Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft

Haytham woke with a start. The nightmare had been rather vivid, and when he closed his eyes he still saw images of it. He shuddered, before slipping out of bed and padding across the room out into the hall and into his father's room; Edward's soft snores and darkness greeted Haytham. Glancing at his watch, which read 4:15 am, Haytham judged his father got home about an hour ago, maybe two hours ago. Tiptoeing softly, Haytham crawled onto the bed and wormed his way up close to his father. Edward snorted in his sleep.

"Haytham?" Edward asked sleepily, one eye open.

"I had a nightmare," the boy asked, "can I stay with you?"

"Huh? Sure… yeah, yeah," Edward mumbled, draping his arm over Haytham and pulling his son close. "Close yar eyes…" Edward was snoring again. Haytham felt his lips twitch in a small smile as he snuggled closer to his father. His eyes drooped only to snap open when he remembered the date, March 10th. He'll have to do something nice for his father.

I know! I'll make blueberry pancakes and a cake for Father and give him breakfast in bed! Haytham thought. Glad he had a plan; he went to sleep.

Haytham woke up again around eight. His father was asleep on his stomach, limbs akimbo, and drool oozing down the corner of Edward's mouth onto his pillow. Haytham knew his father would sleep for a few more hours, which gave Haytham plenty of time to make pancakes and a cake.

Slipping out of bed, Haytham tiptoed back to his room, dressed in his rattiest clothes before heading the kitchen. He ate a quick breakfast of cereal and orange juice before pushing his step stool up to the counter. "Right… pancakes," Haytham muttered, having no idea how to make pancakes. "I'll start the cake!" he decided, and got out a big glass bowl. He knew that cakes had milk, eggs, flour, and sugar, remembering how his father tried to pass off giving him cake for dinner as healthy. Aunt Mary had tanned his father's hide because of that.

Haytham hopped off his stool and rummaged around in the cupboards looking for flour and sugar. He found a large unopened bag of flour and a five pound unopened bag of sugar. "Crap," he muttered, "I thought we had opened ones?" Haytham sighed, rubbing his forehead, and pushing his hair behind his ear, having forgotten to tie it back. He cut open the bags of flour and sugar and took a large measuring cup, filled it up with flour and dumped it in the bowl. He did the same with the sugar, only filling the cup half full adding that to the flour.

"Now, milk and eggs," Haytham chirped, glancing over his shoulder towards his father's bedroom to make sure he was still sleep. Nothing. Coast was still clear. Grinning, Haytham pulled the milk out of the fridge, took off the cap and trotted across the kitchen, milk sloshing out and onto the floor. "Oh… oops," he muttered as he set the milk onto the counter before getting onto his step stool. He poured milk in until the flour and sugar was submerged, then he put the milk back into the fridge, sloshing more and got eggs.

Haytham wasn't every good at cracking eggs. He dropped a couple onto the floor, stepped in one, leaving yoke footprints around the kitchen, even bits of shell got into the batter. No matter, Haytham was determined to make this cake. He got the a wooden spoon, after putting in half a dozen eggs and began to stir, milk and egg sloshing over the edge onto the counter top. Another thing he'd have to clean up.

Being seven his arms got tired rather quickly, so he set the wooden spoon onto the counter and went in search of the electric handheld whisk. He found it after rummaging as quietly as he could through the cupboards. It took a few frustrating minutes to put the brace of whisks into the machine, but he managed. He plugged it in and stuck the two metal whisks into the batter, held the handle with both hands and with his right thumb pressed the on button.

The electrical whisk whirled into life, sending vibrations up Haytham's spindly seven-year-old arms and causing the bowl to shudder in whatever direction Haytham oved the whisk. The batter was slowly become a thick beige gloppy substance, bubbles popping up every now and then.

The whisk shuddered, dangerously close to the side of the bowl. "Uh-huh," Haytham muttered trying to move the machine back into the center, where he had slightly better control. The batter was too thick by this point to do it effective and Haytham's child arms weren't strong enough. The whisk hit the side of the bowl. Haytham lost control, dropping the electrical whisk, which clattered against the bowl and sent the bowl spinning away. It crashed, batter going everywhere, and causing Haytham to jump in fright, falling off his stool, the electrical whisk still whizzing angrily on the counter top.

Batter was everywhere, even on Haytham, but most ended up on the floor and cupboards, a few globs found home on the ceiling. He had only felt really crummy in his entire life twice. The first time was when his friends refused to play with him for an entire week since he didn't invite them to his birthday party. He had since made up with them, Charles even joining their club officially. But he had moped around the playground; sometimes Ziio would follow him, throwing pebbles at his head, for the entire week. She told him the following Monday that they changed their mind and were willing to accept his apology. Haytham had a sneaking suspicious that she threatened to beat them up if they didn't, but he couldn't prove it.

The second time was right now. "Haytham…." Edward asked. Yep. Haytham thought, this is the number one worst moment of my life.

Edward had rushed out after hearing a scream and the sound of breaking glass. He ran to the kitchen and stared at the culinary warzone, his son at the epicenter. Batter, he assumed it was batter, was everywhere, hunks of broken glass in every corner, the electric whisk whizzing angrily on the counter top. Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jaysus, Mary and Joseph," Edward muttered. He rubbed his face with both hands. "Haytham, what the hell did you do?"

Normally on Saturdays, Haytham would eat breakfast while watching cartoons. Not attempt to bake. Edward stared at his son, who couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm waiting for an answer young man," Edward said, arms over his chest. "Well?"

Haytham raised his head slowly, swallowed a few times before taking a deep breath. "H-Happ—" he couldn't finished, instead bursting into tears.

"Haytham," Edward sighed, and picked his way towards his son and pulled the boy into a hug. "Haytham, it's alright, I'm not that mad. Nothing we can't fixed."

"I'm sorry Father, I'm sorry!" Haytham sobbed, clinging to his father's stained white T-shirt.

"Hey, calm down sea urchin," Edward said, pushing his son away so he could look into his face. "I'm not mad. I'm just… concerned. You aren't hurt are you?"

"No. I just…" Haytham sniffed, rubbing away his tears. "I just wanted you to be happy, that's all."

Edward leaned back as if Haytham just slapped him. "Happy? Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Dunno," Haytham muttered, staring at the batter on the floor. "I mean… I don't have a present for you and I… uh… wanted to do something nice… so…" Haytham hung his head. "I tried making a cake."

Edward stared at his son for several long moments as he processed the information. He glanced at the calendar; saw today's date and his eyes widened. Today was his birthday. He totally forgot today was his birthday!

"I wanted to include pancakes and let you eat them in bed and—"

"Haytham," Edward said, "thank you. I appreciate it but you don't have to get me anything."

"I… I don't?" Haytham frowned.

"No. You already got me the greatest birthday gift in the world," Edward said.

"I did? How?"

Edward chuckled and poked his son's cheek. Haytham smiled. "Your smile," Edward said. Haytham's smile widened into a grin as his father hugged him. "C'mon, let's get this mess cleaned up and we'll go to Denny's for breakfast. Áddie and the boss at the bar were nice to me and gave me the day off. So we can do whatever you want. Sound good?"

Haytham nodded.

That night, Edward and Thatch sat around the kitchen table, drinking beer. Haytham was there too, but fast sleep, the extra chair supporting his feet while he rested his head on Edward's lap. "Thanks for coming, Blackie," Edward whispered, hand on his son's shoulder. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Haytham's chest.

"What are friends for," Thatch grumbled. "Happy birthday, Kenway." A sucking sounded filled the silence and something water and gooey landed on Thatch's forehead. "Kenway, what the hell is on my forehead?"

Edward hid his chuckle by sipping his beer. "Cake batter, curtesy of Haytham."

"Aah, fuck."

Lame ending is lame. I'm posting this quickly cause it's time to eat.

Time to go Edward!

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