Author's note at the bottom. :3 Warning: mild torture.

When he woke the next morning, he found Alex missing, but he could feel Shaun sleeping underneath him. As he sat up, tucking the blanket around his friend more, he saw Altair standing the doorway, frowning.

"What?" he asked.

"We must talk."

He furrowed his brow. "About—"

He blinked in confusion, and Altair was gone. He turned his head to watch the fitfully sleeping man until he heard someone else stir. He looked to see Trevor wake, stretching and yawning, and he nodded to him.

"You're—what the hell did Alex do to you?"

"Huh?"

Trevor was on his feet, walking over and sitting at the foot of his bed, glancing only briefly at Shaun as if he weren't surprised to see him there. Trevor slammed his fist into the bunk above him, and he heard Kenneth curse fluently before stirring.

Trevor growled, "What the hell did he do to you?"

"I…"

He saw Kenneth's sleepy eyes peek over the edge, and suddenly they were awake, and the man scowled.

"Dude, what happened? Seth told us Alex pulled one over on you. What did he do?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember last night. He could remember Shaun and helping him, and he could remember, vaguely, the infirmary. He could remember Ezio—

"He killed him," Desmond said, blinking rapidly and remembering the vision of Altair holding Ezio's body.

"He killed who?" Kenneth snarled, still hanging over the edge.

Desmond pointed to the area on the ground. "Altair. He killed Ezio."

The two Wisemen exchanged confused glances as he stood and walked over to the area, still seeing the blood on the floor from the injury.

"He killed Ezio. I can still see the blood. My ancestors? I'm crazy, remember?"

Kenneth frowned, and Trevor gave him a hard onceover.

"Altair killed Ezio. Ezio's the one who's been causing me so much trouble. He's dead. Here's the blood."

He nudged his foot against the dried blood on the floor. He knew the others couldn't see it.

"Desmond! You're awake!"

He looked to see Seth flip down from his bunk and pull him into a hug, making him think of those over-loving aunts who also like to pinch cheeks. He returned the hug cautiously, still kicking at the dried blood on the floor, and met Seth's gaze when he held him at arm's length.

"We need to talk."

He nodded as Michael stirred, falling out of the bunk and landing with a grunt on the floor. He watched a small fight ensue between the man and the bedcovers, and he bit his lip to hold back the chuckle that wanted to come out. Michael's head popped out of the blanket, looking around.

"Desmond!"

He found himself being pushed gently to the bed, and Trevor was locking the door to the bunkroom. He could feel nervousness building in the pit of his belly. Perhaps they no longer trusted him. Perhaps taking care of Shaun was the wrong move.

"Never," Altair said, appearing next to him on the bed.

"Look," Kenneth said as he flipped out of the bunk to sit next to Altair, "we're worried about you."

Desmond was silent, watching them all cautiously.

"And we don't want you to get hurt," Trevor chimed in.

"But you can't trust Alex. At all," Michael added in.

"Not that we're saying we aren't glad he's getting along with at least one of us," Seth continued.

"But you need to remember we kidnapped his sister just a few days ago," Trevor said.

"He is assassin-affiliated," Altair murmured, and Desmond turned to look at his ancestor. "You must remember that Dana has always been his first concern. It was in his file. He is no better than I with Al Mualim. She says bark: he barks."

"Desmond?"

He shushed them with a hand. "What do you mean?"

"I am saying that there is a high chance he is working for the assassins through Dana."

Desmond's eyes grew wide and licked his lips, trying to wet them. He could feel that nervousness clench his insides, twisting them into knots. He didn't want anything to do with his old order.

"Desmond? What's wrong?"

He looked back at Seth and opened his mouth to speak, but found the words locked in his throat. He could see Jarrod stir in his bunk, much repeating what Michael had gone through, and come over to join them.

"There is no telling what he is doing. Be cautious, Desmond. You were an assassin once. 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted.' Understand these words. It matters not how he completes his mission, just that he completes it."

Desmond balled his hand and pressed it to his lips, licking them again to try to keep them wet. Perhaps that's what he had been talking to Shaun about last night. Perhaps they were going to try to rescue Shaun. Perhaps he was here to end Shaun's life—or his. Perhaps he was sent to keep an eye on Desmond. Once the assassins' order wanted something, they often got it with patience and persistence.

"Now you think correctly."

He could feel Altair vanish beside him, and Kenneth was suddenly right next to him. He could feel Kenneth's arm around his shoulders, and he looked at the man. He opened his mouth to speak again, but found the words frozen in his throat. Right under his nose, the old order had taken advantage of him. They were using his craziness against him. Matt was stirring in the final bunk, and Desmond felt his eyes drawn toward the man who had originally brought him into the Wisemen.

"Don't let them do that to me," he whispered, alarmed he had overlooked such a detail.

"Don't let who do what, Desmond?" Matt said, having joined them over by his bunk.

He looked at Matt, beginning to panic. "Don't let the assassin order get a hold of me."

He was reassured by the warm chuckle that ran through his new family. He felt Kenneth's hand rub his arm briskly, and he could feel a worried smile tug at his lips.

"We promise we won't, Desmond. You're ours now," Seth said, placing a hand on his leg.

"And we don't let one another go," Jarrod said with a laugh. "We're all we have."

Desmond leaned into Kenneth's hold heavily, and he almost heaved a sigh of relief. It was great to feel wanted by someone, despite his problems, despite the residual Bleeding Effect, despite his mental breakdowns. He felt secure in the presence of the Wisemen. He watched Matt unlock the door, and he could feel the tension in the air grow as Alex stepped in with food. The man was frowning at all of them gathered around Desmond's bunk.

"I brought food for Shaun."

There was still silence as Alex padded over and Kenneth moved as if he had the plague when he went to sit on the bed. Shaun was making a mumbling noise, his eyes still closed, and when Alex went to wake him up, Desmond kicked his foot.

"Leave him be for now. He's actually sleeping."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"He's talking in his sleep. Probably a dream or something," Matt offhandedly commented. "Not that you'd know, freak."

"So why did you take him in?" Seth asked, raising an eyebrow at Desmond.

"I… don't really know. I don't actually remember much about last night."

"You had a breakdown," Alex said as he watched Shaun. "He started singing, and then he stopped. You kept screaming that someone was still singing, and then he started again, and you leaned against his legs and fell asleep."

Desmond blinked. "Yeah… I don't really know."

Seth nodded, pursing his lips. "Well, I'm kinda sad, but I can get over it. I'm not entirely surprised."

There was a comfortable, but tense, silence that settled over the group. Desmond didn't feel safe leaving Shaun by himself, knowing that Alex was simply using him to get to him. He wasn't going to give in. The minutes ticked by until the air was practically cracking with tension, and Shaun stirred, blinking.

"You're awake," Alex said, and Shaun gave him a blank look.

"Shaun?" Desmond muttered, and the man whimpered, dragging his eyes toward him.

He watched his arm move under the blanket, and he set his hand on top of it. The man made an odd sort of noise, closing his eyes again.

"I need to change his bandages," he murmured.

"He needs to eat," Alex said.

"We'll take good care of him," Seth said, his lips curling to show his teeth as he stared at Alex.

"That's what I'm afraid—"

"All right, you pussies," General Cross said, barging into the room. "We've got our next assignment."

They all looked at the man as he plopped down on a bunk, looking at a file. "You've gotta scram. Sorry, Mercer."

Alex sat there, watching, and General Cross scowled. "I said, 'Get the fuck out.'"

Alex snarled, but slowly exited the room, and Jarrod was up in an instant, outside and beeping as he changed the code to the door. After the man came back in, he sat back down, and they watched as the General looked them all over.

"It's a fun assignment, don't worry. We're cleaning up after the Marines overseas."

"Really?" Michael asked. "I thought they were just—"

"There's a couple of loose ends the president wants wrapped up. The military ain't gonna do it so they don't get a bad rep."

"As if they don't already have one," Kenneth muttered, and there was a quiet chuckle throughout the room.

"We've got a couple of targets to take down, a town to level, a couple of citizens to terrorize…"

Desmond grinned. He was going to look forward to it. He could feel the excitement in the room building. All of them were listening eagerly.

"Of course, all of Blackwatch will be there. Our main assignment is to track down the man who claims he has a vial of the Blacklight virus."

"How does he have it? We got any leads?" Trevor asked.

General Cross wore a smug smile. "We don't know anything but his name and face."

Desmond frowned. "Then how will we…"

Kenneth laughed once. "Desmond, we'll just go have some fun with the Arabs. 'Sides, they all look alike, so it doesn't matter if we 'accidentally' kill someone else."

"I certainly don't look like the rest of them," Altair said, appearing and spitting at Kenneth's feet.

Desmond bit his lip so that he wouldn't smile.

"It's what we're good at," Trevor said. "We get the mission done no matter what the cost."

General Cross leaned back, setting the file beside him and looking like a cat that got the cream. "I've got translators lined up—"

"I can speak Arabic," Desmond said.

"I can. I can speak Arabic," Altair hissed.

"And so can I," he snipped. "I learned from you."

Altair snarled, and Desmond curled his lip in response.

"Another fucking ancestor of yours?" General Cross asked. "How many of them do you fucking have living in that damn brain?"

"Just one, and he's the Arab," Desmond said, looking at the man.

He was leaning against the wall in his uniform. He was scowling. "And those hooded freaks were the ones who did this to you?"

He nodded. Altair was sitting behind him, on top of Shaun, leaning against his back and placing his chin on his shoulder. General Cross shook his head.

"If you were my kid, I'd have you hunting down every single one of those Goddamn bastards."

"Any of us would," Michael said.

"We're just an extension of you, after all," Jarrod said, earning a laugh from Seth.

"I'm not entirely sure I want to be an extension of him. I certainly don't want to age like that."

The General growled playfully and threw a pillow at him. "You aren't too fucking far behind me, smartass."

Seth scoffed. "Please. I'm at least a million years younger."

This earned a laugh from the rest of the group, and General Cross stood, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Just you watch yourself, shithead, or I'll pound you into the ground. I'm still a better fighter than you."

"Mm-hm," he hummed, rolling his eyes, and Desmond found himself grinning.

Beneath his hand, he could feel Shaun's fingers curl slightly, as if to hold his hand, and he chanced a glance at him. Surely he had a killer headache. Perhaps he could get him something to numb the pain. But then again, if he was in pain, he could tell if Alex tried to move him. Shaun shifted slightly, and he curled his fingers around his hand, earning a soft noise from him. The General padded over, peering back at him.

"You may want to change the room code so Mercer can't get to him. He'll probably kill him."

"I did. I was gonna tell them after you were done," Jarrod said.

Desmond shook his head. "He won't do that."

Cross raised an eyebrow, and Desmond looked up at him. "He's an assassin. His only goal is to get to me."

"You sure?"

"Or to free Shaun."

He looked back down at the sleeping man. "Or to free Shaun."

"Dana makes him dance. She is his puppeteer."

"Dana plays him like a puppet."

General Cross clapped a hand on his shoulder, and he met his gaze. "We won't let him get either of you, Miles. You're ours, now."

He couldn't help but feel right at home when the others agreed. As the day drug on, he changed out Shaun's bandages and fed him a meal, careful to enter only when Alex wasn't around. The man was in a lot of pain, and he couldn't help but feel a little remorse for what he had done. He wondered if Rebecca was still doing well.

And as days passed into weeks, he trained with the Wisemen as they prepared to be deployed, often holing up in the shooting range for hours at a time. It was much more different from being in boot camp, he was pleased to find out, as he joked and goofed around—despite all safety regulations. There was no rule the Wisemen didn't break, apparently. In hand-to-hand combat, they were harder to fight than Lucy, years of knowledge and combat under their belts all ready, and he quickly picked up skills he didn't know existed. He taught them the art of assassination, training them to have the finesse his lineage was known for. He couldn't help but laugh at them as they tried what he tried to teach them as he fell back on his instincts pounded into him underground at Monteriggioni.

It was when General Cross would come out with them that things got extremely intense. It seemed that no amount of time away from the shooting range affected his abilities with guns and the shock baton, and Desmond had problems fighting with him, despite his assassin instincts. It seemed the General was just as eager as they were to go overseas. He was a skilled fighter, and much of his fighting style seemed to reflect in Desmond, and he often heard the other Wisemen complaining about how they seemed to know each other's moves and attacks, and how their fights were always longer before one of them (usually General Cross) got sick of it and went Super-Saiyan or something and whupped the other. That didn't go without saying that the General was proud of how well the newest recruit could fight.

Shaun was healing slowly, the fractured bones around the staple wounds giving him the worst time. He would lie listlessly in Desmond's bunk, his eyes closed and the covers over his head as if that would help. Desmond was gentle, always changing his bandages slowly, taking him to the bathroom twice a day, feeding him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Although it wasn't only Desmond that watched over him: Shaun became something akin to the Wisemen's pet, and they would often joke about how they had to "take the dog out" or "feed the dog," and Desmond would grin and laugh with them. Sometimes, if they were playing card game in the barracks, Shaun would venture from the bed and sit next to him, and whoever was closest would pet his hair gently, cooing like one might do for an animal. They were careful to keep him hidden from Alex, never letting him out for long, watching the poor man shuffle about in a pained stupor.

When they found Alex had somehow lured him to open the door, Desmond was pissed. It was a coiling, biting rage that twisted in his belly and made it hard to see. He was going to pound Alex into the ground. He would wring his viral neck and sink him in the ocean with one-ton cement blocks. He wasn't going to let him take his Shaun from him. No matter what Dana told her brother to do: the assassins were not getting him back. As soon at the other Wisemen got Alex out of the room, Desmond grabbed Shaun's chin.

"Don't you dare let him in. Don't even think about going with him. You are mine. You understand that?"

Shaun's eyes were wide with panic as they stood there, a blanket around the bandaged man's shoulders. He nodded, small, rapid bobs of his head.

"Are you sure?"

Shaun whimpered as he tightened his hold on his jaw. "Y-Yes."

Desmond snarled, letting him go. "Good. Don't ever forget you are mine and that you came back to get me. I won't let you leave now."

He heard the door open again, and Seth stepped in. "Everything okay in here? Shaun still in one piece?"

Desmond frowned as he looked at his comrade. "Yeah, but I think we need to make sure he knows who owns him."

Seth's lips curled in an alluring way, as if he were pleased by what Desmond said.

"Is that so?"

Desmond growled as Shaun stepped closer and gently grabbed his sleeve. He wrapped an arm around the man's waist as he leaned against him.

"What were you thinking?"

He could see the sadistic fire in Seth's eyes, the gears in his head turning with what were, undoubtedly, a million different torture techniques. That malevolent grin was spreading like a plague across his face, and it suited him, crazed and lusting for blood.

"I don't know," Desmond said, frowning.

Seth exuded an aura of perverted glee, walking forward and laughing at Shaun's shiver and whimper. Desmond watched him cautiously. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Seth, but he was curious to know what was running through his mind as Shaun pressed against him, squeezing his eyes shut as Seth trailed a finger around his neck.

"There are many possibilities."

"Keep it simple."

Seth laughed again. "Let's sew a collar to him."

"We can do that?"

"I can't—but Michael can."

And so he found himself holding Shaun still as Michael poked the thread through the collar, careful to go into the skin and through the inside of the collar. His stitches were perfect, and he used tweezers to pull the knots under the skin. Shaun was whimpering and jerking as Seth held his head and Desmond held his arms.

"He's a squirmy little shit," Michael breathed, pulling the needle through.

Shaun gagged, violently jerking at the feel of the needle passing beneath his skin. Desmond was glad he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a while. If he didn't need to prove his point that he belonged to him, and not Alex, then he wouldn't have to do this at all.

"Come on, Michael, I know you can do this," Seth said, chuckling.

"All of my expertise is when people are dead. Like that one man you skinned—the one with all the tattoos. Whatever happened to that cloak I made?"

"It got burned in the infection."

"That was a good coat. I used my best goose down."

"I know. I'm still pissed."

Shaun choked when the needle passed through near the back of his neck, and Desmond shushed him, tightening his grip with one arm, and using the other to rub reassuringly over his thigh. The man whined, jerking at the feel of knot being pulled under the skin.

"Maybe I can make you a new one later."

"Eh, maybe. I never got to wear it much since it wasn't a part of the uniform."

"Maybe Christmas."

"That sounds good."

Desmond was silent, watching as Shaun struggled to get away, and it was only after he bopped him on the head that he stopped wiggling and let him finish. Once he was done, Michael stepped back, looking at the dark red collar. The gold tags glimmered in the light, proudly pronouncing that Shaun belonged to Desmond Miles and the Wisemen Team. There would be no covering it up like a shirt did the scar on his ribs. This was for the whole world to see.

"Just keep that clean and sterile until it heals, and we should be good to go," Seth said.

Michael tisked. "That was not my best. I'm so sorry."

"He looks good. You can't see the stitches," Desmond murmured.

Michael laughed. "Sorry they aren't up to standard, kiddo."

Desmond shrugged. "I think I got my point across to him."

"And we know who he belongs to, now," Seth purred.

Shaun whimpered when he ran a finger over the new addition.

"I guess the only problem will be if we need to clean it," Michael said, frowning.

"Can't we just snip if off and redo it?"

"We could," Michael said.

"But that's an awful lot of work," Seth finished.

"And we'll have to keep that area cleaned, so it doesn't get infected," Michael murmured. "Keep an eye out for infection."

"It'd be too easy to have it go to shit," Desmond said with a sigh.

Michael shrugged. "I like it on him."

"It does look rather endearing," Seth agreed.

"I can take—"

"We can take care of him," Michael corrected as Shaun clung to Desmond's side to hide from Seth.

Seth scoffed. "There's no 'I' in team."

Desmond wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at him. "Yeah, well, there's no 'u' either."

Michael laughed at Seth's indignant yelp. "The newbie's got a point! On a different note, I'm hungry. Let's go have dinner."

"Do you want to come with, Shaun?"

"No."

Shaun curled his fingers tighter into Desmond combat suit. Desmond rubbed his arm lightly and pursed his lips.

"We'll bring you food," Michael said.

"Thanks. I'll be back in the barracks with him."

They nodded, and he led Shaun back to the bunks, having him sit on the bed. When he went to rub his throat, he caught his hand and gently pushed it back down to his side.

"Don't do that."

"B-But!"

Desmond chuckled. "I know, baby. But don't do that, okay?"

It was almost two hours later when Michael and Seth returned with food.

"What the hell happened?" Desmond asked as he took their offering. "Did you get lost or something?"

"We got distracted," Michael said, shrugging.

"You should know us by now," Seth added with a laugh. "And before we forget, General wants to see you."

"We'll feed Shaun. He's taking you out to eat. Wants to talk about something… disturbing?"

"Shocking?"

"Not really sure how to put it."

"Not necessarily bad. We promise."

Desmond's brows knitted together, and he frowned as he stood. Shaun whimpered and grabbed for his pant leg, but he caught his wrist and kissed it.

"I'll be back: I promise, Shaun."

"Don't go."

Kenneth came in, yawning mightily as he plopped on the bunk.

"It's only the beginning of evening, dude," Seth said, raising an eyebrow.

"So? I just ate. I want a nap."

"It's legit," Jarrod said as he came pacing in. "Oh, and General Cross told me to tell Desmond—"

"Bring your gun. I think he's taking you somewhere else to see what all you're capable of," Kenneth finished, laying back.

"Meet him out by the gates."

Desmond nodded slowly, grabbing his gun from under the bunk. With a gentle kiss to Shaun's cheek, he paced out to meet the General. He gave a half-assed salute to the General, who nodded in response as they walked out of the base into the streets. Desmond paced alongside him, quietly, as the man thought about whatever was bothering him. He adjusted his gun on his shoulder, and soon enough, he found them outside of the café from their first chase with Alex. He ordered quickly enough, and it wasn't until they were sitting outside, watching the streets with loads of people, that he found General Cross staring at him.

He swallowed thickly, that same feeling from the first time he saw the man in his office creeping slowly into his gut again. He shifted, looking down at the table and pulling his chair in. He set his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand before he sighed and crossed his arms on the table. He could feel his intense stare, and Desmond felt like a little kid in front of his father. It was amazing how the General managed to do that.

"Calm down. You're not in trouble."

He snapped his gaze back to look at General Cross. "Uh…"

"You're acting like when I first met you."

He looked away, resting his chin in his hand again. "Sorry, sir. You're just so quiet."

"I actually have a question to ask you."

He looked at him through the side of his vision. "Yeah?"

"Who was your father down on the Farm?"

He blinked. That was an odd question. "Uh… I don't really remember. I was sixteen when I ran away, and I didn't have many pleasant memories, so I just tried to… forget them. My father included."

The General nodded slowly, leaning back in the chair. "Haven't you ever wanted to find out?"

"Not really… why are you asking me this, sir?"

"I was just curious. I stumbled across a few things when I was looking into the sperm donation.

"Really? Like what?"

"My kid was on your Farm."

"Cool. I probably don't remember him."

"I'm sure you do."

"What?"

"I know you know him."

"I do?"

"You do."

Desmond blinked. He wasn't quite following this conversation. "Wh… what was his name?"

"I have a picture. Do you want to see?"

Desmond nodded. This conversation certainly isn't making any sense. He watched him reach into one of the ammunition pouches around his waist and pull out a small, beautifully decorated, round picture frame. He looked into it and breathed on it, cleaning it off.

He was curious. If he did know the boy, he certainly couldn't put a pin on someone who looked like him. Of course, perhaps the picture would jog his memory. He hoped it did, so that way he could at least say he knew his kid. If he didn't, the General wouldn't be too happy. He seemed certain he knew him. He took the offered picture and turned it over. He blinked: General Cross must have grabbed the wrong thing.

"Look again, I grabbed the right thing."

And now he could read minds. Desmond looked back at the small mirror, his brow knitting in confusion. He held the mirror up, level with General Cross's face, looking from the mirror to the man beside it. Back, forth, back, forth. His skin had lost some of its rich tan since he had joined the Wisemen, and the facial structure did look similar. Their faces both had harsh lines from the effects of time (and the Animus), and they did have similar hair.

The General reached inside a different pouch and pulled out a piece of paper. He took it and set the mirror down, his eyes gazing at a bunch of matching lines and numbers. It was a DNA test, according to the top of the file. His eyes flickered up to meet the General's, who had an unreadable expression.

"Where'd you get my DNA?"

"From the medical ward, after I fought you in the sparing ring."

He looked back down to the papers. They matched almost exactly. He wasn't quite sure what to expect. It certainly didn't seem as if they were father-son, although some of the similarities made a bit more sense now. He set the papers aside when the waitress came out with their food. They thanked her, and Desmond looked back at him.

"Well?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what to think."

He saw the corners of General Cross's lips curl upward. He quirked an eyebrow, and the General chuckled. "Here I was worried you might have a different reaction."

"What?"

"Your reaction? That was pretty much how I reacted. Then I started wondering if you'd react differently."

He scoffed. "You shouldn't have. I'm your kid."

The General snorted. "Yeah, yeah."

"Old man."

He laughed at the dirty look the General sent him.

"So, does this mean I get to blame my problems on you?"

"Hell no. They came from your mother."

He raised an eyebrow, smiling playfully. "Naw, my mom was a cool woman. I couldn't have gotten them from her."

He growled, and Desmond broke into a full grin before stuffing several fries into his mouth.

"I thought you wouldn't have a response to that."

"Just remember I'm still your superior."

"Sure thing, daddy."

There was a pause, then the two of them started laughing. It seemed utterly ludicrous that he could be calling the General of the United States of America his father. After a few minutes, he looked at the man, who shook his head

"Eat your food."

"Sure thing, papa."

There was a pair of amused scoffs, and before he knew it, General Cross was paying for his meal, and they were walking in Central Park.

"That's all I wanted to fucking tell you," the General said, shrugging.

"Wait, then why did Kenneth tell me to bring my gun?"

"I have no fucking clue."

Desmond shook his head, and they walked along in silence for a little bit to head to head back to the base.

"It's Jarrod, sir!"

He looked at man's radio, listening as the General held it up to his mouth to speak.

"We've got an emergency, sir!"

"Spit it out, damnit!"

"Alex took Shaun! We got a reading on the tracking bug we put in the collar, and he's slowed substantially. They're heading toward Central Park!"

The two exchanged glances, and Desmond loaded his gun, flicking on his Eagle Vision.

"Roger that, Jarrod. We're on it."

He saw a flash of gold and blue, and he found himself running after it. The blue figure was significantly slower than the gold, and he quickly passed them, waiting beside one of the small bridges in Central Park, Driprock Arch or something, according to the plaque.

"Let me g-go!"

He stepped out, listening to his gun fire itself and the hiss of Shaun's kidnapper as he dropped the weapon.

"Let him go."

"D-Desmond?"

He blinked when he saw Rebecca holding onto her wrist. He snarled, and she stepped back, grunting when she accidentally tightened her hold on her wrist. He could see the blood dripping down. It had been a nice shot. Of course, he had been trained as a Marine. She gritted her teeth, and he saw Shaun move against the side of the arch, crouching down like a frightened child. When he saw her look at her gun, he shot her other hand, listening to her shout in pain and back up a step. He stepped forward.

"I thought you were smart enough to know not to return."

"Alex was charged with getting Shaun out of there. I have to take him back to the order while he keeps the military off our backs."

He matched every step back with a step forward. He could hear the crowds beginning to panic. She looked around for a chance to escape, and he paced over, his boots crunching in the path beneath them.

"Desmond, don't do this. Let Shaun go."

"Why? He came back for me. He's mine."

"No, he's his own person. Let me take him back—"

She screamed as he shot out her kneecap and watched her fall onto the pavement. The people were in full panic mode now, and it was feeding him. He loved it.

"I thought you were smart enough to leave."

"Desmond!"

He stepped over and kicked her back, despite her arms crossing in front of her, her wrists flopping uselessly. He planted his boot on her chest, watching her struggle in vain. He snorted in amusement when she tried to use her leg to free herself, and without thinking, shot her in the shoulder, laughing at her cry of pain. He could see the blood spread on the pavement and hear the people around screaming.

He clucked his tongue. "You shouldn't have returned, Rebecca."

She screamed when he dug the toe of his boot into her shoulder wound.

"I warned you."

He chuckled at the chaos around him, looking up to see the police standing a few feet away, looking absolutely infuriated. He sent them a smug look. Rebecca was writhing beneath his boot, and he was fascinated by the dark red spreading on the concrete. The panic in the air filled him with a sense of sadistic lust, and he grinned malevolently at the woman beneath his boot. Manic laughter bubbled passed his lips as he licked his lips and aimed. With a single shot, he watched the blood spatter onto to the pavement, and it smelled absolutely wonderful. He saw Altair squat beside her with that horrid grin on his face, looking at him proudly. Desmond kicked the body to make sure it was dead.

He turned when Shaun came shuffling over cautiously, and he held out a hand. "Come here, Shaun. I won't hurt you."

Shaun slowly took his hand, and Desmond pulled him close as he saw General Cross step through the panicking crowds to look at the body.

"I'm sorry, Desmond," Shaun murmured, "I'm sorry."

He saw the General nod at his kill, his lips curling upward, and when he met the man's gaze, he saw a perfect reflection of himself in a couple decades.

Oh, yes, the Wisemen Team was his family—figuratively and biologically. He knew that he belonged. He knew that he was finally free.

OKIE-DOKIE. Wanted to let you all know that I am working on a sequel to Volacious, but I don't know if it will get posted in time. That's all I have left, really, is that sequel. I'm going on a brain break before NaNoWriMo, and I actually plan on finishing this year. Anyway, I will be out of commission for the most part.