For the prompt: The Bleeding Effect is starting to take its toll on Desmond. Shaun comes up with a possible cure: use the Animus to let Desmond relive some of his own memories. Prompt link: http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/438.html?thread=1818038#cmt1818038
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It was after Desmond had jumped headfirst into the Sanctuary wall after suffering another bout of the bleeding effect that Shaun decided that something needed to be done. The screaming at night was bad enough, and they were starting to run out of bandages again for all the injuries Desmond kept inflicting on himself one way or another, through distraction or thinking he was being attacked by the ghosts in his head.
Desmond muttered something, his eyes downcast as Shaun eyed the wound on his forehead. There were a couple of stones embedded into his flesh, which were going to be a pain to get out (more for Desmond than him), but that wasn't the biggest problem.
"English, Desmond," he said primly, reaching for the wet cloth.
Desmond stared at him for a few seconds in incomprehension before wincing. "I – shit, sorry. I just…" Desmond trailed off, his shoulders hunching and he turned his head away. Well, he would have if Shaun hadn't pressed the cloth to the side of his head, making Desmond freeze, hissing.
"Hold still," Shaun griped, trying to clean as much of the blood away as he could at once. "The more you move, the longer this'll take."
Taking a deep breath, Desmond stilled himself; it didn't stop him from rambling though. "Sorry about the non-English thing – I don't even know what language I was just talking in there and… Shit." Desmond closed his eyes. "It's… It's getting worse," he admitted quietly.
"Yeah," Shaun said dryly, "we noticed." Desmond's hallucinations hadn't lasted for more than thirty seconds, but with each one, it was steadily creeping towards that point. They'd tried to cut down the amount of time Desmond spent in the Animus, but it didn't look like it had made any difference. They were slowly losing him.
Desmond let loose a weak chuckle. "That obvious, huh?"
Shaun squinted at Desmond's head; it looked like most of the grit was gone, at least. "Not really – the random Arabic, the Italian gestures, the butchering of the English language –though that could be all you for all I know- are little things, hardly noticeable."
Desmond stopped breathing for a second and Shaun peered at him in surprise. "You haven't realised," he said, his eyebrows rising. Which went hand-in-hand with what Desmond had been saying before. Well, damn.
"I – it's these memories," Desmond told him, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I can barely keep track of what's mine anymore. I'm remembering more about Ezio's life than my own and…" He hissed, his hand playing with the buckles of his hidden blade.
"Hm." Shaun cocked his head to the side as he started to peel the strips off the plaster. "Going over your own memories might help?"
Desmond glared at him. "You think I haven't tried?" He yelped when Shaun whacked his shoulder for moving out of the way of the plaster. "I've tried, all right? I try to remember what I used to do before all this, anything that has nothing to do with Italy or Masyaf, stuff that happened when I was bartending! No matter what, it just. Slips. Away." Desmond's shoulders were rigid, his knuckles white against the stairs, but then he slumped, sighing. "It's getting harder to remember any of it without something of Ezio's or Altaïr's coming up first," he said, his voice soft.
Shaun was quiet as he mulled over Desmond's words, the other man also going silent after his outburst. The problem was, it wasn't like they had a way to control what memories Desmond saw… Wait. "I can't believe we didn't think of this before!" Shaun exclaimed, starting to pace as his thoughts raced. "The solution is so simple but it should work with no complications whatsoever!"
"What're you talking about?" Desmond asked, watching him in confusion.
"You relive your own genetic memories in the Animus!"
Desmond stared at him, his jaw dropping open. "That – that could actually work."
"And the bleeding effect should actually help against losing your sense of self." It would ground him more, keeping his memories there.
The relieved laugh that spluttered out of Desmond just then made Shaun realise he hadn't actually heard Desmond laugh in the entire time they'd known each other.
* * *
Lucy had been a little hesitant when Shaun and Desmond had proposed their idea but she eventually acquiesced with a nod.
"Sooo, any particular year you want to remember?" Rebecca asked once Desmond was seated on the Animus.
"Surprise me."
"Heh. All right."
Once Desmond was in, Shaun wasn't sure if he should keep an eye on what was going on or do some other work. It wasn't as if Desmond was going to need any database entries and while Shaun was perfectly fine with spying on Desmond's ancestors, they had been dead for a handful of centuries; they weren't exactly going to mind.
Coming to a decision, Shaun started on working through his e-mails.
* * *
They eventually fell into a routine: every couple of days, Desmond would relive another part of his life: riding his motorcycle; life at the Farm; his bartender days; whatever showed up at the random roll of the wheel. And it clearly helped, the night terrors being kept at bay and Desmond spacing out less, looking a lot more relaxed and dare Shaun say it, happier. Desmond's synchronisation dipped a little bit as a result, but no-one counted that as a total loss.
Which was why it was such a big shock when one day, Desmond started thrashing in the Animus at the tail-end of a session, desyncing completely.
Desmond rolled off the Animus, apparently not caring about the hole he just ripped from the IV drip and as soon as he was on his feet, he was staring around wildly, backing away from them. He was seeing though, his eyes flicking between the three of them; it wasn't some more hallucinations. Except, he didn't appear to be recognising them.
"Who are you people?" he demanded, and there went Shaun's stomach. "What do you want from me?"
"Desmond! Desmond, it's okay, we're not going to hurt you," Lucy said as soothingly as she could while she approached him. Shaun could see how pale she was though; it wasn't surprising – he recognised those words too. They were an echo from the Abstergo security tapes when Desmond first woke up after being kidnapped.
Fill: Resynchronise
Prompt link: http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/438.html?thread=1818038#cmt1818038
It was after Desmond had jumped headfirst into the Sanctuary wall after suffering another bout of the bleeding effect that Shaun decided that something needed to be done. The screaming at night was bad enough, and they were starting to run out of bandages again for all the injuries Desmond kept inflicting on himself one way or another, through distraction or thinking he was being attacked by the ghosts in his head.
Desmond muttered something, his eyes downcast as Shaun eyed the wound on his forehead. There were a couple of stones embedded into his flesh, which were going to be a pain to get out (more for Desmond than him), but that wasn't the biggest problem.
"English, Desmond," he said primly, reaching for the wet cloth.
Desmond stared at him for a few seconds in incomprehension before wincing. "I – shit, sorry. I just…" Desmond trailed off, his shoulders hunching and he turned his head away. Well, he would have if Shaun hadn't pressed the cloth to the side of his head, making Desmond freeze, hissing.
"Hold still," Shaun griped, trying to clean as much of the blood away as he could at once. "The more you move, the longer this'll take."
Taking a deep breath, Desmond stilled himself; it didn't stop him from rambling though. "Sorry about the non-English thing – I don't even know what language I was just talking in there and… Shit." Desmond closed his eyes. "It's… It's getting worse," he admitted quietly.
"Yeah," Shaun said dryly, "we noticed." Desmond's hallucinations hadn't lasted for more than thirty seconds, but with each one, it was steadily creeping towards that point. They'd tried to cut down the amount of time Desmond spent in the Animus, but it didn't look like it had made any difference. They were slowly losing him.
Desmond let loose a weak chuckle. "That obvious, huh?"
Shaun squinted at Desmond's head; it looked like most of the grit was gone, at least. "Not really – the random Arabic, the Italian gestures, the butchering of the English language –though that could be all you for all I know- are little things, hardly noticeable."
Desmond stopped breathing for a second and Shaun peered at him in surprise. "You haven't realised," he said, his eyebrows rising. Which went hand-in-hand with what Desmond had been saying before. Well, damn.
"I – it's these memories," Desmond told him, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I can barely keep track of what's mine anymore. I'm remembering more about Ezio's life than my own and…" He hissed, his hand playing with the buckles of his hidden blade.
"Hm." Shaun cocked his head to the side as he started to peel the strips off the plaster. "Going over your own memories might help?"
Desmond glared at him. "You think I haven't tried?" He yelped when Shaun whacked his shoulder for moving out of the way of the plaster. "I've tried, all right? I try to remember what I used to do before all this, anything that has nothing to do with Italy or Masyaf, stuff that happened when I was bartending! No matter what, it just. Slips. Away." Desmond's shoulders were rigid, his knuckles white against the stairs, but then he slumped, sighing. "It's getting harder to remember any of it without something of Ezio's or Altaïr's coming up first," he said, his voice soft.
Shaun was quiet as he mulled over Desmond's words, the other man also going silent after his outburst. The problem was, it wasn't like they had a way to control what memories Desmond saw… Wait. "I can't believe we didn't think of this before!" Shaun exclaimed, starting to pace as his thoughts raced. "The solution is so simple but it should work with no complications whatsoever!"
"What're you talking about?" Desmond asked, watching him in confusion.
"You relive your own genetic memories in the Animus!"
Desmond stared at him, his jaw dropping open. "That – that could actually work."
"And the bleeding effect should actually help against losing your sense of self." It would ground him more, keeping his memories there.
The relieved laugh that spluttered out of Desmond just then made Shaun realise he hadn't actually heard Desmond laugh in the entire time they'd known each other.
Lucy had been a little hesitant when Shaun and Desmond had proposed their idea but she eventually acquiesced with a nod.
"Sooo, any particular year you want to remember?" Rebecca asked once Desmond was seated on the Animus.
"Surprise me."
"Heh. All right."
Once Desmond was in, Shaun wasn't sure if he should keep an eye on what was going on or do some other work. It wasn't as if Desmond was going to need any database entries and while Shaun was perfectly fine with spying on Desmond's ancestors, they had been dead for a handful of centuries; they weren't exactly going to mind.
Coming to a decision, Shaun started on working through his e-mails.
They eventually fell into a routine: every couple of days, Desmond would relive another part of his life: riding his motorcycle; life at the Farm; his bartender days; whatever showed up at the random roll of the wheel. And it clearly helped, the night terrors being kept at bay and Desmond spacing out less, looking a lot more relaxed and dare Shaun say it, happier. Desmond's synchronisation dipped a little bit as a result, but no-one counted that as a total loss.
Which was why it was such a big shock when one day, Desmond started thrashing in the Animus at the tail-end of a session, desyncing completely.
Desmond rolled off the Animus, apparently not caring about the hole he just ripped from the IV drip and as soon as he was on his feet, he was staring around wildly, backing away from them. He was seeing though, his eyes flicking between the three of them; it wasn't some more hallucinations. Except, he didn't appear to be recognising them.
"Who are you people?" he demanded, and there went Shaun's stomach. "What do you want from me?"
"Desmond! Desmond, it's okay, we're not going to hurt you," Lucy said as soothingly as she could while she approached him. Shaun could see how pale she was though; it wasn't surprising – he recognised those words too. They were an echo from the Abstergo security tapes when Desmond first woke up after being kidnapped.
Bugger.