So
I actually planned to make this chapter and the next into one but then realized that the chapter would've been TOO long then so I split them again. And I kinda like how this one ends so
here you go.
(Almost forgot to post this here lol)
His fever took one more day to go down enough so he could stay fully awake for more than half an hour. It was embarrassing that of all people it had to be Altair and Ezio taking care of him like a little kid but he had no energy to protest and if he was 100% honest with himself, Desmond kind of enjoyed the attention he got from both of them. The other three came to check on him from time to time, too but they still avoided being alone with the two Master Assassins as much as possible. On the third day he was almost completely recovered again. He always recovered fast when sick. Ezio and Altair took this chance to finally get some answers.
"Dezmund." Altair's voice was sharp and had quite a dangerous undertone that made the American shrink away as they towered over him with their arms crossed in front of their chests.
He choose not to comment on the false pronunciation of his name right now.
"Y-yes?"
"That machine. The... Animus, was it?" Ezio didn't wait for an affirmation or correction before continuing "You said it lets you relive memories of your ancestors. But surely there is more to it, no?" with one raised eyebrow Ezio waited for an answer.
"I... don't know what you mean." well he had an idea. They were probably asking because of what happened a few days ago. He understood their curiosity regarding technology if you think about the times they originated from but... how much could he tell them? They were already altering the future as is. They have to go back eventually, right? But going back with the knowledge they have now is a bit-
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by Ezio leaning in close, too close. eying him with wary eyes but also... there was something in the Italian's eyes that Desmond only saw in some of his more embarrassing dreams. Was he just imagining it? Wishful thinking? He was pretty sure he was imagining it. Just like those sharp chocolate brown eyes wandering from his eyes down and stopping at his lips while a tongue darted out to wet his own delici- woah there Desmond. This is going into a totally wrong direction.
"We want to know about the side effects. And do not think you can play us." well now he felt more like a son being interrogated by his father(s). There was something in Altair's voice that left no room for lies. Desmond couldn't lie to them nor could he talk his way around it. He heaved an exaggerated sigh.
"Well it does have side effects but I'll be fine. Becca kinda made a version of the Animus that really reduced the damage." he tried to explain with an almost cheerful voice to make clear that they shouldn't worry about it.
It didn't work.
"What damage?" Altair's narrowed his eyes at him, almost making them look cat-like, which gave the younger Assassin that feeling of wanting to shrink away again.
"It's called the Bleeding Effect." he sighed out in defeat. "Sometimes... memories from my ancestors, the ones I've seen in the Animus, will blend together with my own. It's like.. I can't tell them apart y'know. I will wake up and it takes a few minutes for me to remember that I'm not either of you or Connor. The longer you are inside the Animus, the worse those symptoms get. But the Bleeding Effect really helped me learn your languages and moves so it's not all bad. And when I was- uh..." he got so lost in finally telling someone how he had been feeling that when he realized he was about to tell them about Abstergo he glanced up to see their reactions and came face to face with two seething Assassins.
"Keep talking." it sounded commanding but he didn't miss the gentle undertone in Altair's voice. They finally settled down on either side of Desmond on the bed, urging him to continue his story.
"The Templars of our time are an organization called Abstergo Industries but they're not much different from the Templars in your times. Until a few months ago I was held captive by them to search through your memories in order to find the Apples. Of course they didn't go easy on me. They told me to either be cooperative or they'll put me into a coma and kill me after they're done, which they would've done anyway, I guess."
He clenched his hands into his pants and hoped those two wouldn't judge him for his next words. "At that time... I didn't know anything. I left the Assassins behind me when I was young. I didn't believe all this crap about Assassins and Templars so of course I choose the easier option and did what they wanted. They started out quite harmless to get me used to it but after that the sessions were long and they didn't let me out for a long time so the Bleeding Effect got worse. I tried protesting a few times because I felt like I was going insane if I went back in that thing, I even started to see symbols on the wall of my room that were painted with the former Subject's own blood, but they only drugged me to get me to cooperate, which only made it worse." he stopped when he noticed his voice and hands starting to tremble and his vision getting blurry from tears that threatened to fall. It was Ezio who pulled him against his chest while gently stroking through his hair, which caused the younger man to finally break down.
He felt so pathetic. Here he was; an Assassin, 25 of age and supposed to save the world, yet he was sitting here, crying his eyes out into the chest of one of his ancestors who had accomplished and lost way more than he himself could ever imagine. He was so pathetic, embarrassed and mad at himself that it only added to the tears streaming down his cheeks.
"S-sorry... I..." he didn't know what he wanted to say. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves when he finally calmed down and peeled himself away from the Italian's embrace. "I... better get ready for another session. We lost enough time the past days." he explained to avoid showing the two Master Assassins any more of his pathetic side but a tight, almost painful grip on his wrist held him back from reaching the door.
"I will not let you go back into that.. machine." the Syrian spat out the word as if it were calamity itself. Desmond couldn't help the warm tingly feeling spreading in his stomach as the older man seemed to be worried about him going back in the Animus after his story, but he shrugged it off right away as he thought about why he had even gone in up until now.
"Altair..." he spoke the man's name with care, not being used to actually calling out to that person instead of only talking about him. "...I have to go back in, if I like it or not." he carefully observed the other man's reaction. When he only got a furrowed brow as an answer, he continued "Look I.. I really don't wanna go back into the Animus but it's the only way for us to find, whatever the Templars are searching for, before they do."
"Why can't one of those other three go in? Are they not aware of what it does to you? Or do they simply not care?" the Italian questioned. Desmond couldn't hold both of their piercing gazes so he lowered his eyes to stare at his own feet when answering.
"I-it's not that simple! I don't know how to explain it so that you would understand but it just has to be me, because my DNA is the one we need to access the memories we are searching for! The people Abstergo used before me aren't alive anymore! And we don't have the fucking time to be searching for someone else!" he panted, only now realizing that he was close to shouting with desperation. "S-sorry." he let his head drop in shame for being unable to control himself at a time like this. He was a fucking Assassin for gods sake! Well, more or less. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he could feel a new headache forming once again while becoming hyperaware of the sword calloused hand still gripping his wrist. This entire situation was just too fucked up!
He looked up from his feet when he heard Altair let out a sigh before his hand finally left Desmond's wrist and instead ran it through his own short hair "Very well then. But you may only go back in under two conditions. First: today you are going to rest up. Second: we are still going to look for an alternative when we have time to spare."
"Fine." not like we will find an alternative anyway - he thought to himself. "Instead of doing nothing all day though, we'll get you two some clothes. You can't keep walking around with, well, these, they're too outstanding. Mine would be too small, maybe Shaun's will fit." he hated to admit it but the Brit was closer to their height than he was but they had considerably more muscles than Shaun so that could be a problem. They probably wouldn't get around going out to buy some.
"This is absurd. Is there no other option?" Ezio whined while uncontrollably tugging at the too tight turtleneck that almost looked like it was going to strangle the poor guy. Desmond stood not far away, trying to stifle his laughter with his hand pressed to his mouth while the Italian stood in front of the mirror and looked grumpily between his mirrored self and the other three in the room.
"If the only thing you came here for is to ruin my clothes and then complain about it, then just go and buy them some, Desmond." the Brit grumbled at the ex-Bartender, who now turned his attention away from the pouting Master Assassin to stare at Shaun in mild surprise.
"Shaun, you understood what Ezio said?"
"No. But it's obvious what he's all grumpy about." he sighed out while adjusting his glasses. "Just go out and buy some already. And when you're already at it, buy some for me, too, it was your idea to let them try and ruin mine."
"Any other wishes, Miss Hastings?" the American let out an annoyed sigh while watching Shaun's face turn red with frustration. Desmond knew the Brit wouldn't dare to throw a punch at him. He was not nearly as well-trained as Altair or Ezio but Shaun knew all too well that he had no chance against him in a fight. Not that the sarcastic man was one to let his fists speak quickly. Quite the contrary. He was well-trained at verbal arguing and never backed down from a challenge. Even though he was the one to start it most of the time.
"Says the fag who'd spread his legs for his ancestors." as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them as he saw the other's head snap at him with a horrified expression, his eyes widening. "Desm-"
"FUCK YOU, SHAUN!" he should have seen the fist coming that connected with his jaw but he didn't and for once he was grateful for the presence of the two Master Assassins as said men reacted fast to hold the raging ex-Bartender off, who tried to violently free himself from the tight grip around his shoulders. "BASTARD! I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO FEEL THIS WAY! IF I KNEW HOW TO STOP IT I'D NEVER FALLEN IN LOVE WITH- shit!" he abruptly stopped his outburst when he realized he had switched to Arabic in his emotional rage. He sacked together in Ezio's hold, sliding down onto his knees with a stoney expression, his mind racing with thousand questions. Exactly when had he switched to Arabic? Did they even notice? Did they figure out what exactly this was about? Did they figure out he was talking about them? He didn't want to find out. He had to get out.
He heard the two girls shout after him when he sprinted past them. He knew that either Altair, Ezio or even Connor took over his body while he climbed up walls and jumped from roof to roof, the heavy rain hitting his face like hailstones and drenching him to the bone, but it did not matter. He was not sure if the two Master Assassins followed him and he didn't care at the moment, either. By the time he had stopped running, he was panting heavily and only then did he realize that he was standing between masses of people pressing their way past him, which means he must have been quite far away from the deserted Auditore home. He didn't know how long he had run. He didn't know how long he was standing on the same spot on the still too busy street, letting the rain soak his body in the cold night air. He did not want to move nor think. Think about what he'd do if they didn't know. What he'd do if they did know. What will they do? Will they be disgusted and push him away? Will they return his feelings? Or maybe act like it never happened as he was currently the only person they could turn to. On the other side, those two probably didn't even need him to blend in with this foreign time. No one needed him.
He stared ahead, down the street, looking at a random person coming his way, imagining the too familiar cross symbol on their clothes while thinking, oh wait. They need me.
It took a while for him to register that thought. But when it did, his body froze all over, breath stuck in his throat, eyes open wide, muscles tense but his heart and pulse hammering against his rib cage as another thought hit him like a truck. Immidiately his instincts took over and he bolted, climbing up the next roof. Only then did he become fully aware of his actions. He should have known better than to leave their hideout without a clear head. He should have known better than to remain in the open space of the street for so long. He made the worst mistake. A mistake not even a novice could afford. He should have known better than to cast aside his hidden-blade just because he thought himself safe in their presence.
He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, adrenaline pumping through his veins, lungs burning, calves straining. Fear clawed at his insides like a hungry beast, making his feet go even faster. He took small alleyways, altering between climbing roofs and jumping down to round almost invisible corners. It was dark and the rain made it hard to see. His eagle vision was pointless when there were no people around but he still tried his luck only to be met with a small mass of red around the next corner he took. He gasped when he collided with said mass and was catapulted backwards onto the wet surface of the ground. How had they found him so quickly? How long had they followed him before he had noticed? He didn't waste much more time on these questions as he quickly got back onto his unsteady feet, too exhausted as the adrenaline already started to fade. Not yet.
"We have orders from Dr. Warren Vidic to bring you to Abstergo, Mr. Miles. Either cooperate or we will be forced to resort to drastic measures." came a gruffly, manly voice behind him, making him snap around. So there were three of them. This was bad, he didn't have the strength left to fight them off. They didn't look like weaklings, either.
"Doctor, huh? Where'd he get that title? Probably tortured some poor guy to get it." he laughed humorless while still panting heavily and warily eying all three Templars. "C'mon you can't be seriously loyal to that guy. I mean, he tortures people with a pokerface to get the entire world under his control so that guys like you are left a mindless, drooling mess."
"We ask you once more to either cooperate with us or we will be forced to resort to drastic measures." the same guy from before said, his voice telling Desmond that this was indeed the last warning he got. So reasoning doesn't work, huh.
'Let's see how much you taught me, Connor.' he encouraged himself innwardly before dodging the first strike he barely managed to avoid before the baton could collide with his jaw, swiftly grabbing onto the weapon while jabbing his elbow to the man's nose, making him stumble backwards and losen his grip on his weapon so Desmond could disarm him. Good, at least he had a weapon now. He dodged the next blow with a knife, ducking down in a swift motion, using the momentum to turn and sweep the second man off his legs, who unfortunately seemed to have pretty good reflexes as he caught himself quickly, taking his chance to land a hard kick on the Assassin's face. Desmond, however, ducked his head to the side in the last second, grabbing onto the Templar's leg, holding him in place while wrestling around the man's leg, grip tight on his foot and twisting it until he heard the sickening sound of bones breaking. The man remained on the ground, letting out a pained scream while Desmond tried to get back on his feet although not fast enough before a muscular arm snaked itself around his throat from behind, cutting off the air from reaching his lungs.
He tried desperately to get a tight grip on the man behind him but panic made him clumsy when his vision started to blacken from the lack off oxygen. He tried to calm himself, inwardly inhaling and exhaling deeply before he chanced one more grip over his head onto the man's back of his shoulder, holding tightly onto the drenched material of his white Abstergo uniform while one of his right leg drew back slightly to get between the man's legs and with all the strength the Assassin could muster, he swept his leg to the side, catching the other man's to sweep it off the ground enough for him to loose balance and by the tight grip he had on him over his shoulder hauled im over his shoulder until the Templar landed with a pained grunt on the dirty asphalt. Desmond didn't have time to catch his breath when he remembered that there had been three of them and not two so he quickly looked around, having slightly lost his orientation in the fight, but before his eyes could land on his third enemy, a loud sound exploded around them and time seemed to freeze for a minute before he noticed the pain that spread through his leg. He fell to his knees, looking down at the wound at his thigh. The warm blood oozing out was quickly washed away from the rain.
"You damn Assassins are way too fast. It's hard to aim, you know." the guy with the gun said accusingly with a voice that made it seem like this was all a game for him while still pointing the gun at him. He was fucked. He had no way of reaching him before the man would pull the trigger on him again. Desmond still knelt on the ground, panting as every muscle in his body screamed at him in pain while glaring at the Templar. From the corner of his eye he saw the other Templar get up from the ground as he recovered while the third one still lay there, holding his broken foot.
"Finally ready to accompany us?" the gunner asked with a twisted grin while the other man took hold of Desmond's wrists to trap them together on his back with cuffs. He hauled the American up from the ground mercilessly when said man hissed in pain as he put too much of his weight on his injured leg. They walked past the man with the gun, with the second guy right behind Desmond. Like this he had a chance to use the man leading him as a shield so when they were positioned just right Desmond knocked his head back to head-butt the man in the nose, making him stumble for a second, which the Assassin used to turn around and push the muscled guy in the stomach with his head, throwing off balance while using him as shield, like this he reached the other Templar before he had a chance to fire. Desmond ducked down just in time to dodge a bullet before he kicked one leg up against the gunner's wrist, making him drop the pistol. Desmond could mostly use his weight to hold his enemy off from reaching the gun again but he made one mistake.
He was so focused on the gunner that he forgot the two other Templars. One was still wailing on the ground but the one he had only knocked to the ground had already been up again and now with the gun in his hand, pointing at Desmond, who froze up for a second. The armed Templar didn't shoot but with two quick strides was towering over the ex-Bartender, looking down on him before the gun connected with the back of Desmond's head. His head spun and black dots danced around his vision while he fought to stay conscious with all his might. He couldn't stop now. If he stopped, they would take him back there again. If they got him now, then their mission would fail. They didn't have much time left anyway. But all the strength had already left his body. His lungs burned like they were on fire. His muscles were strained to the point he thought he might never be able to move again. Yes, the Bleeding Effect helped him considerably when fighting, but he still lacked the exercise, the stamina, the muscles. He had no chance. His vision completely blackened and the last thing he was aware of, was being lifted off the ground.
"Are you fucking stupid?" the accusing voice of the raven-haired woman startled the rest of the group. Rebecca rarely swore or got angry but he didn't hold it against her. He still regretted the words he threw back at Desmond when the only thing the ex-Bartender did was tease him a bit. He didn't know what possessed him to say those things. They had this relationship of teasing and insulting each other since the very beginning. The very first words they exchanged when they met were sassy remarks instead of a "Nice to meet you.". There were times when Shaun wanted nothing more than to punch the guy and he was sure that Desmond felt the same, but it was never this bad. And it was Shaun's fault, if he liked to admit it or not. He knew Desmond was gay. Not because he behaves overly gay or something like that, no. He just had a feeling and he was proven right when he noticed the longing glances Desmond sent Altair's statue that stood against the wall. He had no way of knowing how Desmond felt. It was a special case after all. They were dead and he had only known them through the Animus. It's not like they knew about him or something, did they? Desmond didn't talk much about what it was like being inside the Animus, reliving memories. He only ever shared the most important information, bottling his personal feelings up inside himself.
Well... they never asked, either.
"Earth to idiot Brit." Rebecca snapped her fingers in front of Shaun's face when he was lost in his thoughts. The woman stood in front of him, with her hands on her hips and furrowed brows. "If he ran into any trouble out there, it's your fault. What if Abstergo got him again?"
"Rebecca." Lucy put a hand on the raven-haired woman's shoulder to calm her down. "She's right though. I don't like to think about it but if Abstergo got him again then we have a problem. There's not much time left to prevent the sun-flare and if Abstergo found the 'key' before us..." the blonde trailed off, not even wanting to think about what could happen if they failed.
"I know already. What am I supposed to do though?" he already admitted that he acted stupid but there was nothing he could do now but wait until Altair and Ezio got back. The two Master Assassins had sprinted after the guy but not before throwing glances at Shaun that promised him great pain should anything happen to Desmond. They were so overly protective of him that Shaun wondered how Desmond could still not see how much they adored him. He had no idea how that happened and he didn't want to know, either, but at that moment when they were torn between killing Shaun first and then follow Desmond or following Desmond immediately, he noticed.
"When those two come back without Desmond, then we have to assume the worst and we need to get him back as soon as possible." Lucy's ordering tone left no room for arguments, not that anyone had anything to say against that plan.
Just then, the big wooden doors flew open and the crew's hope deflated when the only thing they saw were two completely drenched Master Assassins. One slowly shook his had and the trio didn't waste any time.
"Shaun, get the phone. I need to make a call."
Oh look! Shaun isn't such a bad guy after all. Well Desmond is in big trouble because of him and will suffer a lot of horrible pain in absolute despair but he at least regrets it? The next chapter might take a while as I'm having some trouble with certain scenes (no not what you're thinking, gosh!)