He doesn't know why he was so afraid of the apple.
It's… nice, actually. Floating in a hazy, golden sea of light. Connor is absolutely calm for the first time since… huh. He doesn't think he's ever felt a calm quite like this. Wrapped up tight in something protective and warm. Maybe this is what it feels like to have family. Someone to depend on, no matter what. Connor feels a brief spike of jealousy aimed at Ratonhnhaké:ton. Who has a father that cares for him, who had a mother, until recently—he can probably remember what it felt like to be held by her. All Connor can remember is the smell of her burning to death…
The apple soothes down the brief agitation, and in a moment he is calm again. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. The apple is here. It's all he needs. It will take care of him, it will make sure nothing bad ever happens again. It will give him safety, peace, happiness, power—everything he has ever wanted and more.
He doesn't want to be king, but the apple wants it. That's alright. It's done so much for him already, in just a few minutes. An unending eternity of perfect contentment stretches out ahead of him. All it asks of him is his body, a vessel it can use. It's such a small price to pay in exchange for this kind of happiness.
Happiness. He is happy, he really is. The feeling of it bubbles out of him, and the apple pulls him in tighter, weaving golden strands of light all around him. It's beautiful like nothing he has ever seen or felt before.
Distantly, he can feel his body moving. The apple is doing… something. There is blood on his hands. Maybe it's killing someone.
Again, worry spikes up in him. Isn't that wrong? He is an assassin. He is supposed to protect the innocent. Why is the apple making him do this? Why—
The apple presses against him, more forcefully this time. It seems to be accusing him, demanding to know why he doesn't trust it to do the right thing. It is ancient and wise, it is bigger and more powerful than he could ever dream of being, and he dares to question it? To accuse it of doing wrong?
No, of course not. Connor makes himself small in his own mind, curling up and shrinking down and saying no no no, of course not, of course the apple knows better than he does. But he is curious now, and peeks out through his own eyes—the apple's eyes (of course, because the apple needs a body and he willingly surrenders his) to see what is going on.
There are dead men all around. Oh. That's… (the apple whispers to him, soothes him, again and again) that's alright. The apple must have a reason. He watches it at work, watches it reanimating the corpse of the last man it had tried to make King. Why, though? The apple has him now, why does it need Washington? The apple reassures him, promises that he is the favorite (the favorite, finally, after a lifetime of never being enough, of being hated by his father, being nothing but a replacement to Achilles, being second even to Ratonhnhaké:ton, here)—but Washington still has his uses. Because rebellion (stupid, pointless rebellion) will come again, just as it has here, today. Far better for the peons to have Washington to fight, a stupid, empty shell. No one needs to know Connor exists. He will be safe, as long as the world thinks Washington is still king.
Connor almost melts with gratitude, that the apple is putting thought and effort into keeping him safe. When has anyone ever taken care of him like this, the apple asks him—and Connor knows that no one ever has. For the thousandth, the millionth time, he thanks the apple for deigning to even notice him, much less care for him, protect him…
Maybe this is what love feels like?
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a long buried memory of his mother stirs. Her voice rises up in protest against this, but—she is dead. She left you, the apple reminds you. She let herself be killed, she could have protected you—you never needed her.
Not like he needs the apple. He needs it like he has never needed anything before in his life.
The apple sends Washington off to take care of things, eliminate the last of the templars and assassins that have survived the attack so far. When Connor feels a second of doubt, the apple promises him that this is a fresh start. He is so tied down by these meaningless divides. Better to kill them all and be done with it.
Connor resists this for a moment, and the apple sends a spike of pain, a sort of LISTEN TO ME into his mind. He flinches back and agrees at once.
The apple moves his body forward again, past the body of men and women he had fought with (or simply fought) in his own world. He recognizes them, recognizes that he should be upset by their deaths. But they are not as important as the apple. Connor isn't sure what he's doing, but when he asks, the apple is curiously reluctant to tell him. He doesn't mean to press, but he wants to know.
The apple reminds him that there is someone else that knows Washington is dead, and that the apple has chosen Connor instead. And Ratonhnhaké:ton has no doubt told his father (fathers?) by now. They all have to die—
No! Connor has no control over his body, no desire to take that away from the apple, no true desire to fight the apple at all—but he has to fight this, because… because it can't hurt Ratonhnhaké:ton. He hadn't been cruel to Connor. He had been like a brother to him. And father… Haytham…
No…
The apple tries to calm him again but this time it doesn't work. Because this is his family, and they are nothing, nothing, compared to the apple, but—but—
There is no other choice, the apple tells him. They must die—
No. No, Connor has another idea. They are only a threat as long as they are human. But they are mostly animal anyway. The tea has almost ruined Ratonhnhaké:ton, no doubt it had done worse to his father. And the other-Haytham cannot be a threat, Connor had been able to kill him even without the apple. Please, Connor begs. Take their humanity away. Not their lives.
The apple considers this. Agrees. Ensures that Connor knows how much he owes it for this favor. And then it goes to find Ratonhnhaké:ton and Haytham.
-/-
Ratonhnhaké:ton cannot carry his father far. He is too tired. Too afraid. They travel until nightfall and then Ratonhnhaké:ton falls to the ground, sliding out of bear form and back to being human. His father falls with him, from the place where he had been resting on Ratonhnhaké:ton's back. The other Haytham, the human one that doesn't belong in this world, stands guard over them.
"He's going to kill us," Ratonhnhaké:ton says softly. He presses himself against his father's back, too tired to care that he is too old to look for comfort like this. "The other me—I'm going to kill myself."
"Only if you stop fighting," the other Haytham says dismissively (but Ratonhnhaké:ton thinks he sounds worried). "He's no God. He's not an invincible monster."
"He killed you," Ratonhnhaké:ton's father mumbles. This shuts Haytham up completely.
It does not take long for Connor… for the thing that had been Connor… to find them. Ratonhnhaké:ton does not even try to fight. His father is still recovering from being a giant sea monster. Just walking would have been a struggle.
"I won't kill you," Connor whispers, bending over Ratonhnhaké:ton. He doesn't sound like Connor—his voice echoes, harmonizes. Ratonhnhaké:ton might almost have called it beautiful, if he'd heard it without knowing the story. "He made me promise—so as long as I am king, you will not be allowed to die."
"Who made you promise?"
Connor doesn't answer. He just smiles, cruelly, and leans forward, both hands outstretched. The first finger of his right hand rests on Ratonhnhaké:ton's forehead, the first finger of his left hand on his father's. And then there is a pulse of golden light that blinds Ratonhnhaké:ton, races through his mind and into his body, spreads through him like a plague. His body twists and convulses, and he fights it, fights, fights—
He falls back into the form of the bear, and then in an instant to the wolf, and then in another second he is an eagle. Ratonhnhaké:ton screeches in pain and protest, spreads his wings and takes flight. His whole mind is on fire with horrified confusion, something has been taken from him, something important, but he can't—he can't think clearly, he can't remember. Thought fades. Instinct takes over.
A second eagle joins him in the air, and Ratonhnhaké:ton feels himself relax a little. Complex feelings, too big and strong for the bird he is, fill his mind. Father is here, father is alright. Shaking a little, unsteady on his wings, but alright. When father lands on a tree branch nearby, Ratonhnhaké:ton lands next to him. Takes a breath. Tries to think. He knows his father. And he knows he is an eagle. He knows… he is a wolf. And a bear. That's all he knows. Does he need to know more? It feels like there should be something else there, another shape, more things that he knows. But it's gone.
A man watches Ratonhnhaké:ton and father from the ground, and something about him makes Ratonhnhaké:ton want to fly. That is a bad man. Bad. All wrong. But in another moment, the man has moved on. Ratonhnhaké:ton relaxes, and moves closer to father. The eagle-instincts in his head are telling him that it is better to be alone, but some things are more important than instinct. Father is. Family is.
There is another man on the ground, and… and he is father too, somehow. Not as nice, but still father in a strange kind of way. Ratonhnhaké:ton spreads his wings again, lets himself glide to the ground. There, he changes from eagle to wolf. In this shape, he can smell the defeat in other-father, the misery and the regret. Ratonhnhaké:ton pushes his nose into other-father's hand, whines a little. Bird-father follows him down, lands awkwardly on other-father's shoulder. His shape twists and changes until he is a squirrel instead (and Ratonhnhaké:ton very firmly pushes away the thought that he is prey). Other-father sighs, and shakes his head. Says something, but he speaks human words that Ratonhnhaké:ton does not know (…anymore? Did he know them once?).
Other-father starts walking. Slowly. Like a man with the whole world on his shoulders.
And for many long years, that is life. Ratonhnhaké:ton and father and other-father, wandering the world long after they should be dead. Everything else dies around them. Other humans. Other wolves. Other eagles and squirrels and bears. Father has another shape, one that Ratonhnhaké:ton only sees once, even though they watch the seasons turn around them hundreds of times. It's horrible.
They don't die when they should, they just live on and on and on. Maybe it is because of what the bad-man had done to them, what he had taken away.
Sometimes, Ratonhnhaké:ton wishes he could die. There is not enough room in his head. Thought hurts. He feels like he should be more than what he is. He feels trapped in the three shapes he has to choose from. None of them are his. Sometimes, he tries to pretend he is normal. He will spend years or decades in a single shape, a wolf among wolves or an eagle on his own. But other animals know he does not belong with them. They shun him, hunt him. And he cannot die, but he can be hurt.
Once, only once, many-many seasons later, he seeks out a mate. But when the pups are born, one is different. She changes from wolf to eagle to bear and then to human, and lies there crying at the top of her lungs as Ratonhnhaké:ton curls himself around her, terrified of what is happening to his pup and powerless to help her. In the end, other-father comes and helps him take the pup to the humans, kneels there with his hand gently stroking Ratonhnhaké:ton's ears as he leaves his pup for humans to find.
Ratonhnhaké:ton whimpers and whines, and his pup cries in answer. Humans (tainted by the smell of starvation and fear) walk past her, ignore her—Ratonhnhaké:ton wants to jump at them, force them to take care of her. He doesn't know what to do with a human pup, she is not like all her littermates, safely and completely canine. But finally one of the humans picks her up and takes her home, and Ratonhnhaké:ton has to be satisfied with that.
"So that's how Desmond came to be," other-father says when this happens. His words make no more sense to Ratonhnhaké:ton now than they ever have, but he recognizes that other-father needs to talk sometimes. Sometimes he stops for years or decades at a time, and when he tries to speak again his voice is scratchy and rough and broken. Now he practices. Other-father nods to himself and stands, whistling for bird-father to join them. "I always wondered…" When they are three again, they leave the human settlement behind.
But they do not go far. Because some instinct that is deep and complex and more difficult to understand than any wolf- or bird- or bear-instinct won't let him abandon his pup completely. He watches her. And when her chick is born (human again, but with wings), Ratonhnhaké:ton watches him. And then the chick has a cub (big and rough like a bear), Ratonhnhaké:ton watches him.
Then his pup is born, and he has ears like a wolf, and the humans call him Desmond.
And something in Ratonhnhaké:ton knows that things will change soon. Because something in him knows Desmond, knows the name, knows the smell of the pup. He is important. He knows things. Maybe he can help.
Maybe he will save them.