July 18, 1202

Two years later

-/-

Darim sits against the stone wall of the keep, halfway between the open space where a group of novices are sparring with wooden practice swords and the shaded corner where his brothers are chasing each other around a tree stump. He's much more interested in what the novices are doing. In another year or so he'll be old enough to join them himself, but until then his main responsibility is watching out for his brothers, so he turns reluctantly back to them.

Sef is slightly older and a little bit bigger than Desmond, but Desmond is light on his feet and hard to catch. Every time Sef gets close, Desmond squirms away and manages to avoid his reaching fingers. Mostly they're just running around, but occasionally one of them will manage to jump the other and get them to the ground before they can wiggle away.

A couple of Darim's friends walk past, calling for him to come with them, and for a second he's tempted. Then he shakes his head and lets them pass him by. So far today has been a good day, but if Darim leaves and Desmond has one of his fits, Darim will be the one that gets in trouble for it.

Sef tackles Desmond and they go tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Sef laughs loudly, but Desmond only smiles broadly. Darim's never heard Desmond make a noise louder than a sneeze, not once in the two and a half years since he's come to stay with them. Even on good days like today, he either can't or won't make a sound.

On bad days… well, on days like that, Desmond seems just as sick as he was during his first few months in Masyaf. One second he'll be fine, and the next he'll stop wherever he is, whatever he's doing. He'll stay like that for hours, just staring into empty space with dead eyes. It scares Darim, more than he'd ever admit, because he'd been there when Desmond first came to Masyaf, and he knows there's something... wrong with his youngest brother.

Darim had been five, and very good at getting into places he wasn't supposed to. On that particular day, the place he wasn't supposed to be was his dad's study. Now that he's older (at seven years old and with two little brothers to look after, Darim feels very grown up), he knows to stay away, because there are dangerous things in there but he hadn't understood at the time.

Like the apple. Darim has no idea what it does, but he knows his parents fight about it, and that it does bad stuff. And he remembers that on that day, he'd seen a little bit of what the apple was able to do- he'd gone into the room and watched it start glowing, shining and golden like a million stars somehow brought to Earth. He'd stood there, awestruck and staring, until the golden light started to form into the shape of a man.

The man stood with one arm outstretched, resting his hand on something Darim couldn't see. And then the light began to shrink, getting smaller and smaller until abruptly the screaming and the light both stopped with one final flash of even brighter light- and Darim had been alone in the room with a small, silent kid that he'd later learned was named Desmond.

Don't think about it, Darim reminds himself. Don't, don't, don't. Don't think about it, don't talk about it. Talking about it would make people think he's crazy. Thinking about it would convince Darim that they're right. Grown men don't suddenly appear in a flash of light and then turn into little kids. It just isn't possible.

Desmond flops down suddenly next to Darim, smiling up at him and panting from running. He throws one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, and Darim can't help staring at the burn scars that cover most of the limb. The doctors say it's as healed as it's ever going to be, but Desmond still can't move his fingers or hand much without pain.

Sef falls to the ground next to Desmond, panting as well. "Come on," he says. "You tired already?" He prods at Desmond's arm, and Desmond makes a face before rolling onto his side. Darim can recognize the signs, and knows to back off before his good day turns into a bad one.

"Come on, Sef," he says, getting to his feet. "Let Desmond rest if he wants."

"Okay," Sef says, and Darim spends the next few minutes playing with his brother, wrestling until Sef elbows him in the face and Darim pulls away until his eye stops stinging. He's still rubbing at his face when Sef suddenly frowns and points back to where they left Desmond.

"What?" Darim asks, and then he frowns too. A couple of young assassins- just barely finished with their training- are standing over Desmond, laughing. It's cruel laughter, and Darim is running back at them before he has a chance to realize what he's doing.

As Darim launches himself toward them, the bigger man gets frustrated at Desmond's continued silence. He shoves at the kid, and Desmond hits the ground, hard, without making any attempt to break his fall.

"Hey!" Darim shouts, and runs faster. He doesn't know exactly what his plan is, only that Desmond is his responsibility, and he can't stand here and watch them shove his brother around. "Stop it!"

The same man that shoved Desmond backhands Darim, hard, and he stumbles away, crying out in pain.

Sef yells something from behind him, but Darim doesn't listen. He runs at Desmond, just managing to get between him and another heavy blow. He feels his nose break as blood goes pouring down his face, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. Instead, Darim stares defiantly up at the man, silently daring him to try that again. The man sneers at him and raises a hand for another blow- Darim winces and tries to be brave.

Before the blow can fall, someone's hand closes around the man's arm. To Darim's great relief, the hand belongs to someone he knows- Malik is one of the few people Altair trusts absolutely, and he's been around their place a lot.

"Leave," Malik says, and neither man is stupid enough to risk his temper. They're both gone almost before the word is out of Malik's mouth, not quite running but definitely going fast. Darim watches them go with a smile.

"Are you alright?" Malik asks.

"My nose hurts," he says. "And they hit Desmond."

Malik frowns, crouching over Desmond to check him for injuries. The examination is thorough, but efficient, and in only a few moments he's gesturing for the brothers to follow him. "Come on," he says. Sef runs after the man, eyes wide, and Darim bends over Desmond to help him to his feet. Desmond lets his brother pull him to his feet, but doesn't move until Darim actually takes him by the hand to lead him after the other two.

Malik takes the brothers into his office, which is a walk of no more than two or three minutes. When the four of them are alone, Malik sends a novice running for Altair, then looks over at Darim. "What happened?" he asks.

"I only left for a minute," Darim says. "I looked back and they were with Desmond- who were they?"

"The kind of people that like to make trouble," Malik growls. "A pair of fools that should know better than to harass a child."

"Will they do it again?" Sef asks. His eyes are wide and scared.

Malik doesn't answer the question directly. "You need to be more careful," he says instead. "All of you." His gaze sweeps across Darim, who squirms slightly, over Sef, who looks like he might start crying, and onto Desmond, who still hasn't moved.

"Okay," Darim says. "I won't let it happen again." Soon he'll be old enough to start training, and then he can fight his own battles, and keep his brothers safe.

-/-

July 18, 1202 (Later)

-/-

There are a lot of pieces missing from Desmond's head. Memories, mostly. He knows there was a time before he came to Masyaf, when he was somewhere else, with other people, doing... something. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't remember it at all. A few faces, sometimes, if he closes his eyes and concentrates very hard.

The only part he's really certain about is that Altair had been there, and he's not even sure how he knows that. It's just a fact in his head, something he knows for sure, the same way he knows the sun rises in the morning and sets at night. That's why he feels safe at Masyaf, even with his memories gone, even with... everything else. Altair is family, and safety, and everything else good.

"Desmond?"

He looks up, startled, and manages half a smile when he sees Altair standing in the door. It's been several hours since he woke up in Malik's office, sore all over and with no idea what happened when he blanked out. After that, he and Darim and Sef had been led back to the family's rooms and forbidden from leaving for the rest of the day. Desmond can hear the other two in the kitchen, talking excitedly while Maria cooks.

Desmond is happy enough to stay curled up on the bed, though, trying to ignore the blackness crawling around the edges of his vision. It's been a bad day already. He doesn't need to black out again.

Altair crosses the room on silent feet and rests his hand on Desmond's head, and Desmond leans into the touch without really thinking. He tries to focus on the feeling of Altair's fingers, trying to stay grounded in the real world.

But it's already too late. He loses focus, just for a second, and the blackness comes swarming up to claim him, and he descends into nightmares. He can't see anything but the dark; muddy shadows in shades of black and gray, giant shapes towering over him, monsters and demons that whisper in dark languages he that terrify him down to his core. And always present, watching him with cruel golden eyes, the woman. Juno. Desmond doesn't remember her, not really, but he knows her.

And he's terrified.

Even after more than two years of this, Desmond hasn't gotten used to the horror. Of watching the real world fall apart, and hearing the whispers crowd out the sounds of the real world. If he'd had a voice, he would have screamed. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out- it feels like a wad of cotton has been shoved in his mouth, like he's choking on all the words he wants to say but can't.

Strong arms wrap around Desmond, but he only fills them distantly, like he's feeling everything through layers of thick cloth. Probably it's Altair but there's no way to know for sure. It could be anyone in the world, and Desmond wouldn't know. He can't see, cant hear, he can barely feel- he's trapped in a prison of his own mind, and he's terrified.

And then suddenly... he's not. He can't even explain to himself why, but suddenly Desmond isn't scared, he's angry. It's not fair, none of it. He's sick of the darkness, sick of the whispers, and sick of everyone treating him like he's going to break any second.

Desmond clenches one hand into a fist and glares at the shadows, silent and helpless but more angry than he's ever been. He doesn't want to be stuck with the shadows anymore, he wants to see the real world-

Something sparks painfully behind his eyes and Desmond reels back with a gasp, eyes screwed up tight. It doesn't help the pain any, and it only gets worse and worse, building up inside his head until it feels like it's going to fall apart.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain stops, and Desmond opens his eyes to see a world of gray painted in shades of blue and red and gold. It's not the way he's used to seeing, but it's definitely the real world, not the dark one filled with shadows. Desmond stares around, mouth gaping open like an idiot, trying to figure out what he's seeing. Then it hits him- a few months ago, he'd heard Altair explain eagle vision to Darim. That must be what's happening now.

"Desmond?" Altair asks, and even if his voice sounds a little distant, even if Desmond can still hear the shadows whispers (but far off and distant now), he can still hear Altair.

He smiles and clings to Altair as tightly as he can. For a very long time he doesn't move, even when the whispers fade away and Desmond can switch from eagle vision to regular sight. Today is suddenly a very good day.

-/-

July 19, 1202

-/-

It's a little after midnight when Desmond finally falls into a deep, exhausted sleep. Altair leaves him curled up in bed and goes looking for Maria, feeling tired himself.

"Is he asleep?" Maria asks when he gets to their bedroom.

Altair nods, sitting on the bed next to her. "I think it's his eagle vision showing up for the first time. But since he can't tell me what he's seeing, I don't really know."

Maria frowns. "When Darim got his it wasn't that bad."

"Darim is… different from Desmond," Altair says. Darim, could at least explain what he was seeing, and Altair had been able to calm him down, to tell him that the pain would fade. With Desmond, he couldn't explain that in time it won't hurt so much. That touching won't hurt so much, and sounds won't be so loud. Altair can't do anything but hold him. It's incredibly frustrating, because Altair can't shake the feeling that it's his fault Desmond is like this. He shouldn't be small and terrified and lost in his own mind half the time.

"I've noticed," Maria says. "And I wondered…" she hesitates, the fingers of one hand absentmindedly twisting her hair. "Why do you feel so guilty about it?"

"I'm not," Altair says, but Maria clearly isn't buying it.

"I know you better than that," she says when Altair doesn't say anything else. "Whatever happened to him, it's not your fault."

"It is," Altair says. "Desmond is… the way he is… because of something I did. With the apple."

"Oh." Maria sits up in bed and takes Altair's hand. He squeezes it gratefully. "You never told me that."

"There's a lot I've never told you," Altair says, and before he can stop himself, he's telling Maria about his visits to the twenty first century. Both times. When he's done, Maria shakes her head and sighs, apparently too overwhelmed to do anything else.

"I wish you'd told me earlier," Maria says.

"You're angry," Altair says.

"I will be later," Maria says. "Right now I'm just tired. And worried."

"So am I," Altair says. "I just… I wish he would talk to me. I wish he would talk to anyone. How are we supposed to help him if he won't say anything? You know some of the younger assassins came after them today?"

"I'd heard," Maria says. "They didn't do anything, did they?"

"Not this time," Altair says. "But Darim and Sef- they would at least be able to run. When they get older, they'll be able to fight back. Desmond, though, he just- drops out of reality sometimes."

There's really nothing to say to that, and Maria doesn't even try. But she doesn't let go of Altair's hand until morning. It's a hot day, blisteringly hot, even in the early morning. That doesn't stop the boys though, and before long all three of them are running through the cramped rooms. Altair snags Sef as he runs by, setting him down at the table. "Sit," he says. "Eat."

"You too," Maria adds, pointing at Darim and Desmond. "It's far too early for that."

"What time is it okay to run?" Darim asks.

"Later," says Altair. "When you're outside."

The morning meal passes quickly, and the boys quickly disappear outside. Or at least, Sef and Desmond do. Darim hesitates though, glancing between Altair and the door. He opens and closes his mouth several times, and eventually Altair takes pity on him. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"What happened to Desmond?" Darim asks. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Altair says. "It was just his eagle vision showing up for the first time."

"I don't mean last night," Darim says. "I mean… you know. What's wrong with him? He's not like other people. He's not a kid, but he looks like one and he acts like one. And-"

"What are you talking about?" Altair asks. He's still tired and worried and Darim flinches at the sharp question.

"Nothing…"

"Darim, tell me."

The story comes falling out of Darim, how he saw Desmond turn from a man to a boy that day two and a half years ago. "I'm sorry," Darim finishes. "I should have told you, but I wasn't supposed to be in your office and I was scared…"

"Alright." Altair sighs. "Darim, I'm not mad. I wish you hadn't seen that, and I wish you'd told me earlier, but I don't want you to ever be scared to tell me anything."

"Okay," Darim mutters. "But- but what's wrong with him, dad?"

"It's very complicated," Altair sighs. "And you shouldn't have to worry about all this yet."

"I wanna know," Darim says. "I wanna help!"

"You can help by being there for Desmond when he needs you."

"Why would he need me?" Darim asks, and he won't look Altair in the eyes when he says it. "I'm not really his brother, am I?"

"No," Altair admits. If Darim had actually seen Desmond's arrival in Masyaf, there's no point lying about it now. "But that doesn't mean he's not family."

"But he's not," Darim says.

"Alright," Altair sighs. "Listen. One day, many years from now, either you or Sef will have a child."

"Ew."

"And then," Altair goes on, trying to hide his smile, "That child will have a child, and so on for a very long time. And then one day, many hundreds of years from now, one of those children will be Desmond."

Darim tilts his head sideways, eyes half closed as he struggles to follow this logic. For a second, Altair's not sure if he'll be able to, but then Darim nods. "So he's not my brother, but he's still family."

"Pretty much," Altair says.

"Okay." Darim smiles, then glances at his mother and lowers his voice. "Except can Sef have the baby? 'Cuz girls are gross."

"Careful there," Maria calls.

"One of you," Altair says again, loudly, "Will have a child. And that child will have a child, who will have a child, and so on for many hundreds of years, until one day, Desmond will be born."

"He's from the future," Darim says, considering this with some care. "Really? How do you know?"

"Because I've been there and i saw him," Altair says, oversimplifying hugely. "It's very complicated, Darim, and I don't think he remembers any of it. But he's been through some... bad times."

"Oh," Darim says. "Why is he here?"

"Because," Altair says. "He needs us."