He shifted back, frowning. "Do I have to?"
"You tried the Animus, didn't you?"
"Yeah, and now I see my mother and childhood friends walking through walls as well as carriages, Templars, and other assassins."
He felt Ezio stand at his back, placing his hands on his shoulders and squeezing lightly. He leaned into the touch. Ezio began running his fingers through his hair. Shaun rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand.
"You don't have to do this, Desmond, but I don't want to see you suffer," Shaun said.
Desmond remained silent. The imposing leaders of the Order stood there, watching him, and looked down to his lap. He chewed on the inside of his lip.
"And you're not sure it'll work?"
"We cannot be, but if your medications are failing you, and neither the Animus nor the psychiatrist helped, we are running out of options."
"May we be left alone for a moment?" Shaun said, adjusting his glasses. "And perhaps send in Lucy and Rebecca if they're around?"
"They are not. They have left on a mission. We will leave you."
Shaun nodded as they filed out. When they were gone, he looked at Desmond. "You don't have to do this."
He didn't look up from his lap. It wasn't until he found himself standing in a hospital gown, looking at the diagram of where the electricity would be applied, in the hippocampus and various parts of the frontal lobes, that it sunk in. He rubbed his chin with his hand and then fisted his hair in frustration, trying not to let fear get the better of him. He heard the door click open and turned to see Shaun and a nurse standing there.
"Ready?"
He wanted to punch her for her cheerfulness. He took Shaun's extended hand and followed them slowly, fear settling itself in the pit of his stomach.
He didn't remember much in the following weeks. It started out fine: he'd go in; they'd do their thing; he'd recover, and the whole cycle would start again. And as the treatments passed in feign hopefulness, he began remembering less and less, memories slipping like sand through his fingers (although he did remember hearing something about higher voltage, but he wasn't entirely sure what that meant).
There was a memory of a man with brown hair, a blonde woman, and a chick with black hair. He remembered his father, his mother. He remembered a room in white, and a red chair, but even those thoughts were hard to remember after several weeks of treatment.
He began to feel more relaxed—he remembered paranoia, but that feeling was soon lost, too. And he thought the people who watched him so closely were crazy because he was feeling fine. His father was supportive of him, which surprised him for some reason. The man with the brown hair, who looked so hurt, was by his side every step of the way. He was grateful.
Finally, he woke in the hospital bed with his mind still fuzzy and every bone in his body sore, and he looked around. His father was talking quietly with a nurse, who left soon after, and he smiled at his father when he turned around.
"Hey, dad."
The man looked surprised but sat down next to him and smiled softly as if he were hurt. "Desmond…"
"What's up? Why am I here?"
The brown haired man who seemed so familiar came in, holding two small cups of soup. He offered one to his father, and sat in a chair next to him.
"Hey, what's up?"
The man looked sad. "Are they done frying his brain, yet?"
Ezio nodded, and Desmond looked confused. His father took the better part of the next three hours to talk to him and explain everything that had happened in the empty parts of his memory. Desmond was really upset. He was being released soon, and they would monitor how well he was doing. The man with the brown hair was silent the entire time, and when Desmond found out that the man was actually his boyfriend, the man interrupted.
"Do you… Is there any feeling left for me? At all?"
Desmond blinked at him.
"Or was it just another part of the Bleeding?"
Desmond studied him closely. Any other time, he would've sworn up and down he was straight, but the man did, in fact, evoke some sort of emotion in him. He didn't really know what it was, since he was still achy, and he felt like it was trying to claw its way from the black hole of his memory.
With shaky hands, he reached out to touch the man's face, and the man leaned into the touch, covering his hand with one of his own. Wanting to test the odd feeling that was clawing at the back of his mind, he pulled the man close and pressed their lips together. It was pleasant to say the least. It felt familiar, and it made him sigh contentedly. He felt safe with this man.
As he pulled away, he felt something detach from his mind, as if it were being release, and it floated in front of his eyes.
"Shaun," he murmured, and the word vanished.
The man looked thoroughly shocked. "You remembered my name?"
Desmond smiled. "I guess so. I want you to stay around."
"Desmond, I wouldn't have it any other way."
Desmond grinned. "I'll get to know you all over again. Looks like you get a second chance, huh?"
Shaun laughed, and it made Desmond feel warm. He pulled Desmond into a hug. "It looks like we both do, love."
Finally. It's done. That was the hardest story to write, ever. D: