The... last chapter. Wow. To be honest, this is my first ever completed long fic from start to finish.

Massive thank you to my bestie, my sister from another mister, my rock redhairedmuses for not only betaing and helping me write fight scenes but for always being there. She has a Jacob/OC story aut inveniam viam aut faciam, set in a steampunk version of Victorian London! Go check it out when you get the chance :)

But honestly, a million thanks would never be enough to express just how appreciative I am that you, my amazing readers, are here with me about to read this, honestly. Each and every single one of you has made this journey a fantastic emotional roller coaster. I appreciate every single comment, kudo, bookmark, and sub. I am humbled by the amount of support and love y'all have given me for the last eight years in trying to wrangle a wild Save Federico! AU into readability.

So it was only fitting that I would post the very last chapter on the day I created this red-streaked menace. Nine years ago, I made Tristan on a whim, and since then the amount of love and adoration towards my precious Trish has left me in such wordless awe. You guys are amazing and wonderful. And since it's my birthday this Friday too, I figured it's our combined gift to you :)

So, what next?

For starters, gonna take a break from writing. Go game more often. Plus work on other mini projects I've been putting off. But I hope to have some chapters done for Book II, starting either late this year, or early next year. Dunno, but I do hope to do things differently since it's probably going to be twice the size, and twice the stakes. So I don't wanna pants it too much ya know?

To each and everyone, whether you were here from the start or started recently, from the bottom of my HEART:

THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH.

And may you enjoy this last chapter of Justitia


~*Epilogue*~

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)


December 10, 2012

He—well, more like Ezio—dreamed of his brother again.

As far as Desmond Miles knew, he had been an only child. The unknowing son of Assassins, living it up in a glorified South Dakota cult compound called The Farm. Despite all that, every time his ancestor remembered his older brother, a deep-seated adoration wedged itself in Desmond's chest. A love and respect that had no name that he hadn't known in real life. And it hurt knowing that the man's life had been snuffed out too soon.

It had been one of Ezio's greatest regrets in life, and even up into his old age before the birth of his daughter, he thought of Federico constantly, wondering what he would have become, and grieving at it having been stolen.

When Claudia had named his first nephew after their sibling, there was pride, joy, but also an immense sadness. At that point, ten years had come and gone, and the idea of their father never meeting their first grandson had left an acidic taste in his mouth. And yet, over the years, Ezio found satisfaction that the young Federico became a man and an Assassin who his namesake would have been proud of.

And then there was Yusuf in Istanbul. A skilled master assassin in his own right who embodied the same lazy smile and charm his brother had once embodied. It had been like a wound reopened and scraped through until it was raw and throbbing when Ezio found him dead with a knife in the back.

It hadn't been fair.

Correction: it wasn't fair.

Why were the ones he cherished the most taken from him?

With the ones responsible dealt with and lying in nameless graves, he grieved much that night.

Just like that first night all those years ago.

So it was in his dreams that gave Ezio a reprieve. A way to be with his family and friends once more, living in a peaceful ignorant innocence.

Yet, Desmond reflected this dream differed from the others. Most times, it would be of running through the russet and creme colors of Florence, never being able to quite catch his brother. He would always hear Federico's laugh in his ears upon waking up. But this one... this one landed him in the middle of Monteriggioni's training ring. In his hand, he held a dulled sword, and every time he pulled up his foot, a puff of dirt would follow. Across from him, in a comfortable yet still defensive position, Federico had changed little from the last time Des—Ezio had seen him. Only now having more stubble and adorned in the same training attire the rest of Mario's men wore—no doubt a figment of imagination on Ezio's part. A startling image of what Federico should have looked like if everything hadn't gone to Hell in a handbasket. Desmond always mulled over what it would have been like if he had survived and became a full-fledged member of the Brotherhood. He supposed this was the closest he and Ezio were going to get.

Federico struck like a serpent, his sword going over head and Ezio narrowly staved off the strike, scowling. "That was a low blow."

"No," he feinted left and when Ezio barely caught the resulting uppercut, Federico aimed a kick between his legs, smirking as his brother narrowly dodged it. "This is."

The taunting tone of his brother's voice only fueled Ezio's next barrage of attacks. After decades of riding shotgun, it was a shock to witness how pitifully wide and sloppy they were. Easy to avoid and parry. And easier still, to step in, take advantage of his open side and disarm him. Their swords met again. Federico pushed down, likely to attempt to force him to a knee, but he refused to budge. He would not fall to his brother like this.

Ezio tightened his grip on his sword and with all his might shoved hard, forcing Federico to slide back in the dirt. He twisted his wrist and swung but his brother skirted out of the way.

"Careful!" Federico sing-songed. "You are leaving yourself open to attack."

Ezio spun, unaware of Federico's fast approach. Without warning, his brother went low again, this time succeeding as he swept Ezio off his feet. The air left his—Ezio's—lungs as he hit the ground with a heavy thump. Federico put a foot to Ezio's hand, pinning it and poked his brother's chest with the sword repeatedly, smirking in triumph. "And now, dear brother, you're dead."

Ezio scowled again, slapping the wooden sword out of his face with little effort. "Get your foot off me!" he bit out with gritted teeth.

Grinning, Federico traded his sword for a hand and pulled him to his feet, dusting him off.

"You did good, but you're too slow." He playfully rubbed at Ezio's hair before wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him towards the arena's rink. "Still a tortuga I'm afraid, baby brother."

Mario was in the dream too, standing behind the railings with his arms crossed over that leather cuirass he had been so fond of when training his men. He also carried that air of disappointment (Ezio) Desmond became so familiar with. He had been glad the Animus had fast-tracked through most of the training years. Else he probably would have been haunted by it, both in his sleep and waking hours.

"You're improving, I'll give you that." He slapped a hand on Ezio's shoulder, his stern mask slipping a bit. "But, nipote, you move like a rooted tree. Next time mind your footwork and keep those swings of yours close. Others won't be as kind as your brother here."

Ezio passed his training weapon along, stifling a disappointed sigh and the urge to aim a kick at his passing brother, who made a face of mockery. "Yes, Uncle."

"And Federico," Mario barked. causing the man to freeze mid-step. "Humble yourself. You are a skilled swordsman, but gloating will get you killed."

The sheepish affirmation made Mario jerk his head in approval. He turned around to face the group of his gathered men, his voice booming over their heads. "Tristan! Giancarlo! You two are up next. And this time, I wish to see more aggression on your end. If you cannot find an opportunity to strike, make one."

The men nearest to Ezio shuffled from foot to foot, murmuring in low voices. They appeared uncomfortable, while others looked downright disapproving of it all. Desmond wondered why, when from out of the group a woman dressed in men's clothes appeared.

Wait, since when did Mario have women in his ranks? Or no, this had to still be a dream, and was probably just a woman of Ezio's past. Desmond read about the phenomenon from a book somewhere.

She had dark hair pulled back tight in a high ponytail, with her knuckles wrapped. She clutched at the training sword looking uneasy and yet hopped the rail with brief hesitation, already adopting a stiff position.

"I bet a day's wage she won't even last a full minute this time," one man muttered, with a couple of his compatriots nodding along.

Federico, having joined his brother against the rail, immediately turned to face them, his expression unreadable. "And which one of you tripped over his sword, hmm?" His eyes fixed on a stout man, who began reddening in the face. "Wasn't it you, Vincenzo? Perhaps I should double that wager and say she lasts longer than any of you."

Desmond woke up bleary-eyed before he could hear the response, and it took a few minutes for his brain to settle back to reality. No longer in Monteriggioni, but back in a cave surrounded by relics of a civilization still fucking with them from beyond the grave.

He sat up in his cot, rubbing the crusties out of his eyes as he groaned, the last image imprinted on the back of his lids.

What the fuck had that been about?

That had to have been the strangest dream he ever witnessed, but the weirdest part? Beyond an undead brother kicking back and living rent-free in his head. The woman's hair had bright red streaks in them. He rubbed at his face, shaking his head. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

"Morning Des," Rebecca cheerfully greeted from under the Animus, a bundle of wires in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

It was one of the rare moments of downtime for them (for him mostly). Much to Bill's chagrin, Rebecca insisted on tune-ups every few days to ensure "Baby" was running at her best. Desmond would often wisely use this time to volunteer for the errands, just to stretch his legs and see some (real) sunlight for once, but since a winter storm was trampling around outside, he enjoyed the idea more of sitting back and cherishing a cup of hot coffee while Rebecca's Bluetooth speaker quietly played classics. "I see the bad moon a-risin'-"

Shaun's newspaper dipped, giving a glimpse of his frown. He too was taking this opportunity to give his eyes a rest. He had been poring over Hamilton and Jay's writings for the last three days. In fact, Desmond was surprised he hadn't gone cross-eyed. "I say Becks, a little on the nose with all of this end-of-the-world business, don't you think?"

Without looking away from the Animus, she brandished a screwdriver in his direction. "Oh no, remember the golden rule: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole," she warned."Today is my day to be DJ. Besides, your right to criticize was revoked ever since you tried and played that... whatever it was last week."

"Are you really quoting Supernatural at me? I still cannot believe you would lower yourself in watching such drivel. Even naming the Animus, 'Baby,' after it." Shaun sniffed, muttering under his breath as he grabbed a pencil and went to work on last week's crossword puzzle. "And it's Aaron Copland! Not my fault you heathens can't appreciate the sounds of a good piano."

"Funny," Rebecca paused in her work to throw a devilish smirk over her shoulder. "I don't remember ever mentioning what the car's name was."

Shaun hastily ducked his head, cheeks now a bright cherry red. Desmond chucked under his breath, swinging back around to the laptop with a shake of his head. Those two seriously needed to get a room.

He logged on, sitting back comfortably as the loading screen did its thing. Desmond wasn't one hundred percent sure why he checked his emails on a near-daily basis. It wasn't like he had any friends who knew this address, and the ones he considered his closest amongst the remaining groups of Assassins were in this very room attempting to stop the end of the world. Still, it was... nice to pretend.

That was until he saw the all-too-familiar caps and random numbers appear in his inbox, and he became reminded that the word "normalcy" wasn't a word listed in his dictionary.

Juno had been nothing but trouble since Rome and settling into the Grand Temple had been no different. In fact, since the first day, she had been a thorn in their sides, spitting cryptic garble and barely veiled threats all in the same breath as she glared at them from the corners of this ethereal graveyard. Rebecca had already updated the proper security firmware to combat the cyberattacks, but it was only a matter of time until it—she happened again. If she had told him how Juno slid into their private Hephaestus server, it had slipped into one ear and made a hasty retreat out the other between the technical mumbo-jumbo. And truth be told—between intermittent sleep, grocery shopping, their hasty field trip to Brazil, and running around 18th Century Colonial America to find some goddamn key, he neither had the time nor mental space to worry about it.

"What do you want now?" Desmond sighed with exasperation, cupping a cheek as he clicked on the first email.

"Y0UR SACR3D VOICE HAS G0NE TO0 FAR WITH HER CALCULATIONS. EVERYTHING IS AT RISK. Y0U ARE AT RISK. ALREADY FORGETTING WHAT MUST BE REMEMBERED."

Bemused, he moved it into the trash and clicked on the next one.

"A CLOCK HAS BEEN STRUCK DOWN, AND YET THE PENDULUM STILL SWINGS. SHE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT POWER SHE POSSESSES IN HER HANDS."

Click.

"THE PROPHET'S MESSAGE HOLDS THAT OF OUR SALVATION, BUT IT IS THE VIATOR WHO MUST ENSURE THESE TRUTHS TO BE DELIVERED—OR ELSE FACE THE FIRES OF OUR DESTRUCTION.

OR SO SHE CLAIMS.

IS THE PROPHET THE PROPHET WHEN THERE IS NO WITNESS TO BEHOLD HIM?

THE VIAT0R IS NOT WHO SHE THINKS. NOTHING BUT A LOOSE THREAD THE NORNS HAVE DISCARDED. TO PULL AT AND UNDO EVERYTHING WE HAVE BUILT FOR YOU TO SURVIVE."

They raged on and on, spitting typical Isu nonsense. All Desmond could do was sigh and delete them one by one. First the weird dreams, now this? If he wasn't so afraid of jinxing them, he'd ask what else could go topsy-turvy. As if on cue, the Apple flared on its pedestal and he turned to glare at it, snapping, "Not you too."

It too had been finicky as of late. Without warning, it would do, well, that, briefly lighting up before becoming dormant once more. Shaun theorized that using it to open the Temple had done something to it, but Desmond wasn't too sure. It had only recently started, and the trend was becoming an increasingly alarming one. A sense of unease crept into the back of his mind as he watched it, no doubt remnants of his time with Ezio's memories. He had never trusted it, and more than once he had been tempted to toss it into the River Tiber, but something (someone) had always stopped him from doing so.

Desmond winced as another piercing headache struck, gnawing at the back of his skull, and he averted his gaze. He clenched his jaw, breathing deep. You are Desmond, not Ezio. He reached for his cup of coffee. It was only when he brought it to his lips did he realize it had been empty. Damn, the dispenser was on the other side of the cave.

Luckily, another cup of coffee, still piping hot, was set in front of him. He glanced up just in time for Lucy to drop off a pink box in the middle of the foldable table, a bearclaw clamped between her teeth. His wordless toast was rewarded with a muffled note of acknowledgement before she slipped out of her jacket. "Got us a treat on the way back," she announced, flipping the lid open, showcasing a dozen beautiful looking doughnuts. "And sorry Shaun, they were all out of lemon cremes."

"Ah, bloody Hell. Every time—" The man grumbled, rummaging around until he pulled out a pink-frosted doughnut, and sat back down, pouting. Desmond snagged one of the maple bars as Lucy paused the speaker, reaching over to turn on their little TV. "Gimme one sec, just gonna check the weather. It's getting really nasty out there."

Of course, a Winter Storm Warning was in effect, so it appeared they were going to be stuck here until it cleared up again.

Joy.

"In other breaking news, Rochester resident Dr. Robert Harlow, an accredited expert in theoretical physics, has been reported missing by his family. He was last seen leaving Abstergo Industries on Monday, December 4th..." Lucy immediately turned it off, her face drawn up as if she had bitten into something sour.

"Rochester? That's... what, a two-hour drive from here?"

Silence.

Desmond swallowed thickly, the doughnut sinking like a stone in his gut. Someone, probably Rebecca, resumed the music, notably turning it up louder to give them some privacy. "Think Abstergo knows we're here?" he murmured as Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon began to play.

"Doubt it." Lucy did a poor job hiding her grimace as she cradled her coffee. "But knowing our luck, they could knock on our door any day now. Just to be safe, I'll pull a favor and have someone investigate it. Gavin may still be in the area."

She turned to look at him, her lips pursing as her eyes scanned him. "Are you sleeping alright? You look... tired." Judging by the long pause, 'tired' hadn't been the word she wanted to use.

Desmond shrugged it off. "As well as you'd expect being plagued by whatever weird thing your ancestors want to show you at the moment."

Lucy drew her brows in sympathy, nibbling at her second doughnut, this time some kind of jelly filled. He indicated at her chin when some of it dribbled.

She made a face as she wiped it off. "Connor?"

"I wish." His fingers twitched around the coffee cup, the ghostly feeling of a taut bowstring brushing their tips. "It's Ezio. He's been more active the last few nights. He must really miss his brother a lot, and..." He trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as he remembered the last thing he saw. Red streaks.

"Hey, uh, Shaun?" He half-turned in his seat. "Weird question, but did women dye streaks in their hair during the Renaissance?"

Shaun adopted a pensive look, pinching the pencil in his hands as he leaned back in his seat. "I know bleaching was a thing. They'd coat their hair in all manner of things in hopes of making their hair lighter. Sometimes they would even wear special hats and sit out in the sun for hours. But I can't ever recall reading records about streaked hair. Not to say it couldn't be a thing, but the odds are unlikely."

He adjusted his glasses, adopting a frown. "Why the sudden interest in women's fashion, Desmond?"

"Just wondering." He took a sip of his coffee, doing his best to ignore Lucy and Shaun's sudden interest in him.

The rest of Rebecca's maintenance took off without a hitch, and he was soon back in Boston. No word from Bill, yet. They knew he had landed in Cairo without issue, but beyond that, radio silence. Desmond wasn't surprised.

After a non-eventful day, another dream beckoned him that night. This time it wasn't the mercenaries' training ring, but rather a familiar roof that Ezio leapt off, hitting the next one running. Desmond mused it must be Assassin training. These sessions had always been a blur for him because of the Animus skipping by, but for Ezio it had been a focal point, a way to sharpen his reflexes and become stronger; faster. He raced across the rooftops of Monteriggioni, an intent in mind, but in this instant he wasn't alone. No, he was chasing someone. His—Ezio's— heart raced to the beat of his feet against the roof tiles, and when he scrabbled the wall the figure just disappeared over, he felt the morning heat of the stones on the tips of his fingers.

This isn't right. Something whispered, a muffled klaxon blaring as the figure prematurely waved a red cloth in triumph, only to yelp as she tripped forward, dropping it. Ezio snatched it before it even hit the ground. Dreams shouldn't feel this real.

"Dude!" the woman half-hissed, half groaned, grinding the palms of her hands into her eyes as she caught up only to flop backwards. "I was so so close."

Federico dropped down next to them, giving a congratulatory nod to Ezio before looking down at her, a sly smile slipping as he set his hands on his hips. "You'll get it next time. Once you remember where to put your feet, and not to look behind."

She gave him the bird. "Oh suck a dick, pendejo."

Desmond woke up uneasy not long after, a pressure building in his chest. And it was definitely not a good sign when he awoke to a graygrey world. This doesn't... feel right. But he pushed it down, sliding back into the Animus.

He... He doesn't remember much from that session as he crashed into his bed that night.

"I... I need to see Ezio again." Desmond blurted the next morning, after another visceral 'dream' that left him shaken.

Predictably, all eyes looked on in surprise.

"I know, I know," he rambled before they could comment. "This is… shit, I'm going to sound insane, but lately I've been getting... dreams. Which I realize isn't uncommon with the Bleeding Effect, but these aren't like the normal ones. These feel too real. They're... I can't describe them. But they feel like something has changed."

"Is... it possible we're having an Inception moment?" Shaun suggested, lazily swirling his cup of coffee in thought. "Like, an, uh, dream within a dream? It's happened before for you, right?"

"Yeah, but this doesn't feel like that. It's..." Truth be told, attempting to form words for the myriad of emotions and sensations that passed the last three days was akin to walking on water in the middle of a raging flood.

Desmond had to force himself to stay sitting, but his leg bounced up and down as he spread his arms wide. "Look, you gotta believe me here. I know we're on a tight schedule, but I know we need to see this." His eyes landed on Lucy, pleading. Begging. Please. He didn't want them asking why. What could he tell them without sounding insane? Ah, yes. 'Hi, my long-dead ancestor living in my blood is hammering inside my head again. His dead brother is there. And now there's a woman running around who says "Dude".'

Right; even he had a hard time believing it, and yet deep in his chest, he knew. Between the Bleeding Effect and its nightmares of voices in the dark, there was something horribly wrong happening, and it had somethingno, everything to do with Ezio.

Lucy shifted from one foot to the other as all eyes switched to her. Two months had gone by, and they were still on shaky ground. In fact, Desmond had been surprised Bill showed restraint when her allegiances had been revealed in that wretched Vault. But the stakes were too high to cross that line. Fuck the Apple, she had spat with her head high. Fuck Abstergo, the Templars, and Vidic's satellite to Hell and back.

So a shaky accord was struck, and for now, no one else but them knew. They'll settle it after everything else is taken care of. Rebecca and Shaun both minced their words often around her. And even he, Desmond, who had stopped Juno from trying to kill her, had apprehension.

And yet, here they were. With Bill gone, they looked up to her for she was the closest thing they had to a... well, a Bureau Leader, he mused. He may supposedly be the 'Savior' of them all, but it was Lucy that kept them going.

"...Okay," Lucy softly said after a long pause. "If you think it's something worth looking into, I trust you. I think we're ahead of schedule with Connor, anyway." She made a nod to Rebecca, who immediately went to work, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to jump back in, anyway, with your ancestor's memories already being stored in Baby's backups and all, but there's like decades' worth of data here." The chair creaked as she swung back around, hands landing on her knees. "So, I'm going to need something a little more specific to make this work. Are we looking for something in particular? A certain time frame? A particular age to narrow this down?"

The answer came to him immediately in that of a hushed Florentine murmur. Another wave of pain came with it, causing bright lights to dance across his eyes. He rubbed at them, shuddering a breath "I'll do you one better," he gritted his teeth against the pain, making an active attempt not to slip into 15th Century Italian. "I can give you a date: March 18, 1477."

Rebecca, having not expected an answer so quickly, blinked. "That works," she said aloud, twirling in her chair before hunching over. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the proper parameters before pressing the enter key with a satisfactory smack. After a few seconds of loading, the memory's data began to play and Desmond immediately knew what they saw, for Rebecca froze in her seat with Shaun and Lucy hovering over her shoulder, whispering in hushed voices.

"Is that―"

"How?"

Desmond's feet had concrete blocks attached to them as he got closer. A part of him didn't want to look, didn't want to face the reality. And yet, he knew he had to. He had to see it for himself—not in his head like a broken record player, but here physically where others could see. So he can point and say: "Look! I'm not crazy!"

He swallowed thickly, stopping just shy of the trio, and over Lucy's shoulder, he got a long hard look at the most recent "dream" that had visited him in his sleep.

Ezio was seated at a table, a half-full tankard of ale in front of him he occasionally drank from as the night went on. Across from him were two figures: amicably talking, their drinks forgotten. In the candlelight, the man had the shadow of a full beard now, and his hair was longer; much longer than it had been at the gallows. His eyes would often flick to Ezio, and Desmond sucked in a breath, for they weren't cold and dead, but brown and very much alive as he rolled them smiling.

As if reading his mind, he heard Rebecca blurt out, "Is that Ezio's fucking brother?"

"Federico," he murmured aloud in equal parts confirmation and trepidation, for Desmond now knew that they had not been dreams in the slightest. No, they had been memories. And if they were memories—Ezio's memories—then that meant...

Holy. Shit. With abated breath, Desmond stepped closer to get a good hard look at the other person, despite knowing exactly who she was.

The first thing that caught his attention was her dark hair draped over her shoulder in a braid.

And it was streaked with red.


~*END OF BOOK I*~