Dragon: And so, after a very long and seemingly pointless hiatus, we have returned. This time around, I will be writing the fic and Pixie will be my Beta. Joy. I have noticed that there are several High School AU's of Ass-Creed, but I have yet to find one with anybody from Ass-Creed 3. That doesn't mean that there aren't any, and there are some good High School AU's out there in the fandom. For those of you who have read our other fics, I'M SORRY IF THEY SUCKED! I have put my heart, soul, sweat, tears, and some of Pixie's blood into this story, so I really hope that someone will enjoy reading this as much as I had fun writing it. Also, if the characters seem a little OOC, then they probably are. I didn't want everyone to be a COMPLETE douche-nozzle. BTW, constructive criticism would me the happiest reptile-thing in all the 9 Realms… Whatever those are -_- '. So… yep, I think that's it.

DISCLAIMER: None of the people in the story are ours; they belong to Great-Mother Ubisoft. If we did own them, there would be a lot more bromance in the Ass-Creed series. The only thing we have is the AU pot *cries*.

Chapter 1: Homeward Bound

Three and a half hours is a long drive. Especially when that three and a half hour drive is to a new home.

Moving.

It's hard for everyone. Abandoning your old life, friends, and sometimes family members to venture to a new place. A new place with new rules, new people, and new ways of living. Its not easy to give up what you used to know to make room for other things that are now apparently more important to you—even if you don't know what it is you're supposed to be learning. The first word that usually comes to mind in these types of situations is change. Changes for better or for worse, 17-year-old Connor Kenway didn't know. At least not yet, anyway.

"Connor, are you alright?" Haytham Kenway glanced over to the passenger seat his half-English, half-Mohawk son was occupying. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel of his black 2012 Mustang GT and nudged Connor's shoulder with the other.

Connor turned away from the side window he was staring out of to look at his father, leaning his head on his right hand against the windowsill. His shoulder-length black hair covered most of his face as he replied, "Yes, Father, I am fine." His tone was solemn and slow as he began to zone out again—this time out the front window shield. As he stared, the single, feathered braid on the right side of his face swung back and forth gently with the momentum of the truck.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle was heavy and reeked of the sorrow and uncertainty radiating from Connor's aura. Ever since Haytham received word of Kaniehzí:io's death yesterday morning by way of a messenger sent from the reservation to his house in Boston, he had been immersed in thought trying to think of a way to get his only son to open up and at least talk to him about it. He was told that the Kanienkehá:ka village was caught in the middle of a forest fire that had destroyed most of their houses and hunting grounds. He was informed of all the lives that were lost, some of the names sounding familiar to him from when he spent time learning their ways in his early days with Ziio. Despite himself, he had cried the rest of the night. The feeling of not being able to see her in so long coupled with the fact that her sudden and unexpected death had taken away his chance to at least say goodbye had broken him. He felt ashamed for not being there.

The whole drive from the city of Boston to the Mohawk River Valley to pick up his son had him feeling worried and anxious about finally facing Connor after 17 years. But he would rather have Connor be with his last remaining family in a city than live with no family in his own home. In fact, he was surprised that Connor had chosen to leave with him at all. When Haytham first saw him carrying several dead rabbits into his village, clad in layers of ripped and mud-stained clothes, he noticed that his skin had taken mostly after his mother, but, there were still some striking similarities between them. The same lean and muscular build, lips, and the shape if his face were all eerily recognizable. Now, of course, Haytham didn't expect Connor to be happy about his current circumstances either, but right not the time to simply ignore the issue at hand. "Would you like to talk about something…?" Haytham asked hesitantly, shooting his son another glance while he absentmindedly fiddled with a button on his navy blue jacket.

The question seemed to take a minute to register in Connor's mind before he answered slowly, "Would you mind if we did?" he turned his head to look at his father.

Haytham slowed the car a bit on the freeway, "Of course not, I'm the one who asked to."

"Father, this is just so…" The teen hesitated, trying to find the right word as he stared at his shoes as if they knew the word he was looking for, "…sudden?" It honestly sounded more like a question than a statement to him. "I mean, Mother just… died. Half of my village is gone, and then…" He trailed off, looking down at his lap, his hands brushing across the denim threads of his jeans, creasing the hem of his blue and white t-shirt. "And then," he started again, "You, my father, whom I've never actually met until now, show up out of nowhere and take me off of the Kanien'kehá:ka reserve to live with you in a different state? This is all just… happening so fast… This morning I was out hunting with Kanen'tó:kon and now, I'm driving off to live in a big city with a man I barely know."

Yes, Haytham had been thinking about this as well, this abrupt change of events. "And I assume you would like to know why?" His voice lowered, emphasizing his heavy British accent.

Connor nodded and shifted in his seat nervously. "You loved Mother… right?"

Haytham stopped the truck as it came to a red light, "Connor," he sighed exasperatedly, "I loved your mother very much. I still do. Why would you think anything else?" He looked at his son like he had grown another head.

"Then why did you leave us?" Connor asked bluntly.

Haytham took a breath before replying to this question, "Years ago, when your mother told me she was with child, I was ecstatic." He smiled softly at the memory. "we had waited so long for the chance to start a real family; it was one of the happiest moments of my life. But," he paused, "We then had a decision to make—an ultimatum, if you will." The traffic light finally turned green. "We had to choose which of us were to raise you."

The answer certainly surprised Connor. "What do you mean?" Now it was his turn to give the Englishman an incredulous look. "Why would you have to choose who raised me?"

"Well," his Father began, "Your mother wanted to raise you in the Kanienkehá:ka village with her, and I agreed. I didn't want to just overlook half of your heritage." Haytham pulled off the freeway to start down a long, winding, two-lane road that was virtually free of other cars. "So, we decided to give you the 'best of both worlds', so to speak."

"How would you have done that?"

"Your mother and I agreed that she was going to raise you for the first part of your life. Most likely until you were 18 or so. During this stage, she would teach you the ways of the Mohawk and the ways of the American, giving you the knowledge you would need to survive and thrive in both cultures. I can see she has done a marvelous job." He smiled at Connor, who tentatively returned it. "Then, " Haytham paused, his expression turning from one of insightful to one of disappointment and sorrow, "While you were living with her, I would move to the city of Boston, acquire a decent job, purchase a nice home, and save up enough money for both of you to come live with me when the time came." He frowned at this, "But now, I suppose it's just you and me, Connor."

"Oh." Was all Connor said in response. It was all Connor could say in response. He sat there, letting the new information sink in. "I apologize for my earlier questions, Father." The teenager said after a few minutes of awkwardly choking silence.

"It's fine, Connor. You have a right to know." Haytham glanced once again at his son.

"What was it like?" Connor's mood didn't seem so depressing all of a sudden.

"What was what like?" Haytham Quirked an eyebrow.

"Being in the village with Mother."

"Ah." Haytham scratched himself under his chin, thinking. "Well, let's just say that if I had stayed there, they'd have eaten me alive." He laughed. "I was never very good at 'roughing it in the wilderness'."

"Hm." Connor's lips turned upward into a melancholy smile. "Are you sure? We could have made use of you."

"Oh really? By what means?"

"Well, you look fairly well-muscled, so you could have helped with the hunting. But," The boy smirked, "I see you as more of a clothes-maker."

Haytham looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm just saying that with your… lightweight, feminine, overly-proper, Englishman ways, you would have been better suited to the tasks of a woman in my village." Connor leaned back into his seat and laughed.

Haytham blushed a little at that comment, frowning as he sent a retort. "I'll have you know that I could have been a very accomplished hunter! Look at these guns, for Christ's sake!" The man flexed his right arm, showing off his rock-hard biceps. "Clothes-maker my arse." He grumbled.

"Sure, sure." Connor sighed, grinning as he stared out the window. But soon, that grin turned into more of a slight frown. "Mother spoke of you often."

The man was not expecting that. "…She did?"

"Yes. I used to ask her to tell me stories of when you were together before I slept at night."

Haytham could only listen.

"She would tell of how you were always pronouncing the villager's names wrong, and how they would laugh at you and you would say that they were 'unnecessarily long'."

"That I would." Haytham chuckled lightly.

"Mother spoke of how you brought us new recipes from Britain for cooking the animals we hunted. One of my favorites was your version of venison stew."

"Really? I never thought anyone besides myself would have liked that one." He laughed again. "What else did she tell you?"

"Well," Connor thought for a moment and smirked, "She sometimes talked of how you would always 'steal the blankets', or 'constantly try to organize all of the eagle feathers we collected by size and color in corresponding piles' or even 'stick your little finger out whenever you drank something'."

"Well I apologize for being slightly OCD and British." The Englishman said sarcastically.

"Slightly?" The boy didn't buy that.

"Alright, I apologize for being VERY OCD and British. But it's not like I can help it."

They both sat in a more comfortable silence for a few minutes before Connor spoke again. "Mother used to tell me how good of a father you were."

Haytham almost missed that since it was an almost inaudible statement. "…Really?"

The teen didn't think he would have caught that, but replied anyway, "She spoke of how often you sat by the river trying to thing of a name for me. She also told me that you would always overreact to something like 'feeling a kick'."

"Yes, I remember that." The man smiled.

"And how you never left mother's side for almost a week after I was born." Connor was staring out the window again in the same position that he was before, letting the warm, summer sun shine on his face.

A short string of memories came back to Haytham, replaying those moments in his mind as if they had happened yesterday. Another round of silence consumed the truck, though not as depressing as the last one.

"So…" Connor broke the silence once more, "What does your house look like?"

Haytham thought this might be a good opportunity to try and lighten the mood. "Ah yes! A couple of months ago, I purchased a nice home in a more rural area of Boston. The hustle-and-bustle of the city was never really for me. It has two bedrooms, each with its own full bath and closet space, a standard kitchen and living room, and a full basement. One-story with the works." He smirked a little at that. "It also came with a fairly large backyard, as do most of the houses around there. It's very calm and quiet."

"It sounds nice." Connor started livening up at the change in topic.

"I'm sure you will like it." Haytham smiled.

The ride didn't last much longer after that, and soon, Connor found himself being driven up a concrete driveway toward a white and brown one-story house. His father stopped the car as it reached the white garage door, parking it and pulling the keys from the ignition. "Alright, let's get your things." Haytham opened his door and climbed out, Connor doing the same. They both went around to the back of the car where Haytham had unlocked the trunk and helped to carry the bags that Connor had brought with him to his new home.

'New home.' Connor thought to himself, following his father up the short walkway to the front door, watching him fish out his keys from his black pants pocket and unlocked the large, white, wooden door. Upon entering the house, they were greeted by a cozy, hard wood floored living room. Connor entered first and slowed his pace to observe his new surroundings while his father closed and locked the door behind them. When Haytham flicked on the light switch on the wall to their right, the illuminated space boasted a nice-sized, comfortable looking couch a few feet away against the right wall of the room. In front of the couch was a medium-sized wooden coffee table with a small stack of drink coasters in the center. A 52-inch flat screen surrounded by a black entertainment center occupied the left wall.

Connor let his father pass him in the living room walkway, following him into a 3-way intersection where the living room met the kitchen straight ahead, and a hallway that turned left and was lined with a door on either side and a third that the hall led directly into. Haytham made the left turn and started down the hall, pausing before the door on the left. "This is your room, Connor." The Englishman smiled, opening the door and stepping back so his son could see.

The inside of the room was fairly plain with stark white walls, a very large window at the foot of queen-sized white bed overlooking the street, and a soft, light-brown carpet covering the floor. Connor stepped inside, looking all around him as Haytham set down one of Connor's bags on the bed. The Mohawk teen did the same as his father spoke again, "It's probably not the most appealing room to you." He said putting his hands on his hips. "But tomorrow we will be going to a furniture outlet so you can customize it however you choose, along with new paint, carpet, and yada, yada, yada… I'll leave you to unpack and get familiar with the place." Haytham just kept smiling as he turned and started walking out of the room. On his way out, he said, "When you are done, I'll have dinner ready for us so we can talk about the plans for this weekend." Connor nodded and looked out his window, taking in the image of the neighborhood as the sounds of his father's footsteps faded away down the hall and was soon replaced by the sounds of lightly clinking pots and pans.

The street he was presented with was lined with houses of various sizes and colors. Down the street, he observed a group of boys, most likely around his age, playing basketball in a front yard. He watched them as they ran up and down the house's driveway and out into the street several times before looking away and noticing another door in his room. He walked up to the white painted door, opening it and finding out that is was a bathroom with tiled floors, and a shower with a white curtain draped around the bathtub that made up the showers floor. The white marble counter had a sink, a hand towel on a metal rack, and a medicine cabinet in the wall next to the large mirror.

When Connor turned around to go back into his room, he noticed that he had a walk-in closet. He walked over to it and opened the door. It wasn't excessive, but it could hold a good amount of clothes. The English-Mohawk returned to the bed to grab his bags, bringing them back to the closet where he hung up all of his clothes. He brought a few keepsakes from his village as well. There was a bag of feathers, a couple of skins, and a pair of moccasins that his mother had made him. He placed them on the shelf in his closet carefully, and turned to grab the rest of his things. When his bags were empty, he placed them down below in a corner right next to the door in case he needed them again.

Having completed all of the unpacking, Connor left his room to join his father in the kitchen that was giving off a fantastic smell. When he entered, Haytham greeted him as he plated a meal of spaghetti and garlic bread. "Ah, Connor! Did you find everything to your liking?" He set the noodle covered plates on the smallish wooded table and poured ice water from a pitcher into two glasses that were sitting next to the plates and silverware.

"Yes," His son replied, "You have a very nice house, Father."

"WE have a very nice house, Connor." Haytham sat down at the table. "Well, don't be shy, son." He motioned for Connor to come sit in the chair next to him.

Connor sat down with his father, picked up a fork, and began to eat. "Wow," He said between bites, "This is amazing! What is it?" Connor could barely stop himself from inhaling his entire plate.

"Spaghetti." He replied, eating his in a bit more dignified manner. "It's an old recipe my great-grandmother bought from a homeless man in Italy."

"Well, you should make it more often. It's delicious." Connor stuffed a meatball into his mouth.

Haytham chuckled, taking a drink of his water.

During supper, the two couldn't stop talking. They managed to cover so many topics they had lost count. They talked about Connor's preferred hunting techniques, what Haytham did in his spare time like reading and taking walks, and even what they would do if they had superpowers. Connor preferred being able to fly while Haytham thought it would be fun to have telekinesis. This continued until the food was long gone and they started cracking cheesy jokes and puns with each other.

At one point, Connor picked up a black Sharpie marker of the adjacent counter and drew a long, thick, handlebar mustache on the side of his left index finger. He held the finger up to his nose to make it look like he had a mustache. "Father?"

"What?" He quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I mustache you a question." Connor failed at trying to suppress his laughter.

"Shave it for later, Connor." Haytham countered his son's pun with another, laughing along with it until they were both trying to keep themselves from falling out of their chairs because of the pointlessly contagious euphoria.

"Toupee, Father, toupee." Connor managed to say through his ragged intake of breath.

Haytham's laughter died down as he got up to take the long empty plates and glasses to the sink, rinsing them with water before putting them in the dishwasher. "That was punny, Connor." He chuckled again.

Connor smiled and sighed, looking at the digital clock on the oven. "It's only 7:30." He looked out the kitchen window to see the light fading from the summer sky, the sunset making splashes of pink, purple, and gold.

"Hmm, well it looks like we still have some time to kill." Haytham concluded, sitting back down at the table with Connor. "Tomorrow," He began, "is Open House at your new school. It starts at 2:00,but if you want to go to the furniture store we'll have to leave around 12:30."

"Open House?" Connor asked.

"Mmhm. That is where we picked up your class schedule and meet with your teachers. I already have all of the supplies you may need, so we don't have worry about buying anymore tomorrow." Haytham leaned back in his chair, "Since you are 17 years of age, I figured you were a Junior. I spoke with the teachers at your old school, and they suggested a schedule for you."

"I see. Thank you, Father." Connor nodded, understanding.

"No need to thank me, Connor. You are my son and I only want the best education for you." His father got up from the table again, headed into the living room, and knelt down in front of the entertainment center below the television to rifle through one of the cabinets.

"Father?" Connor asked after a few minute, leaving the table as well.

"Yes?" He answered.

"Can you… call me by my real name?" He asked, not knowing as to why he was so nervous about the question.

"Rahtohnhaké:ton, could you help me decide which movie to watch tonight?" Haytham continued rummaging through the cabinet, filing through his alphabetized DVD collection.

Connor stared at him.

"You would think I could say your name considering I was the one who helped give it to you." Haytham waved him over.

Connor beamed, walking over to his father, kneeling next to him." So, how much Kanienkehá:ka do you know?"

"Well," the Englishman stopped his search, "I knew enough to help give you a proper name. That, and I picked some up from your mother."

"I see." Connor was a little happier now, knowing that he didn't have to use his fake name all the time. He joined in the search for something to watch, looking through the title section until he found a brightly colored case that said "Elf" with a man dressed in a green and yellow elf costume. "How about this one?" He handed the DVD case to his father.

Haytham chuckled, "This is a pretty funny one. I think you'll enjoy it." He opened the small box and put the scratch-free disk inside the stylish, black DVD player. They both made their way back to the couch, sitting through the pointless previews and title sequences, until the movie finally started.

And so, the night passed with excessive amounts of laughing, especially at the parts with raccoons, spaghetti, a shiny mail room, passion fruit spray, a full-blown snowball war, Santa Claus at Gimbles, and, of course, "That Special Someone."

When the end-credits finally started rolling past the screen, Connor stood from the incredibly comfy couch, stretching as he did so.

"So, how was it?" Haytham did the same, crossing over into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.

"It was very funny!" Connor smiled brightly. He couldn't remember the last time he had this much fun in the span of four hours.

"I'm glad. You can never go wrong with that one." He rinsed his glass and put it on the counter next to the sink. "I think I'll retire for the night. We've got a big day tomorrow." Haytham covered a yawn with his hand. But as he stared walking down the hallway toward his bedroom, Connor reached out and hugged him, stopping Haytham in his tracks.

The boy did not let go, and the older man felt a small wet spot accumulating on his shirt. He returned the embrace, the all to familiar memory of Ziio's death coming back to both of them. Since they seemed to have put this realization off for most of the night, it felt only that much harder to take all at once. "I miss her, Father." Connor whimpered.

"I miss her too." Haytham whispered, gently rubbing circles on his sons back. They stayed like that for several minutes; and offering of comfort in their silent sorrow.

"Good night, Father." Connor said, his cheek pressed up against his father's chest.

"Good night, Rahtohnhaké:ton." They smiled warmly at each other before parting and continuing to their designated rooms. Haytham turned around to face Connor and put a firm but warm hand on his shoulder, "Now, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Oh, and Rahtohnhaké:ton?" Haytham began.

"Yes, Father?" Connor questioned.

"You don't have to call me Father. Just 'Dad' is fine." Haytham told him.

"Alright, Dad." Connor said, the word strange on his tongue.

With that, Haytham patted Connor's back, turned around, and entered his room. The door clicking softly shut behind him.

The teen opened the door to his room and walked over to his fairly spacious bed, pulling back the covers, and climbing in. He stared out the large window in front of him, the lights in the dark, untainted heavens seemed to glow ever brighter with each passing thought of Ziio's memory. He then wondered if he could count how many stars were in the sky—measure the strength of his mother's spirit. But it seemed that there were just too many since he kept losing count after 42 or so. This was because he couldn't keep track of which ones he had already counted. Connor wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye, hugging himself around his waist like Ziio would have on his occasional sleepless nights.

'So this is my new home?' the English-Mohawk thought. Then, he started thinking about the movie he and his father had watched. 'It seems that Buddy and I have a lot more in common than I first realized. We both come from different cultures, we both lost our mothers, we left our homes to live with our fathers in a big city, and we will have to cope with new places, people, and lifestyles. Then again,' he paused, 'my father doesn't seem at all like that Walter Hobbs character. And don't think I'll be putting Poptarts and maple syrup in my spaghetti any time soon.' He laughed a little at that thought. Connor sighed and rolled over to get more comfortable, and closed his eyes to let sleep overtake him.

'Oh, yeah.' He thought, cringing, 'I have to go to school tomorrow.'

Author's Notes:

Dragon: Phew! That was probably the most I've ever typed in 4 hours and 17 minutes. I tried to ham up all the emotions in this first chapter, it being the "angsty introduction to a new life" thing. Yeah, I felt like I was writing a soap opera script. I think it came pretty good, but I would like you to let me know how I did and if I should continue this idea. Don't get excited about "regular updates", though. Due to certain… complications, I am only able to access our FanFiction account once in a blue moon. But when I do, you can expect another fairly long chapter or maybe even two. Don't count on it though. For those of you who have read our other fics, I am pleased to say, I WILL NOT GIVE UP ON THIS STORY! So wish me luck. ;D

Pixie: Hi! I hope you all enjoy this story. Dragon worked very hard on this, and its really good to me. All mistakes are my fault as the beta. Also all editing is my job. So Dragon! You better appreciate all the hard work that I put in! Have Fun!

P.s. I hate the fanfiction doc editor. It sucks. Balls.

Edit: After a miscommunication between the two of us, I have edited a few things in this story. Sorry for the trouble!