I've been dying to work on this crossover for forever... I took a few liberties here (I couldn't remember if Ichabod ever mentioned when he initially met the Headless Horseman), but. Next I might like to work with something in the modern timeline.
An Unusual Errand
Connor prefers to work alone. He prefers the silence, the relative solitude, the assurance that everything will be done in a quick and efficient manner.
He thought that General Washington understood this, but it seems not. The man summons Connor back to his tent and gestures to an unfamiliar Patriot standing beside him.
"This is Ichabod Crane," Washington tells him, "and he knows the location of a very…sensitive document. I would like for you to accompany him."
Connor raises a brow. The general knows he is not a simple mercenary; he doesn't take whatever jobs come his way. He has tasks and goals and hard, bloody work of his own. So why-
Washington suddenly holds up a hand. "I know you're skeptical. And that is understandable. But this is a document that could change the course of the war, Connor. And we could lose everything if it falls in the wrong hands. That is why I am asking you, and only you – I do not want to attract our enemies' attention with a large group. And I know that I can count on you to see this through successfully."
The British higher-ups, he means. Possibly the Templars. And Connor can't possibly refuse if that's the case.
"May I ask what the document contains?" the Assassins asks, hands clasped at his front.
Washington exchanges a look with Crane. It's brief, but it speaks volumes.
"At the moment, I'm afraid even I know very little about it," Washington says.
"And time is of the essence, so we must depart soon," Crane adds.
Connor gives his wrist a flex to make sure the hidden blade there is still engaged. It snicks into place.
"I am ready if you are," he tells Crane, who nods and follows him from the tent.
Crane is a quiet man. He walks with purpose, says nothing more to Connor than what is required. For the moment, Connor doesn't mind his presence. He even proves himself more than capable of fighting when they run into a small patrol of Redcoat soldiers, who engage them along the road to this "sensitive" document of Washington's.
"I can see now why the general asked you to accompany me. Your help will be invaluable," Crane says as he reloads his musket. The bodies of several Redcoats are strewn across the dirt road, and Connor takes a moment to drag them into the bushes.
"Thank you," he says.
"That…weapon on your wrist, though." Crane motions to the hidden blade's gauntlet. "How exactly did you come by that?"
Crane is observant. Connor considers lying, or changing the subject, but… What is the point in that, really?
"It was a gift," he says.
Crane stares at him, but only for a second longer before returning to his own task.
They continue on later, when the sun is beginning to set and the shadows of trees grow long across the dirt road. Connor finds himself thinking more about Crane and his role in this war; who is he, exactly? What does he know that General Washington and even the Assassins don't? What is this secret document, and why hasn't Connor himself – who has been tracking these Templars since he was a teenager – heard about them? He ponders this, and suddenly Crane speaks up again.
"I wanted to thank you for joining me, despite your misgivings," he says, his tone smooth and calm.
"Of course."
"General Washington has told me a bit about you."
Connor feels his shoulders go rigid.
"All good things, of course," Crane adds with a smile. "But he tells me that you are a rather mysterious fellow. You work alone, but you support the patriot cause."
"I support freedom," Connor tells him.
"As do I."
Crane stops in the middle of the road and holds out his hand.
"I know the general introduced us, but I wanted to do it properly. Ichabod Crane," he says.
Connor stares down at the proffered hand. And he takes it, grasping it firmly in his own.
"Connor."
"A pleasure to meet you, sir."
"And you as well."
Crane seems an amicable man. Connor decides that if Washington can trust him, then perhaps he might as well.
They find the British storehouse after sunset, when the sky is a velvety blue and the stars have just begun to shine. A half moon peeks at them through the trees, but fortunately it's not so light that the soldiers might see them.
"What I am looking for should be in there," Crane says with a nod. "We must sneak in without attracting Redcoat attention."
Connor feels something of a grin stretch across his lips. Stealth. This was where he truly shines, what he lives for.
He starts forward, and realizes after a moment that Crane is following him.
"You should wait here," he says. "I can handle this."
"I alone know what we are looking for."
Connor considers him. One misstep and the Redcoats will come running, muskets and bayonets and other sorts of weaponry at the ready. And if they call for reinforcements…
"I can be light on my feet when I need to be. I will follow your lead, if it makes you feel better," Crane says, that wry smile returning.
This man could be the death of them both. But Connor remembers the night he spent running across the countryside with that damned Paul Revere – and he made it out of that just fine, didn't he?
"…Follow me," he says after a pause.
Crane does, and, thank god, he's much quieter than Revere ever was. He watches where he steps, moving swiftly over the roots and dead branches that litter the forest floor. Connor can hear voices, can see the warm, fluttering glow of a campfire just ahead. And there are two guards as well, standing steadfast outside the wooden storehouse.
He and Crane stop at the edge of the trees. They will have to take the guards out quietly if they want to sneak in without sounding the alarm.
Connor readies his hidden blade and his tomahawk. He motions for Crane to wait while he slips forward, fluid and silent as the shadows themselves.
The blade enters one man's throat. His tomahawk slashes efficiently at the other. Both Redcoats crumble like dolls, and Connor makes sure to catch them before they hit the ground. He slides them gently to the dirt without a sound.
Crane steps forward then. Connor moves to pick the lock at the door, but he looks down and sees that Crane is already working at it.
"There are a few tricks I picked up from men at the camp," he says when he sees Connor's surprised expression. The lock clicks open then, and Crane nudges the door open – slowly, because the hinges are old and creak in the night. Connor takes a quick look around, but the Redcoats are still talking amongst themselves in the camp.
Crane walks inside first. Connor trails after him, tomahawk still raised. He's infiltrated enough buildings now to know that anything could be waiting for them in the darkness.
But he sees and hears nothing – for now, at least. Crane picks through the crates around them, taking care not to make more noise than necessary.
"What are you looking for? I can help," Connor offers. The faster they work, the faster they can leave.
"Hold on," Crane says. "I think I—ah, there it is."
He takes a sheaf of papers from one of the crates and stuffs it in his coat. And then he stands, brushing the dust from his front.
"All right. Now we can-"
"Hey, where are—Oh, Christ."
Connor spins around and finds a Redcoat behind them. His face is white, and he's staring down at his fallen companions.
And then he looks up.
He meets Connor's eyes.
Connor runs forward and buries his tomahawk in the soldier's chest – but not before the man can shout and sound the alarm. He hears Crane mutter a curse behind him.
"That seems to be just our luck," Crane says as the rest of the soldiers approach the storehouse. Their boots pound against the earth, and Connor swings the tomahawk in his hand.
There only seem to be five more soldiers, fortunately – all easily dispatched, when all is said and done. Connor is the melee fighter, moving in a quick but brutal and bloody dance, while Crane uses the bayonet end of his weapon to fend off the others. In minutes they're surrounded again by bodies and the lingering stench of gunpowder.
"Well," Crane says, wiping the blood from the point of his bayonet, "that was much easier than I th-"
But they hear someone else – another set of footsteps, and these ones heavier than the last. But it sounds like only one person this time. Connor readies himself.
The man facing them is tall and powerfully built – even compared to Connor. His head is bald, shining white in the moonlight, but he wears a mask over the rest of his face. In one hand he easily hefts an axe.
Crane makes a sound. Connor doesn't dare turn his attention from the massive soldier in front of them.
"We have to go," Crane says.
"There is no way. He blocks the-"
A hand clamps round his arm. "We have to go, Connor!"
The soldier swings his axes through the air. Metal glitters, but it passes over their heads when Crane jerks him down. Connor pulls himself back up, turns to face the soldier – but Crane is dragging him back across the storehouse, to the nearby window. He breaks the glass with his musket and jumps through.
Connor looks back to the massive soldier. The man is crossing the room in slow but effortless strides. He holds up his axe again, prepares to swing—
But Connor follows Crane through the shattered window and out into the cool of the night. All efforts at secrecy are gone then; they're crashing through the undergrowth, breaking past low branches and leaves.
"Wait!" Connor says when they're far enough away. He can't hear anyone behind them. Not anymore. But if they keep carrying on like they are-
Crane finally slows to a stop. He's breathing hard and bends forward to rest his hands on his knees. Connor notices then that his musket is gone, left behind in the storehouse.
"Do you still have the-"
Crane pulls the documents from his coat. They're still there, safe and sound.
"Who was that?" Connor asks him. "Did you know that soldier?"
"No. But I have heard of him, and he is not someone I am ready to face," Crane replies after he catches his breath. "But I have a feeling I may have to soon."
Connor crosses his arms over his chest and waits. The soldier was unfamiliar to him – not a Templar, and therefore, not a target. But his presence has shaken Crane and piqued his own curiosity. Perhaps he will look into the masked soldier later, when he has the chance.
"We should return to Washington's camp now," he says. "Before more British soldiers are summoned to the storehouse."
"A good idea," Crane agrees. He looks up again, meets Connor's eyes. A thin, tired smile pulls at the corners of his lips.
"Thank you, Connor. Your presence has been much appreciated tonight."
"I am glad I could help."
"I have a feeling the general will send me off on more of these errands… Perhaps I can count on you in the future?"
Connor thinks on this. Crane seems a good man – honest, reliable, and a good fighter when he's needed. And he has a certain knowledge of things that may prove useful in the future.
"Washington knows where to find me," Connor says. "I would like to help if you have a task that involves stealing from or fighting Redcoats."
"Excellent." Crane pats at his coat again, as though making sure the documents are still there. "Having these in our possession will cause them a good deal of upset."
Connor returns Crane's grin with a rare one of his own. "And that is all I can hope for."