A/N: I've had this Supernatural/Assassins Creed crossover story idea rolling around in my head for a wile now so I figured I might as well do something with it, so here it is. For the purposes of my universe Desmond isn't going to come into play at all, but Ezio might be mentioned briefly. I'm going to try to get the dream sequences as close to historically accurate as I can but I apologize in advance for any craziness. Its not going to be 100% anyway due to the fact there are Assassins and Templars vying for control of an artifact from an advanced race of super humans. so eh...read on and I hope you enjoy.
Oh yeah and unfortunately I don't own AC or Supernatural so I have no legal rights to either universe. But if I did Destiel would totally be cannon especially this season. Poor human Cas!
Paris, France 1530 A.C.
He stood, arms stretched out at his side for balance, on a small protrusion of stone at the top of the tall steeple of a cathedral that lay on the edge of La Riviere de Seine. The autumn wind whipped around him and caught underneath his hood pushing it down from around his head, letting his shoulder length black hair dance in the breeze.
His deep blue-eyed gaze swept out into the fading glow of the setting sun and the city of Paris sprawled out to meet it.
Thatch and stone rooftops spread out as far as his eyes could see, punctuated by rising steeples dotting the landscape.
He could see the oranges and yellows of the fields in the distance and hear the evening bells of the Notre-Dame de Paris ringing in the air. It really was a beautiful city.
Too bad he didn't have the luxury or the time to appreciate it while he was here. But this city held more than beauty for this man, it held a secret. A treasure hidden deep within its walls that if Grand Master De Poitous had his way, would see itself in his possession for all time.
He was here to make sure that did not come to pass.
He was here on a mission, the most important one of his young life. One that would rectify past wrongs and prove his life as an Assassin hadn't been for naught.
He angled himself down slightly and glanced into the street below.
The city was alive with the people of Paris wandering to and fro trying to finish up their business outdoors before the darkness fell and the light around them faded.
Women holding the hands of their children as they peered through windows glancing at the finery within, Men in robes gathered in groups at the base of the cathedral offering blessings to the masses.
The Assassin stood on his perch high above the city watching as the streets emptied and the sun fell as the moon rose up to take her place.
It was a nice respite from the past few days of running, shadowing, and killing trying to find the information he needed.
He was finally able to find the name of a servant for the De Poitous family who would be willing to listen and report information, for a price of course. He was to meet him after dark in the alleyway behind the cathedral that was serving as his lookout point.
He scanned the rooftops and streets below for a soft landing point and found a straw cart.
Holding it in his gaze then taking a deep breath, feeling the wind and hearing the bells. He took a step forward, quickly and gracefully slicing through the air and hitting his target.
Not as soft as he would have liked, but better than nothing he supposed.
He scrambled out quickly, brushing the straw out of his hair as he lifted his hood back into place and headed toward the alley.
He stood waiting in the shadows for only a minute or two when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the squeak of metal as the lantern the man was carrying swung in time with his steps.
He activated the mechanism to lower his blade and heard it 'snick' into place.
He stepped out of the shadows just as the man entered the narrow path and had his blade to his throat in the time it took a hummingbird to beat its wings. He peered out from underneath his cowl and looked into the mans surprised face.
A startled cry of "Mon Dieu!" rang in the air as the man swung his arms up in an attempt to protect himself.
"What is your business here!" demanded the dark-haired Assassin. He knew who this man was supposed to be but one could never be too careful.
"Rien n'est vrae" The surprised man offered quickly, the light from his swinging lantern casting shadows on the walls of the surrounding buildings.
"Tout est permis" he gave in reply and nodded, apparently satisfied with the exchange.
"Rene de Liendes, I presume." The dark-haired man said as he lowered his weapon and allowed his blade to return to its sheath on the inside of his wrist.
"Oui monsieur. You must be the Assassin, Augustin Nowack. I was told to expect you here. I was not told, however, I would receive a knife to my throat for my trouble." he replied with consternation.
"I apologize for my lack of civility, but one can never be too careful on nights such as these in this city."
"Think nothing of it again monsieur." Rene said as he raised the lantern in his left hand so that his face and Augustin's were now visible in the darkness. "I understand your position. It is wise to be cautious."
"Were you able to arrange transport for me out of the city once I have the Apple?"
"Oui, my son has tied a horse to a tree just outside of the south exit of the city. It is a young mare, very strong. He will take you where you need to go."
"Bonne" the assassin replied. "And what of its location? Did you manage to hear where they are keeping it?"
"Yes, but you must make haste. They are transporting it from its resting place in Le Grosse Tour tomorrow." Rene whispered urgently, his eyes glancing nervously around the darkened alleyway. "Tonight will be your only chance to retrieve it before it is taken across the sea."
Augustin reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch and held it in front of him. The coins inside jingled with the movement.
"Do you know of where they were planning to take it once it left Paris?"
Rene eyed the pouch greedily. "No monsieur, they have been very careful not to mention it when in the house. They are nervous of spies everywhere."
Augustin felt a small grin tug at the side of his mouth as he tossed the pouch to Rene. "And it seems they have cause to be."
The smaller man yanked the pouch out of the air with his right hand and held it tightly in his fist. He glanced down at it with a smile then lifted his head. "I do what I must to make a living monsieur. I feel no loyalty to those who would look down their noses at me. I may be a servant but I am not a fool."
"So it would seem. Thank you for assistance." Augustin gave him a nod and turned to leave. He reconsidered his hasty departure for a moment and stopped to turn his head and look back at Rene over his shoulder as he spoke, "Do not let them make you feel as if you are of less worth just because you have less wealth."
"Oui, monsieur. I am a proud French man, no one can convince me of anything I do not already believe." Rene said with a smile. He then turned and walked quiclky out of the small alleyway.
Augustin turned and set off at a slow pace out of the alley and onto the main street. He knew where he needed to be this night and he could tell by the moons placement in the sky he had a few hours yet before the sun would begin to rise so he was in no hurry.
He walked quietly down the narrow street, taking in the sights and sounds of the city that he had called his home for the past week.
It was almost completely dark in Paris at this time of night, the only light came from the full moon and the soft glow of candles burning through the upstairs windows of the many houses that lined the streets. The city seemed devoid of almost all life at this late hour and his footsteps echoed all around him.
The Assassin could see the tall turrets of Le Grosse Tour in the distance and his heart sped up with anticipation as he thought of the task that lay before him.
It would be difficult to get the Apple from its resting place, he knew.
The Templars were not fools, no matter what else he might think of them.
The Grand Master himself did say he was wary of spies, so heavy resistance was to be expected.
Nothing he hadn't dealt with before, but thrilling in its execution nonetheless.
He slipped into an alleyway between two houses and spotted a large stack of wooden crates settled against the far end of the left-hand wall. That would do nicely.
He made his way over to the crates and hopped up onto the lowest one then with barely any effort pulled himself up onto the tallest one and then onto a windowsill. Pulling himself up, finding more and more handholds in the cold grey stone and climbing higher he made his way onto the roof.
From here he could see the city stretched out before him, the uneven sea of rooftops calling out for exploration.
He paused for a moment and closed his eyes.
He bowed his head and spoke in a hushed whisper, "I have found it Alaric. I know where it is, after all these years of searching, your death will not have been in vain. This I can finally promise to you."
He lifted his head and opened his eyes, his mind and body itching to begin his campaign he took a deep breath, let it fill his lungs, and released. He smiled into the night and began to run.
Castiel Smith opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light of his barren bedroom.
A thin veil of sweat covered his chest and forehead and upon further inspection he realized his sheets were damp as well.
"Great" he thought to himself. "Now I have to go to the laundry mat again." It would be the third time this week and all because of these damn dreams.
He started having them about five years ago out of no where.
The first one was on the night of his twenty-first birthday.
Nowhere near as vivid or as regular as they have been recently, mostly just flashes of things or feelings.
A building, a blade, the feeling of flying through the air or bells ringing.
He knew it was weird but he didn't really think too much about it. Strange though they were, they were never too frequent or inconvenient.
Until a year and a half ago anyway.
The dreams started becoming longer, more detailed. New parts being added time after time. Plus they were coming about every week.
Then twice a week.
And now three times.
Always the same one.
He's looking for something, an Apple apparently. Though he's not sure why a damn apple would be such a big deal. Especially to these Assassins, whoever the hell they were.
Freaking weird, seriously.
Now this new word Templar and a new name, Alaric.
He's heard the word of course, Templar. Who hadn't? Everyone has seen National Treasure and The Da Vinci Code right?
But what in the hell did they have to do with Assassins and Apples?
Maybe he's fallen asleep on the couch watching the History Channel one too many times. He can't help it that MonsterQuest kicks ten kinds of ass.
But this Alaric...never heard of him.
Another name to add to the journal. Right there next to Rene de Liendes, Augustin Nowack, and De Poitous.
Add that to the snippets of French that make its way into his subconscious and he could be writing some sort of cheesy 16th century mystery novel.
He still can't remember when or why he started writing everything he could remember about the dreams in the little leather-bound journal he kept by his bedside, he just did one day and never stopped.
He's had the damn thing since he was 17. Sister Anna gave it to him on his birthday. It has a cross embossed in silver on the front.
Kinda cheesy, but nice.
He never thought to write in it, hell he didn't even know he still had it until a few years after the first dream happened.
The flashes were getting more vivid and he finally heard a name.
He couldn't get that name, Augustin Nowack, out of his head so he figured he should write it down so he could Google it later. See if the world-wide web could shed some light on his little situation.
F.Y.I not even Google knew what the fuck was going on inside his head.
He had looked all over his tiny apartment for a notebook to no avail. Finally he thought to look under the bed.
He found the journal in a box, covered in dust. Since then its been like a religion, if he believed in that sort of thing.
Wake up in a cold sweat, catalog everything he could remember in his head, and write it down.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Nothing he could do to change it now, he supposed. He had some writing to do.
Then he figured he might as well take a shower and get ready for another magical night of serving shitty drinks to shitty strangers for shitty pay.
Lifestyles of the poor and perpetually unknown right here, Robin Leach could suck it.
Then after he closed for the night he got to go do laundry, again.
Oh boy. Such fun.
Sorry if it totally sucked but this is my first attempt at writing a longer story and definitely my first attempt at a crossover. I'm planning on posting more chapters as soon as they get written so please let me know if anyone will even want to read them. Reviews, thoughts, and feelings give me tummy wobbles. But only positive ones...haters can suck it.
Mon Dieu - My God
Rien n'est vrai - Nothing is true
Tout est permis: Everything is permitted
Oui monsieur - Yes, sir.
Bonne - Good