I highly recommend reading both Relations and Returns before this.
-/-
January 1, 1200
-/-
"Do you feel any different today?" Maria asks from the other side of their shared bed.
"I feel that it's too early to be awake," Altair mumbles, and opens his eyes in time to watch his wife scowl at him.
"If you wouldn't stay up half the night with that apple-"
Altair holds up his hands defensively. "I didn't touch the apple at all last night," he says, which is true. "I was with Sef." Their younger son has been sick for almost a week, so Altair had been up half the night while Sef threw up everything in his stomach. "Why did you ask if I felt different?"
"Well, it's a big day," Maria says. "We're living in the thirteenth century. Happy New Year."
Altair smiles as Maria turns away from him and goes to check on Sef. The thirteenth century might seem a lot more impressive if he hadn't spent over a year of his childhood in the twenty first. He's still smiling when Maria comes back into the room. "What are you so happy about?" she asks.
"Just thinking," Altair says. One of these days, he will tell Maria everything he saw there, in the future, but he hasn't yet thought of a way to explain it all without sounding completely insane.
Darim comes running into the room then, vibrating with all the excitement a four year old can manage. Altair barely manages to catch him when the boy throws himself into his arms. "Dad! Who is he, dad?"
Altair exchanges a worried glance with Maria. "Who?" he asks.
"The baby," Darim says, in a why-don't-you-already-know-that-dad tone. "There's a baby in-" He cuts off abruptly and glances at Altair's study, a room that he knows he's not allowed in. That's never stopped him before, of course- mostly it just seems to encourage him. One of Altair's greatest fears is that some day one of his sons will stumble over the apple in there, and something horrible will happen. Wordlessly, he hands Darim to Maria and goes to investigate.
The apple is glowing faintly when Altair steps into the room, which puts him on alert right away. Normally, the cursed thing only does that when it's being used. Maybe someone else has somehow gotten in, or maybe the apple is just doing something new and now. Either way, Altair has enough sense to be on his guard going in.
Darim had said there was a baby, so Altair pulls his eyes away from the apple to search the room. Sure enough, it doesn't take long to find the child on the floor, only a few feet away from the apple. It's a boy, dark haired and pale, close to Sef's age or a little younger. The kid is sitting up with his back to Altair, and he doesn't react at all when Altair crosses the room to stand next to him. His eyes don't even move, just stare blankly at the wall. Shock, maybe, or some spell of the apple.
The boy's completely naked, and Altair runs his eyes over the body, checking for injuries or some other sign of what had happened to bring him here. It definitely looks like the kid has been pretty beat up, and Altair feels a brief flare of anger towards whoever would do that to a kid- there's an angry red burn running the length of his right arm, fading to pink and then to normal skin color as it comes close to his shoulder, and there are a dozen small cuts and bruises covering the rest of his body, along with several scars. The most prominent is a vertical slash across his lip, a lot like the one on Altair's face, or-
It all clicks together then, the answer coming to Altair along with a fresh surge of horror.
"Oh no," he whispers. "Desmond."
Now that he knows what he's looking for, the signs are all there, waiting to be recognized. The familiar tattoo, the shape of his face, distorted by youth but still undeniably him. This is Desmond, and Altair had been the one to bring him here. Years and years ago- he'd stood in a cave in New York with the apple in his hand, begging for a way to save Desmond from an impossible choice, between his own death and the deaths of millions of people.
This hadn't been the way out he'd imagined.
"Altair?" He turns to see Maria standing in the doorway, arms crossed. "Why is there an infant in your study?"
"It's... complicated," Altair says, already turning his eyes back to Desmond, who still hasn't moved. "Will you get me a blanket, please?"
Maria doesn't answer, but he hears footsteps walking away, and a few moments later return. She stands at his side, holding the soft yellow blanket that usually lies at the foot of Darim's bed. "You know him," she says. "Who is he?"
"His name's Desmond," Altair says quietly, watching to see if the boy will react at all to his name; he doesn't even blink. "Desmond Miles."
"An English name," Maria says thoughtfully. "Where do you know him from?"
"A gift of the apple," Altair says. It's oversimplifying the matter hugely, but he doesn't have time for complicated explanations now.
"You spend too much time with that thing," Maria says, but it's a tired protest, one made more out of habit than anything else. "Why did it show you him, of all the people in the world?"
"He's from the future," Altair explains as he wraps Desmond in the blanket and gathers him into his arms. "He's… important." To the world. And to Altair.
Maria reaches out and runs a hand across Desmond's face. "He's freezing," she says. "Bring him into the other room and we'll try to warm him up."
Over the next few hours, as Desmond slowly warms, Altair is relieved to see him start to come alive. He blinks, moves his limbs, follows the people around him with his eyes. But there's no recognition in his eyes, and he doesn't make a single sound.
His still silence terrifies Altair. He knows all too well the traumas Desmond has seen. Kidnapping, the animus, death and the end of the world- even before the apple brought him to Masyaf, it would have been enough to break the strongest of men. It's broken Desmond, apparently, and all Altair wants is to know how badly. Is he shattered, or only cracked? He wants to know, he wants to help him, but he has no idea what to do.
Toward late afternoon, Altair is called away for business that he can't avoid. He's gone barely half an hour, but when he comes back, it's to the sight of Maria standing in the doorway to the boys' room, smiling gently at whatever is going on inside.
She motions him over when he comes in, signaling for quiet at the same time. Slightly confused, Altair joins her.
Darim has crawled into bed with Sef, Desmond wedged securely between the brothers. He's asleep, but Darim and Sef are very much awake, and apparently in the midst of an important conversation. "You have to be careful," Darim is telling Sef, his voice as serious as Altair has ever heard it. "Because when you have a little brother, it's your job to protect him."
"From what?" Sef asks. He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He looks better than the night before, even if his voice still sounds stuffed and his whole face is red.
"Everything," Darim says solemnly.
"Remember this?" Maria whispers to Altair, and he smiles over at her. Three years ago, he'd given Darim pretty much the same talk, just before Sef was born.
"Of course I do," he says. Maria takes his hand and twines her fingers through his.
"Especially girls," Darim goes on. "Girls are scary."
"I did not tell him that," Altair adds hastily, and Maria smacks him on the arm.
"Why not?" she asks. "We are scary." Her smile fades as she goes back to contemplating the three boys on the bed. "What are we supposed to do with him, Altair?"
"Keep him with us," Altair says, without even a second's hesitation. Desmond had taken care of him when he'd needed it most- twice, as a matter of fact. There's no way Altair can abandon him now.
"Alright," Maria nods. Her eyes stay fixed on her sons. "The boys would be upset if we were to send him away."
Altair grunts in agreement, and Maria turns away to take care of something in the other room. For a long time after, he just stands in the doorway watching as Darim and Sef talk quietly on the bed, Desmond curled up between them. There are a lot of decisions left to be made, and a lot of questions that are still unanswered.
Right now, Altair has no idea at all what Desmond's mental state is. He still hasn't spoken, and has barely reacted to anything around him. It could be disorientation from the apple travel, or it could be… something worse.
And if so, it's Altair's fault.
-/-
January 2, 1200
-/-
"There's a lot of old injuries here. Extensive scarring, bad burns on one arm, very strange decorations on the other arm. The burn is the most recent injury, but there are some others that are yet to heal, as well. Minor cuts and bruises, mostly. Obviously hasn't been sleeping well, either." The man looks up from his examination of Desmond to frown at Altair. "You did the right thing, bringing him here."
"You're the doctor," Altair says. The best of the medics living in Masyaf, which is why Altair brought Desmond there in the first place. "Do you think he'll be alright?"
"Hard to say…" the main trails off, his eyes focusing on Desmond again, who sits passively on the chair where he's been placed. "There's a lot to be worried about here. Physically, I'd say the burn is the biggest worry. The other injuries should heal quickly, and a few good nights' sleep will take care of the exhaustion. But this burn- it's interesting. It's extremely bad on the fingers and palm, but gets gradually less intense farther up the arm." He grips Desmond near the shoulder. "Up here, it's no worse than a sunburn."
When he lets go of Desmond's arm, it swings limply back into place. "So will it heal?" Altair asks.
"Yes. Maybe. Some of it."
"Not a very precise answer there," Altair says.
"I have no idea," the doctor says. "I've never seen any injury like this before. How did he sustain it?"
"I have no idea," Altair lies. He has no idea what happened to Desmond in the temple, so explaining it would hardly be any help.
"Hmm." The doctor frowns. "Other than the physical symptoms, there's also unresponsiveness, listlessness, slow eye movements- he's young, and the young heal well, so it may go away on its own in time. Or it may not- I just don't know enough about injuries of the spirit to say for sure. But as I said, the boy is young."
"Yes," Altair says. "About that- how old do you think he is?"
"Probably… two years, maybe two and a half," the doctor says. "I can't be more specific."
"Thank you," Altair says, and picks Desmond up from the table. "You've been a help."
"Of course, mentor," the doctor says. "If you have any further concerns, feel free to come back."
Altair nods before leaving the room. The man hadn't really told him anything Altair didn't know- Desmond still has the injuries he picked up during his time as an assassin in the twenty first century, his arm is badly burned from whatever happened in the temple, and his mental state is still a mystery.
"Wait!" Altair glances over his shoulder as the doctor comes running out after him, and even Desmond reacts enough to turn his head to look at the man. "Sorry," the doctor said. "It's just- I did notice something else, during my examination." He takes a deep breath, then goes on. "Some of the scars on that boy are older than he is. They've reached a level of healing that would take much longer than two years."
Altair gives the man a long, measured look. "I know," he says. "But don't mention it to anyone else."
The doctor pales slightly, then nods, leaving Altair free to walk away with Desmond. He hesitates, then nods to himself. "Come on," he says to Desmond, although there's no indication that Desmond is actually listening, or that he cares. "I'm going to show you something."
No one stops them as Altair climbs with Desmond up one of Masyaf's towers. There are certain advantages to being mentor, after all. Instead of climbing all the way to the top, Altair stops about two thirds of the way up, settling himself on the ledge there with Desmond held securely at his side. It would have been easy to climb all the way to the top, but when Altair was very small, this was as high up as he could get. In fact, this is the exact spot where Altair had been sitting when he first fell through time, just before meeting Desmond.
He'd come up here planning to explain all this to Desmond, but the words don't come. Instead, they sit in absolute silence for close to an hour. Altair watches Desmond, who stares with empty eyes straight in front of him. It's unbelievably painful for Altair to watch- he hasn't seen Desmond in almost a decade, and in his memories, Desmond had always been the older one, the one that was responsible. He'd done his absolute best to take care of Altair when he was young, even when he was losing his mind piece by piece… even when Altair was as well.
He shakes his head and forces the memories away- even now, years later, he can still see the lingering hallucinations from his own brief time in the animus. It's worse when he thinks about it, so he tries not to. Even Maria doesn't know about the visions, although to be fair she doesn't know anything about that part of his life.
Desmond does. Or did. It's hard to tell what's left in his mind these days. "It's my turn now, isn't it?" Altair says quietly. "My turn to take care of you. Desmond doesn't answer, unsurprisingly, and Altair holds him tighter. "And I will. I promise."
Neither of them says anything else, but when Altair climbs back down from the tower, Desmond wraps his arms around Altair's neck and squeezes tight. He doesn't let go for a very long time.