This took me one night to come up with, one week to write down on paper, two days to type up. I don't know how to feel about this story, at all. I don't exactly know where it's going or how it's going to end. But I do know that in my mind, it was the greatest fucking, most cliched thing I have ever come up with. I love and hate this story at the exact same time. So here, I present this to you, chapter one of the Bad Moon Hell Raisers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of these characters. I apologize in advance if I fuck any of them up.

Apperton was a small town with a population of roughly one hundred. While it was small, the town itself was spread out around the base of a mountain. Oak trees towered over the town, effectively hiding most of the buildings from sight. It was literally out in the middle of nowhere. It was the best place to hide.

Desmond stepped off the bus, pulling along a large duffle bag containing mostly clothing and whatever else he had managed to fit in. They said he was going to be here for a while, pack what he could fit in a bag or carry. Only a fee other people stepped off the bus behind him, Apperton wasn't exactly a vacation hotspot.

"Desmond!" a voice called out, and he followed it. The caller was nearby, leaning against the side of an old blue and white pick-up. On the door was an insignia of a wolf. 'Ironic' the young assassin thought.

"Connor" Desmond greeted, shaking hands with the other man. Connor Kenway, the best damn survivalist in the whole damn Brotherhood. There was no other man like him who had gone on safari five times in one month, fought crocodiles along the Nile, faced dangerous snakes in India, explored the Amazon and befriended a panther. Or so the rumors stated.

Whether they were true or not was all up for Connor to explain, but so far he had yet to do so. Thus every time he so much as even thought about leaving the country, a wildfire of new rumors spread through their bases, and that was even before he bought his plane tickets. Point was, he was very, very good at his job and invaluable to the Brotherhood.

Desmond, on the other hand, couldn't even walk outside without so much as tripping over a ladybug. Why his superiors thought he needed to be out there in the middle of the fucking forest was beyond him. 'But' he mused as he threw his bag into the truck bed, 'i'm not here to fight bears or anything like that'

Oh no, he was here for so much worse.

The two men climbed inside the truck and took off. It was, in Desmond's opinion, a very boring ride through the town. It was just some little town out in the middle of nowhere, hiding in the forest, and doing a damn good job at staying off most maps. Yeah, this was the perfect place for every assassin, really gonna live the dream out here.

Desmond was not here to kill someone, or collect information or even stalk a certain target. No, instead he was here to babysit. Quite an uncommon job for most assassins but this type of babysitting went way beyond caring for a toddler for a couple of hours. Instead he was watching over two, full grown men who were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. At least, they were fully capable a few years ago.

Connor was the one that watched over the men since their ill-fated end to assassinating for the Brotherhood, having been forced to retire and be effectively hidden away. Unfortunately, Connor was going away on a much needed trip (no vacation, just business) and someone needed to stay at their place for a while, make sure the men didn't eat each other or something.

Desmond was the only one available for the job. Or rather, the only one they could afford to throw out in the woods for a few weeks…or months, whichever was more convenient for them. His superiors had been extremely careful with this though, not out right telling him what he was going to Apperton for or why these two particular former assassins needed to be watched over. They just asked him what he knew about dogs, wolves mostly but generally everything canine.

It had seemed like an odd question at the time, and they didn't explain much afterwards, only giving him some books on dog care, "read up" they told him. Only after some persistence on his part did they finally tell him what his mission was. That was three days ago; Desmond still could not come to terms with it. He tried not to think about it too much, but the sheer knowledge of what he was going to be living with for a while bothered him. A lot. They told him not to be afraid though, they'll just smell it off him.

They will smell the fear off him.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when a police cruiser pulled up next to them, the siren going off.

"Aw fuck, what did they do now?" Connor groaned to no one in particular, parking the car and rolling the window down.

"Kenway!" a voice roared at the man next to him, Desmond was more concerned that the cop knew his name than being pulled over. "Do you have any idea as to what they've been doing up there in the last hour?"

"Considering I've been down here for the last couple…I'd have to say…no"

"They're firin those damn cannons again, I could hear 'em from here!"

Desmond blinked. Cannons?

"Funny, I've haven't heard anything…"

"It's those shells, boy, I'm worried about those damned shells landin in my damned town. Now you better get up there and make sure they're not pointin 'em our way, we clear?"

"Crystal"

"Good. Now get to it!"

The police cruises sped away and Connor rolled up the window, shaking his head as he shifted the car back into gear. Their journey through town resumed, but Desmond suddenly had a million new questions to ask.

"Cannons?" he inquired.

"We have permits for them. And we always aim them at the mountain anyway" Connor replied simply as if it was no big deal. "'Sides, cannons aren't the only thing they shoot up there" he continued, turning off at an unmarked dirt road. Guns, those crazy bastards had guns. From all the information given to him from his superiors, Desmond questioned whether or not letting them have any weapon in their possession was a good idea or not.

The road split down an empty, dead field, the grass yellowed and crumpled. Half-way down, two signs sat on either side of the road. The first sign read:

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT

and the second sign read:

SURVIVORS WILL BE FED TO THE DOGS

Desmond blinked at the second sign.

"You have dogs?" he asked Connor, confused. The other man shook his head.

"Nope"

"Oh….wait-"

"The signs are just for show, nobody takes them seriously. Everybody knows we don't have actual dogs" Connor chuckled. That didn't make Desmond feel any better. Everyone knew? What else did everyone know?

They soon left the signs and the field behind and started a drive through the woods. The trees out here were endless, and it was boring. Desmond stared out the window, fingers idly tapping on the dashboard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something in the side mirror.

Quickly twisting himself around, a coyote trotted out onto the the road, casting a glance at the truck before disappearing into the trees. "We hunt them sometimes, the coyotes. Kinda hard to get a handle on them, they always smell the boys before we get near 'em" Connor spoke up.

"Do they ever come on the farm?"

"Nope, they're too afraid. Everything is too afraid to come near, even the birds"

Desmond nodded, a small prickle of fear jabbing him. Not even the damned wildlife came around. Was it right to be here then? Could he really do this? Who's sick idea was this anyway? They sent him out there to die! They were going to tear him apart, limb by limb, feast on his insides, sharpen their claws on his bones, use his skin as bedding-

"Desmond!" Connor roared in his ear, causing the young assassin to jump. "We're here. Jesus, I've been calling your name for a minute now, snap out of it!"

"Sorry, sorry, my bad" he apologized, looking up to glance around. The farm was pretty…empty looking. A big farmhouse, a small barn, and a field that sat off to the side, small green plants shooting out of the ground. But no animals. No horses, or chickens, pigs or cows, nor lambs or anything. No life whatsoever, the place was practically a ghost town.

"Come on, get out. They already know you're here anyway" Connor said, turning the ignition off and kicking the driver's door open. Desmond shakily exited the vehicle; they already knew he was here. Show no fear his ass, he felt fucking terrified. He almost expected some big, monstrous beast to appear and attack him. But nothing came.

'Quit being a baby' Desmond scolded himself hefting his bag out of the truck bed. Aside from whatever noise he made, all was silent on the farm, No birds could be heard singing, just the rustle of leaves in trees when the wind blew past. The farm was otherwise devoid of sound or life.

So where were they?

Desmond followed Connor away from the truck down a small path, worn away from constant traveling upon it. They passed the barn long the way, and he jumped when he heard the noise. He thought it was a dog growling but there were two things wrong with that; one, they didn't have a dog, and two, the growl was too deep, too human.

The barn door was closed, yet the volume of the growls were so loud, it was like he had something right next to him making the noise. It wasn't just growls either, there were whines, moans, hissing, snarling. Animalistic noises that sounded too damn human, but did a pretty good job at scaring his pants off.

"Connor" the young assassin whimpered, instantly regretting it when the noises insides the barn ceased. The man in question had paused, glancing between him and the barn door. Connor said, simply lifting a single finger to his lips, a silent command to be quiet.

He nodded and did so, no need to tell him twice. Silence reigned over the farm again until a snuffling sound broke it. It sounded a hell of a lot closer than all the other noises, as if it was right there on the other side of the door. Whatever it was, it sounded big, really big.

Desmond had anticipated the barn door to open, except in a more violent and ferocious manner. Instead it eased open, and Altaïr slouched in the entrance. His short brown hair was ruffled, and he only wore a pair of loose fitting pants that barely hung on to his hips.

Fresh scars littered his torso, but the longer Desmond stared at them, the pinker they got until they returned to a normal skin color and practically faded away, as if they were never there in the first place. Oh. No one told him…about…fast…healing….

"Long time no see, cousin" Altaïr growled, the younger man nodding. It had been many, many years since he last saw the Syrian, not since he was entering middle school. Altaïr hadn't really changed much since then. Taller, cut, a real man. And with…a certain condition that made him twice as scary as he probably normally was.

Desmond hadn't been afraid of him before, but now he felt downright intimidated. He knew Altaïr could sense it too, the Syrian was looking him over like a goddamned piece of meat. His nostrils were flaring, eyes narrowed stance…he looked ready to jump. No, pounce.

The assassin felt like a bug under a microscope, every single detail about him so visible, there was no way of hiding any part of him. There was that feeling in the pit of his stomach knowing that he was being watched, knowing a predator was right in front of him, that nay second he'd be jumped, his throat ripped out, blood gushing everywhere-

"Altaïr!" a man's voice rang out from inside the barn. Altaïr seemed to falter, shoulders slumping, head bowing. It was a complete one-eighty from his arrival only a few seconds ago. He looked more like a kicked puppy than a powerful predator.

"Coming" Altaïr called over his shoulder, turning back to close the door. "Connor, get him settled in, we'll be out in a few" the Syrian instructed, sliding the barn door shut. Connor nodded and pulled Desmond along.

"Word of advice, don't ever, and I mean ever, interrupt them while they're in there. Don't try to walk to near it, and don't make any noise if you can help it. They absolutely do not like being interrupted in the middle of anything, got it?" Connor instructed, frowning at him.

"Got it" Desmond replied weakly. Nothing to worry about in that department, no way in hell he was even going to step outside while he was here, not at all.

He felt safer in the house though. Walking through the door, one found themselves inside the living room. It was sparsely furnished, a large quantity of pillows sat together in the center of the room, enough for a small army or two. A hookah sat on an end table in the corner, and some stairs sat in another. The kitchen was attached to the living room, one of those big screens divided it from the rest of the room.

There wasn't a TV, and very few lamps were around the room. It felt so empty, as is no one really lived there; it was seriously confusing. Connor gave him a quick tour of the place, eventually leading him upstairs. Several doors were up there, all hiding various rooms of various importance.

One was a closet, another the bathroom, and then three bedrooms. The door with the dream catcher on it was Connor's room, "don't go in there". The door that looked absolutely trashed (how it still hung on to its hinges was a miracle) was the boys' room, "never go in there". And the door with nothing on it was to be his room. It just had a basic bed and dresser, and some boxes piled up along the wall, it apparently also served as a storage room. "Don't open the boxes"

There was actually a lot more to this than just being here and not getting killed. Connor had a dull list of "shit he could and could not do unless he wanted to an unpleasant time here" slash "rules you should follow to make sure you don't piss them off".

They couldn't have sugar, "makes them jittery as hell". They couldn't drink milk, "made them sick as hell". He couldn't wear cologne or body spray, just light deodorant. Anything that had a stronger smell than that "gives them headaches from hell". He had to be careful with knives, one drop of blood and they'd be all over him like "a fat kid eating a Twinkie".

He could only really shower before going into town, they preferred dirty man smell over "that fruit shampoo shit that also gives them headaches from hell". It was all don't do this, don't do that, wear this, don't wear that, don't fart too loud, just. Stop. Breathing. Connor was either a fucking saint for putting up with this on a daily basis, or the most patient man he had ever met.

'Then again,' Desmond though, 'What do I know about caring for fucking werewolves?'

I'm going to hell for this. You know where to leave complaints/flames. See you next chapter.