He curls in on himself, hugging his knees close to his chest; a hollow sob rolls from his shivering form, causing a wet cough to leave his chapped mouth. His glasses are cracked and dotted with blood; he thinks that maybe his nose is broken.
Shaun slowly sits up from the cell floor, hissing loudly as he places his weight on his broken wrist. Tired gray-green eyes swivel around the very plain room, taking in the white and gray colour scheme. Cradling his wrist in one hand, Shaun whimpers, moving to stand while licking his lips to try and get moisture back into the dry ridges of skin.
The room's door slides open, and Shaun flinches away, falling back onto the uncomfortable bed. He fearfully lifts his gaze up, hand shaking loosely around his purple-speckled wrist. "Mr. Hastings..." Shaun's shoulders tense, hearing Warrin Vidic's formal greeting.
He glares hotly, feeling his throat close up with anger and fear at the Templar standing before him. The older man gives him a 'kind' smile, lifting a hand to swipe away bangs that have grown longer over the time of his incarceration. "Please don't look at me like that, Mr. Hastings; today we're going to be all smiles." The 'good doctor' withdraws his hand, reaching into his lab coat to retrieve a small syringe filled with light blue liquid.
Shaun all but hisses, scooting away from Vidic as he holds his arms close to his chest. The templar sighs scoldingly, looking down at the assassin with impassive eyes; Vidic moves quickly, grabbing the younger male's broken wrist, smiling as Shaun lets a painful wail leave his body.
The needle is firmly inserted into the assassin's slowly collapsing vein, numbing his entire left side. Shaun squeezes his eyes closed over pitiful tears, allowing his body to be carried to the Animus room. He buries his face into the crook of Vidic's neck, causing a small, disgusted frown to tilt down the templar's mouth. "Please...no more, let this end."
Vidic dumps the assassin unceremoniously onto the Animus, watching as Shaun's eyes flutter blearily. He pets the young man's brown hair, smirking lightly as the assassin sighs. "It will end, Mr. Hastings...all in due time."
()()
"You understand why I have to do this...right?" A dot of crimson falls onto the tip of his nose, sliding down the slightly crooked bone to drip into his eye. He notices that the knife is shaking, and Shaun's knuckles are white with the force of his grip. Desmond remains silent, glaring up at Shaun's stricken face, wishing that looks could kill.
The Brit gulps thickly, sucking in a breath only to let it whistle through his teeth. "It's because this is right...n-not like your bloody Creed..." His voice is a whisper, and his eyes are crazed behind his blood spattered glasses.
"My Creed?" Desmond snaps, trying to move his immobile body, cursing loudly when his legs won't comply with his brain's demands. The knife slashes his cheek, causing the assassin to hiss lightly, dark eyes snapping up to the unstable historian. Desmond grits his teeth, "I thought you were an assassin, t-then you go and kill off Lucy and Rebecca? FUCK! Why?"
A short laugh escapes the Brit; holding his head in one hand, he runs his fingers through his hair, causing the already messy strands to stick out further. "YOU LEFT ME TO ROT!" The knife streaks across the assassin's face; Shaun yanks Desmond up by his hair, his mouth twisted in anger. "I was beaten, taunted; I wanted to die...but finally I was told the truth." The Brit slams down the assassin's head, fingers clenching when Desmond's head makes a hollow thunk on the warehouse's cement floor.
Desmond stares up at the man straddling his waist; Shaun's eyes flutter closed, and a smile curls the edges of his mouth. He poses the knife above Desmond's adam's apple, his fingers tightening around the hilt. "I'm going to enjoy this..." He whispers, quickly lifting the weapon into the air.
"Mr. Hastings, you're mission is complete." Desmond groans softly, turning his eyes toward the source of the voice he knew all too well. His gaze is met with the expensive, polished black shoes of the Templar bastard, traveling up the pressed pants to stop on the older face.
Vidic grins down at him, poking his bleeding cheek with the toe of his shoe. "Excellent job though; you executed the two tarts with precision."
"W-what the hell?" Desmond hisses, rolling his eyes to glare at the Brit. Shaun has a look of soft-awe on his face, the knife laying forgotten on the ground beside him. "You were working for him all along?"
Shaun snickers, gray-green eyes falling to Desmond's face. "I'm glad that your intelligence hasn't left you." Vidic's hand comes up to cup the Brit's chin; the doctor laughs, helping the historian to his feet.
"Come scrape Mr. Miles from the floor." Leading Shaun away, Vidic waves a hand dismissivly over his shoulder. "We've missed him, and we've missed you, Mr. Hastings."
Desmond can only stare, in disgusted shock as Shaun smiles warmly at the Templar, shooting a smirk his way. "I've missed you as well."
()-()
Based off of a story that's on here Stockholm Syndrome. It's excellent!