if Hawke was up again or if Anders had moved to help him. He hoped for the former, both in that Garrett would be up and able to protect himself and the Anders would not be drawing Danarius' attention.
So, of course, Fenris was not that damned lucky.
“Well, well, what a pretty mageling we have here,” Danarius drawled, eyes roaming over the man in question. With Fenris' back towards him, he had no idea of Anders' expression, but with the magister's laughter he knew it couldn't be good.
“Let him go,” Anders said, more glass crunching.
“Or what? You'll fight me? You are a weak little healer, no power to speak of,” the monster scoffed.
Anders chuckled, but it didn't sound completely like him, as though his voice were reverberating through a microphone or strangely synthesized. The air around him began to crackle and soon even Fenris could feel the waves of cold emanating from him. But the only times he had ever felt this kind of cold was when-
And then Fenris was thrown, gone from his master's hands to crash against the kitchen wall, something cracking inside him in a blinding white flash of heat and pain. Pulsing, throbbing pain along his right side where he must have hit a stud kept him from focusing on the near silent battle happening a few feet away but when he could see again his breath caught at the terrible beauty before him.
Danarius had wrapped himself in a pulsing barrier of blood, near black with rot while Anders, his amazing mage, held a barrier effortlessly of pure blue energy, glittering with ice-like crystals. Cracks of power appeared on his lover's skin, more of the power under his skin leaching through. Fenris had never seen anything so beautiful and frightening in his short years. He realized now that this was the power that came with the burden of being haunted by a Spirit.
The strength of storms was unleashed in that small, unassuming kitchen. Window glass frosted over with ice and lightning rained down on the falling form of the vampire. Then on the corpse. Then the ash. And still the storm raged on, the mage now nearly obscured by the maelstrom of power surrounding him.
“Anders,” Fenris called softly, then again with more fervour. “Anders! It's over! He's dead! You must stop!”
But the power continued building, blocking out all light and sound save for that which came from magic. Fenris couldn't hear his own voice for the roar of wind around them. But he had to try. Carefully he used the wall he had hit to prop himself up then slide up to stand. He wouldn't be able to do this on his back, that was for certain.
Ribs screamed at him as he took a faltering step forward, then another. He had to get closer, as close as he possibly could in order to be heard, let alone seen, by his love. Judging himself as close as he was going to get he reached out a hand, jerking when it was shocked by stray bolts but refusing to pull away. No, he needed to do this to save Anders, maybe save them all. Maker only knew what had happened to Garrett in all this and they were going to need their healer. And Fenris needed the men he loved.
“Mage...Anders, please. You must release Justice now,” Fenris said, hoping against hope that it got through to the man with eyes glowing with possession. “Garrett needs you. I need you.”
For several long moments Fenris feared that he hadn't reached the man, then almost too slowly to perceive the wind began to die. Broken bits of furniture and crockery that had been missed in the power of the storm began to fall to the floor with a rattle and eyes the colour of honeyed whisky blinked back from blue.
“Fenris? Are...are you?” the mage stammered before pitching forward into the werewolf's grasp, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as ribs groaned. That, of course, is all it took for the healer to come back to himself, hands aglow with healing magic. “Where are you hurt? Let me at the wounds.”
Fenris chuckled softly but let the mage do what he did best. “It is only my ribs, Mage. Hawke went through the patio door and I have not yet seen him. We must see to him first.”
Anders looked Fenris in the eye and nodded before scrambling out the broken glass and kneeling next to his now rousing lover. Garrett propped himself up on his elbow, other hand rubbing at the goose egg that now covered a large portion of his forehead. “Anybody get the license plate of that freight train? I think it came down for a landing on my face.”
Fingers glowing, Anders lightly touched Hawke's face with a grin. “Love, that made absolutely no sense. Care to try again?”
“What happened to the Vamp that had Fenris?” Garrett asked instead, mind returning to it's non-scrambled state.
“It was...him. But Anders...Anders and Justice... he's dead, Hawke,” Fenris said with reverence. “I'm finally free.”
Hawke looked from one to the other, eyes wide. “Really? Anders kicked ass? Wow...um, is it bad that I thinks that kind of hot?”
Fenris couldn't seem to help himself. The laughter burst forth with such overwhelming power. The others exchanged a look of surprise that just seemed to make the laughter that much stronger. The pain in his ribs couldn't stop it, the tears rolling down his cheeks, nothing. Just years of pent up, cathartic release.
He was finally finally free to live and laugh...and love.