asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.

✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.

✩ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.

✩ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.

✩ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.

✩ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.

✩ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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(I've been going through the past memes and I saw this and I literally screamed when I read i because reincarnation fics are my absolute favorite thing ever so reposting it in hopes it will be filled...)

--------------------

So with The Secret Crusade taken into account, Altair and Malik are reincarnated into the 21st century with the same names, same appearance and personality, but they don’t know each other. All throughout their lives they’ve had little hints, the occasional weird dream, and déjà vu about their past life as Assassins, though it never really bothers them until one day when they run into each other on the streets or at a café or whatever, and get hit with an unexplainable feeling of recognition (and what they think is shallow attraction).

Cue confusion, being scarily familiar with each other, and the both of them trying to piece together some kind of closure from their 12th century memories – since Malik never got to find out what happened to the Order and Masyaf, and Altair had to live with the guilt of leaving Malik to die.

Also hundreds of years worth of frantic and bewildered I-don’t-know-you-but-I-miss-you sex would be cool too, but not necessary, lol.

thank you! -u-

This needs to be filled. I'll do it!

First chapter is done... it's going to be three parts, I'll post everything in one go once it's done. So maybe around sunday.

Damn, talk about coincidence. I just finished writing the prologue for a fill to this. I don't know how multiple fills work for kink memes, but I definitely don't want to post anything without first writer!anon's consent! ;w; So does writer!anon mind if I fill this alongside you?

No ho ahead ;) As it seems this thing has developer a far bigger plot than I had planned XD

Ah, alright, thank you fellow writer!anon! I saw you just posted yours and I'm eager to read it asdfghjkl; I can't wait to see how different our fills will be despite using the same idea (hey, it's like they say, great minds think alike! 8D /shot)

Captcha: The name of William is?

WILLIAM JOHNSON, STOP HACKING THE KM.

Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again

Altair fell.

Wind was ripping at his clothes as he rushed towards earth and for a moment he thought he wouldn't make it, couldn't make – it was impossible for a man to survive such a fall and the cold grip of fear closed around his heart, crushing it in a merciless tight fist and it was hard to suck the air in, to breath as panic crawled slowly across his soul like a spider. He closed his eyes, preparing for the impact to come but it never did, his fall never stopped and maybe, that was the worst feeling.

He woke with a silent scream on his lips. The bedsheets were tangled around his legs, sweat clinging to his skin like the memory of the spider climbing up his spine. Altair sat up, breathing heavily and running his fingers through his sweat-soaked her, his heart beating wildly.

Shit.

It happened more often now. These dreams in which he fell towards earth with the scream of an eagle tearing through the sky and seconds before he would hit the ground he'd wake up, confused and afraid. He always thought he would die but the impact never came as he always woke up before his body would be crushed. He hated nights like these, absolutely hated them. He could hardly find sleep again once he was up, so Altair swung his legs over the bed's edge and sat up, elbows resting on his knees and he rubbed his face with both his hands, swallowing heavily. He glanced at the small digital clock on his nightstand. The big red numbers told him it was just shortly after 4 am. Great... one more hour and he would have to get up anyway.

Altair straightened his back, his head rolling to one side to the other and his bones popped back into place with a loud crack while he stood up, heading for his bathroom first to take a piss and then walking towards the kitchen. He pulled out a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it with water, gulping everything down in one go. He gripped the counter's edges and his head hung low between his shoulders as the moon's light fell in silver waves through his window, creating large shadows crawling across the walls.

The dreams had gotten worse.

They came more often.

They felt more real.

This time he could actually feel the wind, could smell the desert and feel the sun's heat on his skin, taste the dirt... He shuddered, goosebumps spreading down his arms and spine and he pushed himself off the counter, sighing deeply once more. At least it was this dream and not... one of the other ones as he felt even worse after waking up from them, feeling guilty and ashamed, sometimes dirty too.

He made up his mind then and grabbed everything to get his coffeemaker to work and once the water run through the filter he went for a shower. The cold water helped him to sort his thoughts, to bring him back into reality as he could still hear the eagle's cry echoing inside his head. It hasn't been always like that, well, at least the dreams haven't. They had changed over the years and when Altair got older. When he was a child he had nightmares. Terrible nightmares, large shadows growing in front of him, men without faces staring down on him, blood covering the ground to his feet and a sword cutting through the air, the sound as something was hit, something wet, the cracking of bones and then the sound of a body hitting the ground accompanied by the feeling of pure horror as if his world had ended, as if he just lost something very important, very dear to him and sometimes, he could hear someone screaming, someone sounding very young like a small boy. There were good ones too even though only a few. Dreams in which he lay in a field staring up the sky and watching the clouds pass by. But the older he got the more violent his dreams became. He actually went to see a shrink about it but they couldn't help. Nothing could help. He had tried sleeping pills, hoping they would take away the dreams but that didn't work either. Maybe he just had to live with them.

He got dressed after he had his first cup of coffee and watched himself in the large mirror which was hanging on his bedroom door, turning this way and that way to make sure he could leave the house presentable. He pulled a face as he got close in front of the smooth glass, his fingers touching the skin underneath his eyes. Maybe he should get one of those... makeup roller sticks. The ones for women with caffeine in them to get rid of dark circles. He stuck out his tongue at his reflection – nah, he wasn't that vain. Maybe a little as he thought they made him look older than he actually was. He closed the door behind him with a small 'click' as he went outside, way too early and he'd arrive an hour early for work but going back to sleep hadn't been an option either.

He was sitting in the train when he dozed off again, his cheek resting on his hand and no, he wasn't drooling it just looked like it. He was dreaming and his leg twitched as he was pulled right back into this other life he seemed to undergo.

xxx

Malik arrived at work an hour late – which was very unusual for him as he didn't hate anything more than being late and as he watched the knowing grins of his co-workers he knew they would never let him forget that he, Malik al-Sayf, was late for work. It wasn't his fault though, no, not really and right now he tried to convince himself that maybe he had been still asleep when his alarm had been going off. That's the only reason why what'd happened, well, actually happened. He couldn't have figure out how to turn it off. He just couldn't. He had stared at his phone, his alarm hooting loudly and for the longest time. After a while he had just given up and put his phone underneath his pillow, then put his blanket on top of it because it was still loud as fuck, then went out of the room only to walk into the living room and staring at the TV as if he'd never seen one before. It was strange, really but most of all terrifying. This was just something that didn't happen. You just did not forget how to turn off the alarm on your phone. You just did not forget what a TV was. You just didn't and yet it happened to Malik this morning. He probably just had been still half-asleep. Maybe even sleepwalking if that was possible? But he wasn't going insane. This wasn't dementia starting, please.

Yet he sat down at his desk turning on his computer and waiting for it to run before he opened his browser and started searching for symptoms of dementia.

Disorientation?

No, not at all.

Impaired speech?

No again.

Personality changes?

Nope.

Forgetfulness?

Yeah, shit kind of. It had started a few months ago. He sometimes... just kind of woke up at a place where he couldn't remember how he got there or what the hell he wanted there. The strangest place he ever woke to had been on top of a skyscraper.

All the other symptoms didn't match and he didn't know if he should feel relieved or not. He decided for being still worried and considered seeing a doctor later the day. But first... work.

His day was going slow as Malik couldn't really focus on his work. He was a graphic designer and they just got his huge commission for this pharmaceutical company – Abstergent or something... Abstergo, yes that was the name of it and he was currently working on their logo. He didn't like any of his drafts so far and he only got until the end of the week then he had to come up with something he could present. He threw his what felt like the millionth sketch that day into the bin and leaned back heavily in his chair, folding his arms behind his head and looking up the ceiling, rubbing his face then. This was just no use and he still couldn't forget about the incident this morning.

Maybe it was something neurological. Brain tumor? God no, he wouldn't google the symptoms for that. There was one thing you really had to know about Malik: he was a damn wuss when it came to his health. One might actually dare to say he suffered from a mild anxiety disorder, but those who knew Malik's background would understand as he'd seen and experienced things most people did not in a whole lifetime and he was only 27.

This was not the moment to think about it and he leaned forwards, his elbows resting on top of his desk, chin propped in his palms - at least he could say 'palms' as in plural.

So when he looked at his clock and it finally showed 5 pm he was more than relieved that he could go home. Most of his colleagues hadn't bother him, they knew better than to talk with him when he was 'in a mood' as they liked to call it. He wasn't really a people person, never had been. Even though he'd been living in this country for more than twenty years he'd never really felt at home. This wasn't home, he felt more like a guest but going back to his country, to his homeland wasn't an option either. Not since the war had started there a year ago. He didn't have a home, not really. More than often he just felt like a nomad. He didn't really belong here but he doubted it had something to do with him fleeing his country back in 1987 when he'd only been an infant... sometimes it felt more like as if this... wasn't his time. It was difficult to explain and he had never told anybody about it as they wouldn't understand. Hell, even he didn't understand so how could he explain it to somebody else?

Today just wasn't his day and as he was riding the train home, he wanted to close his eyes to pretend all the other people weren't there. It didn't work though as he felt like a sardine in a can, smelling the sweat of all the other people, hearing them coughing, sniffling and all. The next stop came and a lot of people got off and there was finally an empty seat he could take, slumping down heavily on it and leaning his head back against the fogged glass. Malik took deep breaths, glad that it wouldn't take much longer until his station came. But the easing of tension didn't come. It felt like as if somebody was watching him and when he cracked one eye open he could see him, sitting there a few seats away watching him with the most strange eyes he'd ever seen. A bright amber flashing at him from beneath the shadows of his hood covering his head.

Those eyes felt awfully familiar and sent a shiver up his spine and Malik felt cold. Just what the hell was he staring at? Probably just some weirdo. Nothing unusual happening when he was riding the train. Most people stared at him especially after 9/11 – at least they didn't insulted him anymore. It had gotten better ever since there was a black guy sitting in the White House.

Malik opened both his eyes, turning his head to meet his gaze fully and when he did, the man jerked as if Malik had caught him, which he kind of did, quickly turning his head and staring out into the darkness and the colorful lights flashing by as the train moved through the night. That was better – look the other way boy because Malik was in no mood for some stranger eye-fucking him. He got off the next station, watching Malik from the corner of his eye and his skin prickled as he tried to pretend that this stranger was not staring at him. He sighed though once he was gone, angry at himself for getting worked up over a weirdo. The cabin was almost empty now and Malik could finally relax, dozing until he had to get up.

When he turned the keys in the lock, walking into his dark apartment he felt more lost than ever, going to the fridge and pulling out a water bottle, slumping down on his couch and turning on the TV – at least he didn't forget how that worked this time. Malik didn't really watch, just stared off into empty space, not listening and bothering with the pictures flickering across the screen and illuminating him in a soft blue glow. He didn't eat that evening. He didn't go to see a doctor either.

Altair came home late which wasn't unusual. He was an employee for a small security company where he would have to work early in the morning, collection the money from various stores to bring it to the bank and he had a second job where he went to three times a week, working in the evening at a small club as a security as well, basically telling people that no, they won't get in here wearing these shoes and yes, you can pass. Today was one of those days where he came home in the middle of the night and with only a few hours of sleep ahead. But this was the only way for him to save enough money to go back to school next spring.

He sighed heavily as he dragged himself into his living room, sinking clumsily onto his coach and rolling his shoulders, his tired muscles aching and he rubbed his eyes with one hand before getting up again, walking to his fridge to get out some beer. It wasn't like that he drank often, he hardly did. To be honest it had been just a few years ago that he had alcohol for the first time as he was Muslim or rather... used to be. His believes had changed like so many other things and now here he was, sitting in his dark apartment with an unopened can of beer in his hand and he put it back on the table just a second later.

He'd had another dream on his way to work and he still tried to forget the images. He remembered some words shouted at him, thick with a French accent and yet he understood everything. He remembered the cold feeling of fear and wild hot rage battling with each other and in the end there was nothing left but lonely remorse. The rest of the day hadn't been much better and the evening was even worse. He couldn't forget the man's face he saw on the train as he was heading for his second job as he usually arrived one to two hours early before the club would open. That man seemed familiar and he couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew him, somehow. Something like that had never happened before and he would have thought it only existed in a poorly written novel but never actually happen to himself in real life. He was still thinking back to that face not able to forget it although something seemed to be off and not right about the picture. The man seemed familiar, yes, but there wasn't something right and Altair couldn't put his finger on it. He shrugged with his shoulders, grabbing the can and opening it with a loud 'plop', taking the first sip. His face turned into a small grimace. Yep, he still didn't like beer no matter how often he tried it, but he always ended up buying some every so often because maybe he will like it this time.

There was a small red light flashing to his right and it was then that his attention was caught by his answering machine. Three new messages. He groaned and leaned to his side, reaching for the small button and pushing. The short beep came and the message started.

"Hello Mr. Iben-Laad this is Tracy from Abst-" She still couldn't pronounce his name. She sounded so annoying, this bright cheerful voice and he imagined her smiling every time she called him. She probably would still be smiling if he stood in front of her telling her to fuck off and leave him alone, probably wishing him a good day too.

He practically punched the button to switch to the next message. The digital number flipped and the second message went on.

"It's Tracy and I'm calling fro-"

Fuck no – skip to the next and last one.

"Please give us a call back as soon as possible, it's Tracy ag-"

For a moment Altair just thought about throwing the machine out of his window. This has been going on for a few weeks now and he still had no idea why a pharmaceutical company was interested in him, offering him a job. He told them multiple times that no, he didn't want to work for them even though the money was good but after one time, where he talked on the phone with this one guy something at the back of his mind told him that it was better to reject their offer even though it'd pay more than what he currently got with his two jobs. Some things just weren't worth it and after he'd done some research, finding a homepage only a few months old and no other entries at all on google he thought he was better off without them. That didn't stop them from calling him though and now he got their messages every other day trying to convince him to come by for a job interview.

No thank you and he pushed the button to delete all three messages.

His muscles and body felt stiff and he groaned in pain when he turned his head to one side, his neck hurting. He got up again and walked towards the small DVD shelf where he crouched down and pulled out a pile of movies only to reach behind them, pulling out just a single one. He sat back on the couch once he had turned on the TV, put in the movie and leaned back staring mindlessly at the screen. He turned the volume down to a minimum, only watching halfheartedly. He pressed forward to get to the parts he was interested in but even as he watched the guy sucking on the other man's cock it didn't do the trick. He just couldn't stop thinking.

Soft moans filled the room, not his own but those coming from the actors, sounding all faked and badly acted. It didn't stop him from closing his eyes and opening his belt with one hand, popping one button open and groping himself through his jeans. A second later an image flashed up in his mind and sharp pain followed soon, making it feel as if someone had just hit him with a hammer across the back of his head.

Eyes. A pair of staring eyes, betrayal, hurt and sorrow written starkly across them.

Nothing more. Just a pair of eyes but it was enough to make him gasp, his hand coming up to hold his had as the pain only slowly faded and traveling through one side of his body. Just what the fuck happened? Altair held up his hand in front of him, spreading his fingers and counting them. He then smiled even though it was empty and hollow but nope... not a stroke. Everything was functioning as it should be. Then why was his mind playing tricks with him? Those eyes he remembered as they had watched him tonight in the train. The same eyes as the man's he hadn't been able to take his sight off.

The sound of deep, husky moans followed the noise of skin slapping skin and as he looked up, watching the guy's dick disappearing into the other man's body. Just another reason why he couldn't follow his faith anymore. Right. He was gay and it had only been just a year ago that he could finally admit to it. He knew homosexuality wasn't anything to be ashamed of and he would encourage any gay man or woman to come out of the closet but himself? That had been almost an impossible task. He could accept homosexuality when it concerned others but not when it came to himself and it had almost killed him, painful and slowly from the inside, eating away at his mind and soul until there was almost nothing left of him, leaving him as an empty shell. It had somehow changed him, turning him from being a bright boy into an arrogant, aloof acting bastard – all because he couldn't accept himself. Now it was different though... he could accept the fact being gay and he could live out his own sexuality – behind the curtains of his apartment where nobody could see him, where it was just him and his lone, pitiful single DVD of gay porn. So yes, he still had a long way ahead of him – one path he had to take was to learn how to download some porn instead of buying it in a shop. No way he would ever enter one of those ever again.

He turned down the volume of his TV completely and just let the images run across the screen, not paying too much attention. He made himself comfortable on his couch laying with face turned away from the TV and one hand tugged underneath his chin. He was tired, very tired and sometimes it felt as if he'd lived a thousand years not able to get some rest. Rest... restless. He often felt restless as if something was chasing him, as if somebody had attached strings to his limbs, pulling every now and then and keeping him at place, not allowing him to move into one direction or the other. Sometimes he felt played by an invisible puppet master, letting him dance whenever it was desired. It wasn't his life – it was just as simple as that. This wasn't his life. This, all of this felt wrong and no matter how hard he tried to find his way it always seemed as if he chose the wrong path. His attempt to gather enough money to going to school again, it was his last one to find his true self. There were just so many things he was interested in. History, maybe. That sounded good. Maybe something he wouldn't get bored soon with as it often happened with other things. One reason why he hadn't been able to finish school when he was younger. It simply bored him and he couldn't find the sense of going there anyway. Sometimes it just seemed as if nothing was true. But if nothing was true then what should he live for?

He fell asleep before he knew it but this time it was just empty space he was walking through, white engulfing him as he moved through thick fog but no matter which way he chose he didn't find anything there and it left him no choice but to keep on searching. If he only knew what he was looking for.

xxx

Malik couldn't get rid of the image of those bright amber eyes hunting him. He was turning around once more in his bed as he tried to fall asleep but sleep wouldn't come tonight. So he got up again, wearing nothing but his boxers and he stopped in front of his window. He was living at the twenty fourth floor and the view he got from up there was amazing as he could look over the whole city, watching all the flashing, colorful lights, planes landing and cars moving through the streets like a thousand little ants. He leaned heavily against the window's frame, watching the life splayed across in front of him a few minutes longer. He could still remember broken fragments of his childhood, could still remember just how different life was there compared to this. People living in destroyed houses, bullet holes decorating facades if there still were any. No running water, no electricity most of the times and his mother cooking with gas. It were only a few, small images he could remember and maybe some of them weren't true and he just made them up but... even if they weren't real he still wanted to hold onto them as they were the best memories he had of his parents.

He pulled a bit back and he could see his reflection on the smooth surface of the glass. Sometimes he didn't recognize himself and his fingers moved across his chin. Maybe he should let grow a small goatee there. It certainly felt right and he knew it would probably look good at him. His eyes fell back on his left arm. A arm that shouldn't be there and the doctors had told him multiple times how lucky he was that they had been able to save it. When his gaze went towards the city lights again he reached for his cheek as he watched a lonely tear rolling across it. His fingers came back dry and he noticed that it had started raining, water drops rolling down the window and his reflection. It would have surprised him anyway.

xxx

"We found him six weeks ago. Why isn't he still here?" He turned around facing her, his hands crossed behind his back, her smaller frame reflecting in his glasses.

"I think the whole procedure will go more smoothly if he comes here by his own free will. I don't have a good feeling if we have to sedate him and just force him into the machine." She spoke quickly but even though she tried hard not to show how nervous she was in front of him, she couldn't keep her voice from trembling.

"I hardly care about your feelings. I don't care about his feelings either. I want him here, I want him in that machine and I want it now. Go get a squad and let them bring him here."

"But if we force him we might risk losing him and-"

"We won't lose him", he smiled but it didn't look friendly at all and there was a predatory look in his eyes. "If he's really who we think he is he will survive the procedure."

"But what if-"

"No, no more of this." He held up one finger and pointed at her, his lips pressed to a thin white line. "You're here by your own free will. That doesn't mean I can't remove you from this project. There are no other options. You either get him here by the end of the week or I get somebody else to fill your position."

"No Sir, that won't be necessary", she swallowed thickly.

"I see we understand each other Ms. Stillman. Go get back to work."

"Yes Sir." She turned around as she wanted to leave before she stopped. She hadn't dared to bring up the subject earlier. "There's another thing though..." He looked again at her, his eyebrows rising with curiosity. "Oh?"

"We might have found another one..."

He smiled again and she thought she had never seen anybody looking so terrifying like him at the moment. "Is that so? Same era?"

"Same year actually", she swallowed again and held on to that little notebook in her arms.

"Really?" He licked over his lips and she got sick by the sight. "Someone he knows?"

"Someone he was with at Solomon's Temple."

His eyes narrowed and now she knew how a predator looked like before he killed his prey.

"Perfect."

It was Wednesday and Altair hated Wednesday. The middle of the week with still two more days to go until it was weekend and since he had worked late yesterday he was tired as hell and could barely keep his eyes open when he drove the van, heading for JC Penny's.

"You look like shit dude."

He glanced sideways at Toto.

Toto wasn't his real name and Altair couldn't actually remember his real one anymore as he had introduced himself as Toto when he'd started working for the company and everybody else was calling him like that. He always wondered why he got that name. He didn't look like Totoro at all since he assumed that Toto maybe was the short version for that. He wasn't chubby and he didn't have an umbrella with him all the time and he never talked about any Studio Ghibli movies so he doubted he was a fan of them. Toto was an animal of a man with broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms and hair cut so short that it almost looked like as if he was bald. His uniform always looked like as if it was way too small for him and sometimes Altair thought the fabric would tear any second, especially when he bend down to pick something up. Toto was simple and not really a bright man but he was one of the few Altair could tolerate as he didn't talk much and mostly minded his own business. Not today as it seemed.

"Yeah? Look at yourself in the mirror then", he told him without offering him another glance. Toto just laughed.

"No man, I mean really... You don't sleep well lately?"

He usually didn't make his tours with Toto so it wasn't really surprisingly that he asked him something like that. Usually he worked with James, a tiny man, used to Altair's dark circles underneath his eyes and the complete opposite of Toto – at least when it came to appearance. James wore glasses, was even smaller than Altair and looked like as if he would snap like a match if somebody pushed him too hard. Not like someone you would expect working for security and driving money transporters. Today James had called in sick and Altair had switched his route, making him end up with Toto.

Altair scoffed. "Something like that", he shrugged and hoped the matter would be dismissed as he pulled into the parking lot driving towards the back of the store where they had their vault and with the staff already waiting for them to pick up the earnings from the day before, all counted and neatly packed. "Maybe we should get you some coffee then", Toto suggested and looking out of the window.

It was raining as it had been all morning, the sky covered by thick heavy clouds which would almost touch the ground. It made Altair feel claustrophobic, he stopped the van and put the gear into parking, Toto already opened the door before he held in for a second. "I'll go get the money. You'll stand by the door", he told him and he nodded, wondering why Toto would tell him that when they always did it like this. The driver was guarding the door – company policy. He got out of the van as well, one hand on the gun he wore on his hip. He didn't like guns and it was probably the only thing he hated about this job. Of course he knew how to shoot and he knew how to defend himself even without weapons but he hoped he would never have to use it.

Toto went ahead and Altair strolled lazily behind him, greeting the security of JC Penny who opened the door for Toto to enter the back of the store, a young woman leading him to the vault where they had their money. He leaned against the wall, his eyes roaming his surroundings, looking for anything that seemed odd. Something odd could be a nearby parked car with a running engine, but it was so early in the morning that there weren't many cars in the parking lot and since it was raining there were only a few pedestrians on the streets. He didn't talk with JC's security man. He didn't believe in small talk and he didn't know why he should bother with it. He could hear Toto laughing from the inside, followed by the soft chuckle of the woman. Toto's laughter sounded like the barking of a dog though and Altair assumed he'd just made some joke, flirting with the young retailer before he heard another door opening and closing shortly after - so this could take a while.

To his surprise it took Toto only fifteen minutes and he came outside with the locked, heavy box in his arms, his face a bit red and sweaty and Altair accompanied him back to the van, opening the back doors and waiting for Toto to store the money.

As they closed the doors once again and sat back in the van, Altair starting the engine, Toto clapped his back. "Come on... we're ahead of our schedule. We can afford taking a break and getting you some coffee."

Altair glanced at the clock on the dashboard. They weren't ahead of their schedule. In fact they were a little behind and he just wanted to open his mouth to tell Toto so, but... aw, fuck it.

"Alright", he nodded. "Let's get some coffee."

There was a Starbucks just down the street but Altair was making a U-turn and heading the opposite direction. He didn't like Starbucks. The coffee didn't taste any different from any other small coffee shop, it probably tasted worse. Their products just had fancy names and were overpriced anyway. Besides, if he wanted a large coffee he wanted a large coffee not grande or venti. So he decided to take them to one of his favorite places, a small shop next to the main street and run by an old man who came from Turkey to the US more than three decades ago. Altair loved his coffee and he loved sitting in there, sipping his secret addiction and watching the people passing by the windows.

They had just ordered and found their places when Toto excused himself to take a leak, as he liked to say it. Altair waved him off, taking off his raincoat and waiting for his coffee to be ready [a large one, thank you very much] and looking out the window as they had found a table right next to it. The place was empty besides the two of them as it was mostly and he sometimes wondered how the old man -Cem- could survive and pay for the rent and everything with the little frequency. The door to the shop opened again and he could hear the jingling of bells but didn't pay it much attention.

"One mocha, to go please."

Altair completely froze and a chill run down his spine, a lump of ice building inside his lower stomach and the cold spread through the rest of his body. He turned his head first, trying to look over his shoulder back at the counter but didn't manage to catch a glimpse so he turned fully. That voice – he knew that voice and before he could even see him, he knew who it belonged to as he suddenly saw those eyes swimming back into his vision and when he finally looked at him it all became clear. He remembered his voice and for a few long moments he didn't know why but then it came back to him and hit him like a brick across the head.

It was him again, the man from the train, the man he could barely stop thinking about and he leaned back into his chair, pushing himself away from the table, the chair's legs scrapping across the ground and making a loud noise causing the man to turn towards Altair. Their eyes met but this time Altair didn't flinch, didn't yield and held his gaze.

Altair stood up to suddenly that he almost knocked over the chair, his fingers grabbing the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. For a moment confusion flashed across the man's face and he tilted his head to one side, looking Altair up and down before an amused little grin spread across his lips for a split second.

Right. His uniform. It was an ugly gray and he often thought he looked more like a janitor who was allowed to carry guns than a security man driving money transporters. He turned back towards the counter as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened but Altair could see how he hunched his shoulders, how he went tense. The fingers of his left hand closed and opened rhythmically. For some reason he thought it looked odd as if he could remember him only having one arm.

"This is the second time I run into you", he heard him saying and his voice caused goosebumps spreading across his skin like a rash and each letter rolling over his tongue sounded like a long faded memory, all drained out of its colors leaving nothing but black and white. It left him feeling dizzy. There was the hint of mocking within his voice and he could imagine the little frown on his face. "Do we know each other?", Altair asked then and he let slowly go of the table, not thinking he needed its support any longer. He stood straight then and picked up the small hat he had to wear during work and which had been laying on the table next to him just a few seconds ago. He held it in front of his body, his fingers twisting the elastic material.

"I don't think so", he told Altair, sounding bored and he glanced back at him over his shoulder. "What is this? Am I getting stalked by you now?", he pondered, his voice sharp and Altair could tell he was just at the edge of snapping. Altair scoffed. "Right", and he rolled his eyes.

His mocha was done and he paid for it, placing a cap on top of the styrofoam cup. He made his turn to leave but Altair just couldn't let him go like that. "Well?", he asked as he couldn't think of anything better. All those other thoughts whirling inside his head like a mad vortex sounded too crazy anyway.

I saw you and I can't forget your eyes – give me your number? Tch, no way in hell.

I think there's obviously some chemistry between us. Can I have your number? No, worse than the one before.

"Maybe fate has some plans for you and me."

Altair had absolutely no idea why he said it. It sounded like the dumbest thing ever, something he only heard people saying on TV in a bad late-night movie. It did made him stop though, halting within his tracks just before he reached the door. "Fate?" He sounded smug. "I don't believe in fate." His hand reached for the door, pulling it open and the loud sound of rain splashing down on earth filled Altair's ears. "You know, after all... nothing is true", he made a small rotating motion with his hand over his shoulder and with that he stepped outside, the door falling shut behind him, the bells jingling.

Altair stared on the spot he was standing just seconds before long after he was gone and was trembling, his whole frame shaking.

Nothing is true.

Everything is permitted.

Everything. Is. Permitted. The words echoed inside his head, sounding old and wrinkled and he thought he could remember a face, an old man with a bad eye and a long white beard, clapping him on his shoulder and for a moment he was filled with pride though he had no idea why. His legs came into motion before he realized it and he pulled the door open, stepping outside onto the sidewalk, the rain pouring fiercely down on him and soaking him to the bones. He looked down one side of the street than the other but he was gone, all he could see was gray in gray.

"Altair?" He heard the jingle of bells again, Toto standing in the door behind him seeking shelter from the rain. Somewhere he could hear the sound of sirens of police cars. "Everything alright?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah... everything alright", he lied.

That was it then. No more coffee from that place and Malik really liked it! The mocha tasted good for a change as Cem actually knew how to make it.

He was cold all over and soaked thoroughly when he stopped in front of the small apartment complex. He still got an hour before he'd have to start work so there was nothing against visiting an old friend. Besides, he hadn't seen her for far too long and lately, he felt the need to see somebody familiar.

He cringed. That guy in the coffee shop looked familiar. Well, of course since he'd seen him just the other day on the train. But that was not it, that wasn't all of the story. It really was a story, wasn't it? It felt like as if they shared one and yet, he couldn't really name the tale but he knew it was there, hiding in the dark waiting for Malik to find it. He shook his head. Not now. It was still too early in the morning for him to set his wit's to work and he pushed the doorbell and waiting to get buzzed in.

Two sets of stairs later, a turn and a short walk along a barely lit corridor he stopped in front of a dark green painted door with a peephole in the middle of it, staring back at Malik. To his left a door opened and he glanced sideways, watching a man stepping outside with a bag of garbage in his hand. He thought it looked odd since he wore brightly polished black shoes and they looked a bit too expensive as if someone living in this neighborhood could afford a pair like that. Marta opened up and the wrinkled face smiled at him, her eyes shinning with warmth. "Come on in boy. You look like you need to warm up. Is it still raining out there?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not at Marta, never at her. He just shook his head and stepped into her small apartment, waiting for her to follow him into the small kitchen and sitting down at the table. Once she took a seat next to him he pulled off his coat, hanging it over the chair's back and placing the empty cup of mocha in front of him.

"You want something? I made some baklava the other day."

Baklava – how long has it been that he had some of that? Too long, that was for sure as he couldn't remember. "That would be great, thank you", he nodded and Marta got up again, shifting in her small kitchen and pulling old cabinets open, placing two plates in front of them onto the table and opening her oven taking out a baking sheet. She'd already cut it into small pieces and used her fingers to serve two of them on his plate, then on hers before she put the sheet back. "Coffee?" He shook his head and Marta sat back down again.

He picked up one piece of the pastry and bit into it, the flavor of pistachios invading his senses and it was sweet, oh so very sweet and he wished he still had some of his mocha left but it was good. Not as good as his mother used to make it but Marta had practiced over the years and improved her skills. She looked at him with big round eyes, waiting for him to say something. He nodded and licked his fingers. "'s good", he told her and Marta's lips broke into one of the biggest smiles he'd ever seen and she bit into her own, chewing slowly and swallowing eventually.

There was a children's home right down the street and only a few minutes away from Marta's house. It wasn't the best neighborhood but it could be worse. When Malik had been a child he often came visiting Marta since it was only a short walk and she always welcomed him with open arms. Over the years she had become something close to a mother for him and even now as he had long left the home moving into his own apartment he still came every other month visiting the old woman and catching up with her.

He didn't visit the children's home.

Lately though he could see a change when he came over to her place, usually before he had to go to work as he was too tired when he got off. Marta seemed worn out and her small apartment didn't look as tidy anymore as it used to be. Even now there were dirty plates piling up in the sink, the floor stained and on the small windowsill stood a vase with a bouquet in, one he got her last month and the flowers had died a long time ago.

"How are things?", he asked her in a small voice, the baklava on his plate forgotten but she just smiled at him, blinking a few times. "I missed my favorite little boy, that's all", she told him even though her voice sounded pressed and thick. She waved at him. "You know, lately I often think back when you've been younger. When you and Kadar came visiting me with dirty feet since you both didn't like to wear shoes during summer..." She cut herself off, her eyes growing empty and distant and she didn't move for the longest time. She folded her hands in her lap looking down, her long silver hair falling into her eyes. He could hear her sniffle.

He knew. He didn't have to ask her but knew. Next week Kadar would be dead for four years. He had tried not to think about it to just shove it away at the back of his mind but no matter how hard he tried, the memories came always crawling back and there was nothing he could do. Malik simply nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "He always liked your baklava", he murmured softly and startled when Marta reached across the table to take his hand, his left one, her thumb stroking across it. He had to withdraw, not able to stand her touch.

"Could we just not... talk about him?", he said after a while, the clock on Marta's kitchen wall the only sound breaking the silence, its soft tick-tock hammering into his ears. Marta looked hurt for a short moment but then the expression on her face melted and when Malik glanced upwards he saw pity – he hated pity. He couldn't be angry at Marta, couldn't be angry at the woman that had given him and Kadar something close to a home when they'd been younger, alone and frightened in a country they didn't understand. He didn't understand it now either.

"Alright then", Marta sighed and she leaned back in her chair. "Are you sure you don't want some coffee? I could make you some", she offered and that smile was back on her face, a smile only women her age could manage, all warm and motherly but he could see that the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth had gotten deeper.

Again he shook his head. "There's more, isn't there?", he asked her quietly and the rain outside got lighter. "Something you haven't told me yet."

"I'm going to move, Malik", she simply told him as she knew it was wasted energy to keep something away from him. He was good at reading people, always had been and most of the times she didn't manage to hide things from him. "I got the letter last week. They're going to tear the buildings on this block down, the children's home too. I can't afford a new place and I'm too old anyway. I found this cutest little retirement home", and she turned around, grabbing something on the kitchen counter and handing him a small brochure. Eve's Garden it read on the top, a picture underneath it showing a white house standing at the end of a green field with a small path leading towards it made out of white pebbles. It looked peaceful, almost nice. Even he had to admit that.

He looked up at her, the brochure between his fingers and blinked a couple of times. "They're tearing it down? Why?"

Marta sighed heavily. She'd been living here a long time. He came to the country when he was two years old, almost three living in the home down the street and Marta had been here just as long if not even longer.

"The block was bought by some investor anonymously. I don't know what they plan... a mall or something, oh what do I know", and she shook her head. "I have to be out of here by the end of the month."

"By the end of the month? But that's in two weeks!" Talk about short notice...

Marta smiled again and this time it looked empty. "I know darling. But there's nothing I can do and besides... my bones are a bit tired lately. I can't do as much as I used to do. It'll be better for me anyway."

Malik eyed her sceptically. "That doesn't sound like you", he murmured and picked up the baklava, bitting off another mouthful.

"No it doesn't, I-" She sighed heavily and looked up the ceiling, blinking rapidly and he knew she was fighting with tears. When she found his gaze again her eyes looked wet but no tears had fallen. "I always thought I would die here, you know?", she said softly, her voice small and kind of lost.

"Yeah I know", he sighed and this time it was him who reached across the table to hold her hand, the only comfort he could offer to her.

OP

synnesai - 2013-01-27 04:07 (UTC) - Expand

Re: OP

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Re: Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 5/?

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OP

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Writer!anon 2 here

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OP

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Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again Part 13a

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Re: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again Part 16/?

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Just finished reading this and I have to say I loved your Altaïr for some reason. That, and I love that you included Lucy (I love her~).

Can't wait for more!

PS: I totally forgot to post this as anon before, I hope no one saw that OTL

Re: Writer!Anon 2 here

(Anonymous) - 2013-01-26 20:56 (UTC) - Expand

This is the second writer!anon from before. I must apologize in advance because this story is slightly different from OP’s request. Instead of getting little hints throughout their entire lives, they only start feeling it a little later and Malik’s appearance is not the same as he possesses both arms in this story. Lastly, but not least, this turned out a lot darker than I intended at first (fear not, it does have a happy ending). TW for panic attacks (not sure if this warrants a TW, but just to be safe). I am really, really sorry if OP wanted an accurate rendition of their prompt and I did it no justice! If OP dislikes this, or feel it does not tend to their original prompt, feel free to ask a mod to delete this (really).

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As a history teacher in one of the most prestigious universities in Canada, Malik Al-Sayf never believed in anything that hadn’t been proved by the past. As such, when Kadar and his longtime girlfriend, a cute french brunette by the name Anne, treated him to a quick lunch in between his classes and she offered to read his hands, he quickly shook the idea off. His brother simply chuckled, mentioning how he had seen it coming, but she was insistent and told him she had never failed before. He agreed then, if anything to get it over with before she pulled out his hand to prove her point.

Anne wasn't a religious person ("Too many religions, tried almost all of them, none of them made me feel comfortable" she would say. "I don't get why I should feel guilty before someone I don't know instead of enjoying my life to the fullest. If God - or Gods - created me, they would want me to be happy, right?"), but she was incredibly superstitious ("Don't leave your shoes turned upside down, they're bad luck!"; "Did you see the black cat wandering around town? Kadar and I will try to find him some shelter, it's no good having a black cat wandering across the campus, but I can't just leave him in the streets either."; "Malik, you should see the dreamcatcher Kadar gave me last week, it's beautiful!"). Kadar had told him it bordered on fanaticism sometimes, but she rarely talked about it when they were together and he never saw anything negative about it, so he leaves her be ("It's endearing, she's always bringing me these things to decorate my room, and believe it or not, I haven't had a single nightmare since she started doing this.").

The last thing Malik wanted was to upset his brother or make her sad by refusing her reading, so he accepted, almost regretting it when she beamed at him, promptly capturing his hand between hers and bringing it closer to her face. She looked and turned it around and gleamed and made such a serious expression he was sure she was not capable of. Then she let out a loud "Woah!" that made Kadar look over her shoulder hoping to see what it was. Malik simply raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?" his brother asked, still trying to understand despite not knowing a single thing about palm reading.

"See this line?" She traced the line that went from between his thumb and index fingers, curving it down until it reached the end of his hand, where it connected with his wrist. "The life line. It's even longer than yours Kadar."

"Well, we're brothers." Malik pointed it out nonchalantly.

"Even among family members, it's not common to find similar lines. Not rare, but... Well, this kind of line is pretty rare, they usually reach just the middle of the hand" She brought up her own to show what she meant and indeed, her lines were much less accentuated and the one she's been tracing was much longer on his hand. "What is unusual is to find such rare lines so close to each other, even more so amongst family." her reply silenced him. "It's very long too. You've both been around for a long time."

He glanced at Kadar, who merely shrugged.

"Like, past lives and that sort of stuff." Kadar looked at his own hand and extended it next to Malik's, so they could compare. "She told me it means we've reincarnated a lot."

"No, not necessarily," Anne batted his hand away and focused on Malik's again. "It means your souls are old and they've been around for a long time, but not necessarily reincarnated a lot. The longer the line, the furthest you've been in history."

The last part piqued his interest - and she knew, for as soon as his eyes widened, she grinned. It was gone as suddenly as it appeared though.

"You are probably from the 10th or 11th century, or something close to that. When your soul was born, I mean."

"Do I have karmas?" Malik asks in an almost mocking tone. As nice as the whole idea is, he is still a very skeptical person and never cared much for past lives - he's living here and now and that's what matters, not the past, as much as he reprimands himself for thinking so due to his career.

"Who knows?"

“That makes no sense. My line goes from one side to the other on my hand and I’m only from 10 centuries ago? What about the people who were born in the 4th or 5th century?”

“Double lines.” Anne traced another line very close to the first, curving it just like the original. “The first line represent this millenium, the second - the one before, and so on. This little line here” she pointed a very faint, tiny line just above the one she traced before “it represents the beginning of this millenium. The one below was the second. That’s incredibly rare though. Double lines are hard enough to find and I’ve only heard about three or four lines in old Palmistry books, like, really old books, 100 and 200 years ago, that’s when the last one was spotted by doctors and documented by Palm readers.

“Soooo, what? Does that mean I knew my brother from before this life?” Kadar peered curiously at his own hand again. Malik noticed his brother’s life line wasn’t as apparent as his, being slightly more faded at the beginning and middle.

Anne shrugged and released the teacher’s hand.

“Not impossible, they say siblings tend to stay together through time. I could probably find out if I made a thorough study of both your hands, but right now it’s impossible to say.”

“Not even something?”

“C’est la vie, mon ami. I’m not a specialist, I just know what I know because of some books I read when I got interested.

Kadar opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when noticed his brother getting up.

“Going already?”

“Sorry, long day, I need to prepare some notes for today’s classes.”

“Alright.” he nodded. “I’ll call you later.”

Malik nodded and glanced a smile at Anne, who waved at him before he turned and left. They frequented this small restaurant inside the campus often - great for Malik who barely has the time to leave and perfect for Kadar who often comes to visit Anne, all the more so now that it’s her last semester in psychiatry. Giving one last glance at his wristwatch, he quickened the pace and headed to the building.

That day, like many others, had little significance and impact in his life. It was a common thing for him to meet his brother inside the campus for lunch so casually. If anyone asked him then do you remember that day your brother’s girlfriend read your hand? he would probably reply he didn’t even remember she could do such a thing.

Which is why, after a year and two months since then, Malik could not understand why he remembered that day so vividly out of a sudden. Much less now, of all times, after waking up with a jolt from the worst nightmare he could remember ever having.

He was panting, unable to suck air in, as if he had spent the entire day working out. The sheets were humid with his sweat and his fingers shook with fear when he closed them around the fabrics. His head exploded with an excruciating pain and his heart was beating so fast he could hear it, feel it in his head. It pumped vigorously and it hurt, pressuring his chest as if it was a container about to burst.

Tired, but completely awake, Malik shook his head many times, trying to forget the vivid image of the long sword running through his brother’s gut and only stopping when it reached his throat, before aiming towards him. It was all too fast to remember the details but it was there and it was the worst feeling in the world. Malik pulled his knees up and rested his forehead on top of them. He was tired, impossibly exhausted but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

The frustrating part was that he still had no idea why the first thing that came to his mind after waking up in such a state was that regular day. But perhaps even more frustrated was Kadar when, during the next morning, Malik casually asked him for a dreamcatcher, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. He had never been more grateful when his younger brother made no questions about it.

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A few weeks after that night, Malik still refused to believe a tiny hula hoop with strings, feathers and beads managed to keep his nightmares away. They still returned during two nights, but definitely a lot less violently than before (and they certainly didn’t contain a dying young brother) and not as vivid.

They felt like memories, something he did a few years ago and then it faded over time, like old tapes. In the first dream he had after hanging the dreamcatcher above his bed, he was someone else. Someone who resembled him, but it was hard to see. Blurred shots of a hill, of a fortress - a castle? There was a knife, it looked like one, reaching for his left arm and it took one of his fingers. He woke up abruptly, breathing a little faster than usual, but he was fine - no adrenaline, no tight pressures in his chest, no headaches. It wasn't anything compared to what he felt weeks ago.

Regardless, he managed keep a good night’s sleep overall, but refused to admit such thing was responsible for it. “Stupid thing.” he would complain while shooting narrowed glances in its direction.

As he sat across his bed with a book in his hands, he looked up at the dreamcatcher. It was just superstition, after all. Convinced this was the case, he removed it and carefully put it away on his nightstand drawer.

It was no surprise then, that after he woke up at 2am that night, feeling like vomiting his dinner all over the place, he hurriedly tossed the drawer aside and grabbed the object between his shaky fingers, trying and failing miserably to hang it on the wall again. Panting violently and too tremulous to see clearly, he only managed it after a few tries (he nearly fell from the end of the bed when he got too exasperated because he didn’t get it right on the fifth try).

He cursed in French, English and another language he didn’t even know (could it have been Arabic? He had heard his parents talking in Arabic sometimes, but it was such a long time ago, he never learned it, so how could this be possible?), which made him even more confused and he screamed in rage. Stinking with sweat he rushed to the bathroom and let the cool water hit him hard.

But the image of his own bloodied arm being sawed right in front of him, while he screamed and flounced around, didn’t let him sleep well for another two nights.

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One day, like many others in the same restaurant as they always meet, Kadar pointed out that he was hypocritical.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Kadar put down his glass of water to speak “You’re a history teacher, soon to become a professor. You clearly love what you do, but you don’t care about your own past at all.”

“Kadar, she’s rubbing off on you.”

“Maybe, but she still raises a valid point.”

“Where is this even coming from?”

Kadar let out a heavy sigh and somehow that was enough to grab Malik’s attention. His brother relaxed in his seat and played with the cup in his hands.

“The other day she wanted to a make a family tree of us. I was frustrated when I couldn’t tell her her any names before our grandparents.” Another sigh. Knowing his brother, this was eating him inside. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I mean, I want to have kids one day and it’s gonna be so awkward seeing her talking about all her fancy ancestry while I have nothing to show.”

Malik never choked so hard before.

“Kids?!”

“Don’t change the subject.” rolling his eyes, Kadar took another sip of his drink. “I’m being serious here.”

He gave it some thought, he really did. Not now, long before. It was something he simply chose not to delve into. When their parents died in France and he was left in charge of his small brother, he got financial aid to attend to a school in Canada and moved with him. Despite having always been a fanatic history lover, he never cared for his own past. He was always too busy looking into the future, for his brother’s sake, to look at it. It was better this way. But he knew about some things, bits and pieces he heard from his father and mother, like how they were born in Lebanon and moved to France after marrying. But that was it. He made no efforts in learning any more, there was just no point in it.

“Isn’t history all about the people who made it?”

Malik was brought from his reverie when his brother spoke. Thankfully he didn’t have to reply his previous question - he didn’t know how to. “History is all about changes, not people.”

“But people make the changes.”

“And then they die. Changes don't.”

“Touché.” Kadar lifted his hands, signaling the end of it. “You win, but still, it would have been nice to know more about us.” He placed his elbow on top of the table and supported his chin with his hand. “Are you okay? You seem a bit pale.”

Malik shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep. I’ll be fine though.”

For the entirety of the day, he felt dizzy and almost collapsed during his last class. He ended it early when two of the front row students rushed to his side to support him.

Whatever was happening to him, he hated it and he just wished it would go away.

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All palmistry references here are things I remember learning in my childhood, which is not much, so this could be completely wrong and I totally invented some things, so please don’t take any of it seriously asdfghjkl;

Just gonna come off anon because I'm too lazy to deal with captcha ---

But oh GOSH!!!!!!!!!!! I"M SO HAPPY THIS HAS TWO FILLS?? Oh i absolutely love the palm reading bit (something I'm really interested in so)

I love how this is coming along and you write with such a clear and nice voice that it is so easy to imagine each scene. I really like each relationship you are building already and I can't wait to see what happens when Altair comes in. Also love history teach Malik :]

Keep up the great work I can't wait to see what happens! Like I said to the other fill maybe I will try to make an art fill too!

thank you so much for taking time to write!

Despite loving his work, any sane man would agree that being a teacher was tiresome and demanding. Malik himself was no exception and was, after all, only human. As such, whenever weekends came around, he enjoyed it to the fullest, usually resting, to start anew on the following monday. Most of his Saturdays and Sundays were spent lying on his bed, lazily reading a book, watching whatever was remotely watchable on TV or taking naps. Sometimes he went out with Kadar and sometimes he didn't didn’t come back home - his brother was a great cook after all, and Malik never refused an invite to have dinner with him.

First it was weird when Kadar got his own house and they started living separately. Now it was weird visiting and seeing his girlfriend - now fiance, he had to remind himself - sharing the place with him (but no less welcoming). He was getting used to the additional feminine touches (though he feared he would never get used to her eccentric superstitions) and it made him happy to see Kadar always smiling.

Before Anne moved in, Malik used to take the free space on Kadar’s huge bed. Now he uses the couch, but with no complaints. It’s still comfortable and big enough to fit him whole. It works just as good as the bed and besides, he prefers it that way - he can leave the lights on for longer and read his books till sleep finds him.

He was so damned certain that after a few weeks without any nightmares his physical exhaustion would be gone for good, yet the moment he entered through the front door, he felt as if his energy had been completely drained. If Kadar or Anne noticed anything, they didn't mention it.

After dinner, Anne locked herself in her office to work on her monograph. They stayed in the living room, talking about trivial things, watching some late night shows until Malik couldn't keep his eyes open anymore and promptly claimed the couch for himself.

He was so positively sure nothing would happen tonight, especially tonight, because the last thing he wanted was for his brother to learn about what his nightmares did to him. And despite not believing in karma, he started to think that if it did exist in fact, then he must have done something unforgivable in his past lives for suffering like this.

It was three in the morning when his eyes shot open and he jumped from the couch, falling hard on the ground. He kicked the coffee table in the process, hit his arm against some glasses and a vase of flowers on top of it, dropping everything to the ground. The vase shattered with a loud noise and the glasses rolled away, not breaking, but still loud enough that Kadar came running a minute later to see what was going on.

He did not see him at first, too busy trying to put as much distance between him and the couch as if it burned. His throat locked tight and he gasped for air, crawling backwards as fast as possible, only stopping when his back hit the wall. In seconds, Kadar was by his side, holding his shoulder.

"What's wrong? What's happening?!"

He heard footsteps and saw Anne running to him from behind Kadar.

"I don't know! Make it stop!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, but regretted this decision when it only made breathing harder. His hands clutched his head with force but he didn't care. It distracted him from the terrible pounding inside his head.

"It looks like a nervous breakdown." She spoke as calmly as possible.

"What do I do?"

"Try to hold him down!"

Malik felt his brother hold his shoulders with both hands and he couldn’t even move or tell him to stop. Still hiding his face from the others, his right hand grabbed Kadar’s shirt tightly. ‘Breathe. Calm down and breathe.’ the words formed a mantra on his mind.

“What’s causing this? Malik, look at me.”

“I don’t know!” Malik wished he knew. He honestly wished he knew so he could stop whatever it was that was causing this anxiety. “I’m - I see things, ugh!” His forehead rested against Kadar’s chest. “These dreams, these visions, I don’t know what they are, I just - shit!”

Kadar pulled him into a tight embrace. He rubbed circles on his back and part of him wanted to punch his brother for treating him like he was the younger brother. But perhaps that’s what made him calm down a little. His breathing slowed down until it was regular again and the pain on his chest eased for a bit. The best part was his throat wasn’t suffocating him anymore which made him a lot more relaxed. Still, his hands shook violently, but Anne mentioned it would stop after a while. He took a deep breath and once he felt better (though the fear and panic rushing through his mind remained), he slowly let go of Kadar, resting against the wall again. He still held a hand over his face, not enjoying the way he managed to make a show of his problem in front of other people, let alone his own brother.

“I’ll leave you two alone if you need to talk, but call me if you need anything alright?”

Malik saw her touch Kadar’s shoulder and nodded. Then she headed for the balcony, closing the glass door behind her. Looking behind Kadar, he noticed the mess caused by his panic. If he had been home he wouldn’t have minded, but he was troubling his brother with his own problem and he hated it.

“Has this happened before?”

Malik nodded tiredly. “A few times. Started recently.”

Kadar pondered about the information for a moment. “You should’ve told me about this.” the disappointment in his voice was too much for him to bear.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone, besides, I thought it was temporary. I didn’t think it would return. Especially today. I’m sorry Kadar.” but Kadar quickly shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, idiot!” sighing, he helped Malik up and guided him to the couch. “You said something about dreams.”

“More like nightmares.” He made a face when portions of these nightmares flickered through his mind. “Terrible ones. So much blood, so many people.” once again his hands covered his face, but Kadar didn’t stop staring. It comforted him in a way.

“Was that why you asked me for that dreamcatcher?”

He nodded meekly.

“You know dreamcatchers don’t really work, right? They’re just a tiny hula hoop with strings, feathers and beads.”

Malik felt like crying. “I know that! I know that and that’s the worst part because that damned trinket actually worked! These stupid nightmares didn’t stop entirely, but they didn’t come so frequently and with such intensity after you gave me that thing.”

“What made you better was believing that it would give you better dreams. It’s the same for me. All these lucky charms Anne gives me? I don’t believe in them, but I believe in her and that makes me feel protected. Have you tried meditating?”

“I’m going to kill you, Kadar.” Malik shot him a murderous glare. “I’m being serious here.”

“And so am I! Meditating helps you keep control of your body, it could help with these panic attacks.”

He pondered the idea, which was better than downright turning it down.

“Alright, look, if you want something more scientifically proved, then you could try yoga. It helps you control breathing. Really!”

Before Malik could reply however, they heard a scream. It wasn’t loud and didn’t last long, but since both Kadar and Anne looked in the direction it came from, he knew he wasn’t just hearing things. Following it came the screeching sound of tires against asphalt and in no time dogs around the neighborhood started barking at the unwelcoming uproar.

Anne entered the room again and hid a yawn behind her hand.

“What was that?” Kadar asked curiously, perhaps a bit preoccupied.

“That stupid neighbor again, he took off with his car like there was a fire or something. He hit the fucking garbage can and woke up half the dogs around town. Ugh, I need an aspirin.” With tired eyes, she looked back at Malik. “Feeling better? Wanna a ride to the hospital?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Nodding sympathetically, she left through the corridor that led to the stairs. Kadar was rubbing his back when her face peeked out from behind the wall again and she quietly asked:

“Ever tried yoga? Helps with breathing, you know.”

The sound Malik made then was the closest thing to weeping Kadar would ever hear from him.

----------

Not long after that incident Malik found himself heading to the cramped, dimly lit area of the library at college that no one ever went to. The labels on the the few bookshelves read “Exoterics and self-help” and he couldn’t help but cringe at himself, highly reconsidering the urge to leave before anyone caught him. He blamed his curiosity (because that’s what it was, simply curiosity and not a desperate act) on his lack of sleep and exponential increase of nightmares.

According to the book in his hands, a rather small blue book with hardcover that read “The meaningful dreams”, dreaming of his own arm meant struggles and challenges in his life. Which yes, he was being troubled by dreams. Dreams that showed him his own arm, to warn him of hardships the dreams were causing.

It made no sense whatsoever.

An injured arm, however (did they have cut off arm in it?), meant being unable to help himself. Lovely. He also looked up the meaning of seeing his own brother die in his dreams, and the missing finger, none of which were very helpful with the vague responses either.

But recently his dreams had become longer and more vivid. He could absorb more details now and he remembered them for longer. In the past week, he dreamt twice of people dressed in white. He interacted with some of them, even. He was inside a room, a large one, filled with colored cushions. Daylight entered through the door to his left and illuminated the place with an orange glow. He spent most of his time working on something, though he couldn’t make out what it was, nor did he remember those moments well enough because they didn’t seem important.

The moments he did remember were the men dressed in white coming and going. They’d come from the door, talked to him for a while, sometimes they delivered him things, and then they’d be on their way. One man in particular grabbed his attention. Whenever he came in, Malik tensed. His presence alone made him boil with anger and he didn’t even know why. His face... he couldn’t remember the face of that man, no matter how hard he tried.

He turned his nose in disgust and closed the book, putting it back in its place. Before he could turn to leave though, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“If you wanted to read those kind of books you could have asked me, Anne has like, half a dozen of them.”

“I don’t want to read that book, I was just checking it out.” He turned fully to Kadar. “And I was right, nothing in there. These dreams are completely meaningless.”

Angry that he had come to look for answers and found none, Malik turned sharply to leave, but was met by another person. They collided violently and he had to take a few steps back, being supported by his brother in order not to fall.

The headache returned instantly. That faint, lingering sensation of a buzzing inside his head, something that made him unfocused and tired. He looked up at the man who bumped into him. He didn’t seem to be feeling any better either, supporting himself in one of the bookshelves and hunching forward, clutching his head. Weird, Malik didn’t remember bumping his head, so why were they both feeling as if they did?

“Malik?” Kadar shook him slightly and he noticed that the moment his name was heard, the man in front of him looked him in the eyes. A weird man, wearing a white hood inside a building. His eyes were a burning gold and when he looked down he noticed a faint white scar on his lips.

“You. Malik Al-Sayf?” The man asked between short puffs of air. He seemed as distressed as Malik himself.

“Why? Who are you? What do you want?” Malik couldn’t say another world. In a moment he was falling and his brother was catching him. The last thing he saw from the corner of his eyes was the man in front of him collapsing as well.

He wished the man would be gone when he woke up. That this had all been a bad dream.

----------

The infirmary wasn’t too big, only three beds, two tables and a few chairs around. When Malik woke up, he was laying down in one of the beds, the one closest to the door. Looking around he saw the place was empty, save for his brother, who rushed to him as soon as his eyes opened. He sat beside him on a comfortable, beige chair.

“Malik? Feeling better?”

He touched his head. There was still a faint headache but he felt a lot better than before.

“I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“I felt dizzy all of a sudden.” he sighed. “Where’s the other guy? I thought he had collapsed as well.”

“He did, but he woke up a while ago and left.” Kadar’s features turned serious and he twisted his nose. “Did you know Altaïr?”

“Never seen before.” Malik shook his head, then stopped and looked at his brother. “Wait, you know him?”

His brother snorted. “He’s my neighbor, moved in to the house next to mine shortly after I moved there. Remember when you were in my house and you had one of those panic attacks?” Malik nodded, but turned his face. He just wanted to forget that embarrassing night. “The one Anne said had hit the garbage and woke up the canine neighborhood was him. He’s usually not a troublesome man, most of the time he’s not even home, but that was the second time he caused tumult in the neighborhood.”

Then Kadar turned to him and his eyes almost seemed to shine. “You should have seen when the cops came a few months ago. They thought Altaïr was a drug dealer and then two cops came to him and you should have seen the way he fought them off. It was so cool.” his brother seemed to struggle to contain a smile. “Well, turns out he wasn’t a drug dealer, but they still took him for punching officers around. He was released the next day though.

Malik raised an eyebrow at his excitement, but said nothing.

“He seemed to know you.” Kadar mentioned after a moment of silence and that bit of information caught Malik’s attention. “I brought you here and someone who was passing by helped bring him too. When he woke up he just stared at me and asked if you were Malik. I said yes and again he asked ‘Are you sure?’ and when I said yes he just took off. Didn’t even let the doctor do the usual check-up. I don’t even know what he was doing here, he’s not coursing anything here, as far as I’m concerned. Crazy guy.”

Malik opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. His brother probably noticed it and held his hand in a way that comforted him. He knew Kadar wanted to ask ”What is it?” but also didn’t want to pressure him. He really didn’t want to share everything related to his dream problems with Kadar - it was bad enough already that he knew they existed in the first place - but at the same time, hiding it from the only person who could probably understand him also felt wrong.

“I’ve seen him before, I think. In one of these vis- dreams,” dreams, not visions. “I didn’t see his face, but I think it was him. It didn’t happen once or twice, it’s been happening a lot now.” He glanced at Kadar to see his reaction, but he listened quietly. “I see a lot of people dressing the same, and one of them feels like him. Like this guy.” Sighing, he let go of his brother’s hand. “I’m always angry in the dreams whenever he shows up. It makes me anxious, makes my heart beat faster. But also...” Malik blinked and looked at him. “I didn’t wake up in panic the few times I dreamt of him.”

“Really?” Kadar relaxed in his seat, messing with the armrest. “Well maybe you should dream of him more often.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t dream any of this at all.”

His brother seemed serious for a moment and let out a long sigh. He braced himself for what was coming. “I know you don’t believe any of this. I don’t either, but...”

“But what?”

“Given the circumstances, don’t you think these dreams really mean something?”

“Kadar.” Malik rolled his eyes.

“I don’t mean like the book you were reading! I don’t think you need that to figure out something on your subconscious is trying to lead you to him. Maybe you should talk to him. Just talk with him, it might help with something. He seemed like he wanted to talk to you anyway.”

“Kadar.”

“Two people collapsing when they touched each other? What sort of coincidence is that? It has to be something more. What if he’s suffering, just like you? What if he’s having weird dreams too? What if that’s what he wants to talk to you about?”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea. What am I supposed to do? Knock on his door and say Hello, I’m your neighbor’s brother and I’ve been dreaming of you. Can I come in for a cup of coffee while we talk about our creepy dreams?’” He snorted at his own mocking idea. “No, if anything, I just want to stay away from him.” He turned to Kadar. “And so should you. Drug dealer or not, he doesn’t look like good company.”

“But Malik...”

“IF he has something to do with my problems, just IF, then it’s all the more reason for him to stay as far away as possible. I don’t even know for sure that he was the man I saw in my dream. But if he’s causing this to me Kadar, I swear...”

“But maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s destiny that you should talk to him.”

“There is no fate!” He slapped his hand down on the mattress hard. It startled Kadar who looked him right in the eye. He was out of control. “There is no destiny! There isn’t ANYTHING of the sort! Okay, maybe it’s one hell of a coincidence, a creepy coincidence - I’ll give you that - but there are no ultimate forces doing this! Maybe I’m stressed, I’m not sleeping well and that’s what causing the nightmares, but I am in control of my own person and I’m not letting anyone - anything of the sort decide what I should or should not do!”

Silence filled the room and Malik lowered his eyes. Guilty overtook him when he realized he had been yelling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose control. I just... I really don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to have anything to do with this anymore. I’m tired.”

But Kadar shook his head. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t be putting these things in your head. Perhaps it will do you some good to avoid him after all.” He got up and helped Malik. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back home.”

The history teacher grabbed his backpack and followed his brother. He regretted yelling at Kadar, but was surprised at how good it made him feel after his outburst.

“Still, it’s a shame that it’s gonna end like this. Very anticlimactic. I kinda wanted to know what would happen if you two met. Without the two of you collapsing, I mean.” Kadar started on their way to the parking lot. Malik glanced at him, but waited for him to finish. “In any case, you shouldn’t worry about it anymore. If Altaïr’s related to your bad dreams, they should stop this week.”

“Why is that?” He tried to sound uninterested.

“He’s moving to New York this week. That’s what the neighbours are saying at least.”

“Really?”

They entered the car and as Kadar started the engine, Malik couldn’t stop thinking about it. Somehow it seemed anticlimactic indeed.

“Yeah. Maybe you two weren’t supposed to meet after all.”

For the rest of the week, Malik didn’t have any nightmares. No nights he woke up frightened and shivering, but the dreams didn’t stop either. Instead, he had pleasant dreams. In the dreams, somehow, the few times that man - Altaïr - showed up, Malik didn’t feel enraged anymore. He felt calm. They talked sometimes, though he couldn’t make out the words.

When weekend rolled in, he put away the dreamcatcher in the same drawer from before. Still no nightmares. He met with Kadar, told him how he was getting better and how, somehow, Altaïr may have been the cause of his bad sleeping habits to begin with and how he couldn’t have been more grateful that he was gone.

For a moment Malik honestly believed that, with time, even the dreams that showed him visions would stop entirely. He was sure of it and dare he say, even had faith in it. Soon, he would be completely back to normal.

Perhaps because of this belief, of this positively certainty that he would never suffer from those bad dreams again, it almost felt like a punch on his stomach when the principal told him he was going to attend to a lecture in New York during the next week.

Kadar had never laughed so much before.

oh my god I screamed so much reading this (Ok well I screamed on my twitter like crazy) oh god you have such an engaging voice and style and I absolutely love the way you portray kadar and malik it's just really good.I enjoy their bond and how you developed them so far.

I threw myself back when you introduced Altair and it's so curious that they both fainted, I liked it. OH god the END of pt 2 though /I/ never laughed so much before.

I literally just canNOT wait for your next update author! I'm just linking all my friends to this too so just so you know I'm not the only one reading!!

Great job!

I'm glad you enjoyed it OP. <3 (haha, it's a shame I don't use twitter but I follow you on tumblr and I love your art so much miss Sinsigh asdfghjkl;)

Believe it or not, when I started writing the bump in the library I actually got a headache. SO FITTING. I went early to bed when I wrote it and could only finish writing it yesterday. Oh bother. Speaking of updates, I'm afraid I won't be able to update so often, maybe only once a week or too because of rl problems (I'm still on break but I have debts with my college and well, it's not turning out nicely *sigh*).

Also, I'm sure you've noticed this by now, but just to make it clear, English ain't my first language and I don't have a beta, so please kindly ignore all the mistakes you see. I usually revise my texts twice, but even so I know I still let some slip, oops.

The fact that you're enjoying this enough to share it with others makes me incredibly happy! >u<~ I'll try and see if I can update again during the weekend (but no promises as I'm filling some other fills around here as well ;;).

From now on there will be a lot less Kadar (and Anne) and a lot more Altaïr (finally!) so things might get interesting, hohoho.

Oh gosh you do?? really? fkfr.erg omg small ...fandom? Lmao

AHHH no no i completely understand ;u; please take your time your person and well being is much more important! I will wait patiently!

Ahhh i did not notice it was your second language omg! You write very well for it being your second(?) language author-anon! :D

YES omg my friend and I were on skype and we were flipping out over it and praising your kadar and we both really really enjoy your malik. I can't wait to see your altair!

Please take care and can't wait to see what happens next!! :D

Re: Writer!Anon 1 here

(Anonymous) - 2013-01-30 19:54 (UTC) - Expand

One week in New York, he thought to himself. Just one week. What are the odds, after all, of meeingt one person in an entire city? And not just any city either, but a big, crowded one. He would do just fine.

Malik finished packing a small luggage with a couple of clothes he would need for the trip. Before closing it, he turned around, glaring at the dreamcatcher on the wall. He didn’t believe in the trinket, not at all. But it had been helping lately, so better not to take any risks. With a rather abrupt move, he took the accessory from the wall and dropped it on top of the clothes, closing it at last. If anyone asked, he would just say his brother forced him to take it. Yeah, that sounded right.

In less than thirty minutes, Kadar was at his door and they were heading to the airport.

----------

There were few things in life Malik enjoyed more than airplanes (he loved the sensation of flying), just as there were few things in life he hated more than airports. He was getting used to it though. Even though it’s already been over a decade since 9/11, officers still look down on him - he can take that, it’s not really so bad when you don’t care what people think of you. The problem was always being picked in a crowd to be searched. Even after that, they’d always ask for passports, IDs, ask him personal questions he was not in the mood to answer. A trip that was supposed to take 2 hours at most usually took 3. It was tiresome.

Not like there was much he could do, so he went along with it every time. He was used to it, after all.

Now, to look for a taxi. Why were airports always so confusing? There were a thousand signs and it still felt like there was none. Too many people, too many places to go.

He took a right. If he could find the door out he could get a cab in the streets, they’d probably charge less any way. There was a long corridor with wide windows to his right. He followed the path until he found an elevator and picked the first floor. He was in the back, so he had to wait for all the other people to get out before he could as well. But when he did, someone stopped right in front of him, staring at him.

Altaïr. The hood was down, probably to avoid getting unnecessary attention, but Malik knew it was him. His mouth was half open and his eyes (those damned golden eyes that gave him headaches) were wide. Malik was as surprised as him, if anything.

“Oh no.” Malik pushed past him to get him out of his way and walked as fast as possible. Hopefully Altaïr wasn’t here for him. It was just a coincidence, a bad one. The man seemed to be holding some papers, probably tickets.

Malik smiled. If there was a chance Altaïr was leaving New York just when he arrived that would be perfect.

“Wait!”

Too perfect to be real, he thought and sped up. He just got here and wasn’t in the mood to talk to people who gave him headaches and appeared in his dreams.

“No, leave me alone.”

He heard hurried footsteps from behind him. Just his luck.

“What are you doing here?” His pursuer asked from behind him and Malik knew he was getting closer.

“That’s none of your business.”

By now Malik was completely lost. He didn’t bother reading signs or finding an exit, he just wanted to walk away from his as fast as possible. He kept walking until he found another corridor, this one almost completely empty.

“Why are you in New York?” Altaïr tried again.

That was it.

Malik dropped his luggage and turned around, grabbing the man by his hood and shoving him against the wall. His forearm pressed heavily against Altaïr’s neck and the only reason he didn’t apply more pressure was because he was clutching Malik’s arm just as tightly and trying to push him away.

The only thing running through his mind then was that Kadar had been right: Altaïr was strong. He fought off two cops. Malik looked him straight in the eyes, trying to look as furious as possible. Not that it was hard; he was incredibly angry for being followed around.

But he was also scared. Not enough that he wouldn’t fight back if Altaïr reacted, but what Kadar had told him wouldn’t leave his mind. Malik certainly could hold his own - courtesy of his small brother who always got involved in minor fights back when they were still studying, and he always came to protect his little brother. He learned a few things then, even if he didn’t train properly or had a fight style. He could defend himself, it’s what mattered most.

But he didn’t know what the man he was pinning against the wall was capable of and that was enough to make him alert, if anything. This man fought off two guards, probably armed, not just with guns, but nightsticks as well and who knows what else.

He ought to be careful, just in case. But he also needed to look like a threat if he needed the man to stop following him around.

“Why are you following me? What do you want with me?” This time he was the one demanding answers.

“I wasn’t.” Malik applied more pressure when he spoke, just to show that he was still in control. “I am here because I was going back to Montreal. Forgot some things.” To prove his point, Altaïr waved the papers in his hand. A ticket, as he thought.

Malik took a deep breath. “Then why are you following me now?”

Altaïr looked at him with a grim expression, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Because I tried to talk to you and you ignored me.” He glanced to the side before turning back to Malik. “Release me. There are guards approaching us.”

He did. Malik had no intention to get caught in a foreign country, it was bad enough that all cops in the city would be looking at him with suspicion due to his appearance, he shouldn’t give them a reason to arrest him on spot.

When Altaïr gasped inaudibly for air and massaged his throat, Malik turned back to retrieve his luggage.

“Look, Malik, I have no intention to cause you any harm, whether you believe it or not. I just need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“So be it.” Malik sighed and crossed his arms, dropping his bag again. “If you’re gonna leave me alone afterwards, then out with it.”

But Altaïr merely shook his head. “No, not here. I’ll attend the lecture. We’ll talk after that.”

Malik’s mouth fell open. How did a man like Altaïr know what he was here for? And he was attending the lecture? How? He wasn’t a teacher, there was no way he looked like one. If he was someone important Malik would have heard his name before. So how?

But he didn’t ask any of those things. Instead, he watched as the man simply walked away. It wasn’t until he was quite far that Malik realized he was going towards the exit.

“Hey! Boarding is the other way, you’re gonna miss your flight!”

Altaïr didn’t look back. “I just remembered,” instead he waved his hand with the papers and stopped by a bin, throwing them out. “They’re sending me what I forgot anyway.”

He waited and waited at the same spot for a few minutes even after Altaïr had disappeared from his view. Malik had no idea what had just happened. When stupor left him, he picked his bag again and started walking. He would think on the way.

So much for not meeting one person in an entire city and it was just his first day here.

----------

When Malik reached the hotel he was going to stay for the rest of the week, he couldn’t help but be surprised. He knew the college wouldn’t leave him to any precarious inns, but it was far bigger and fancier than he expected - not that he was complaining.

Malik paid the driver and thanked him for his trouble. Then got his luggage and headed to the main entrance. Only, a man stood in his way.

“Mister Al-Sayf?” A tall, middle-aged man asked. His short hair was combed back and his beard gray, dressed in a white social shirt and gray pants. Malik knew who he was instantly.

“Yes.” His voice betrayed him as he couldn’t contain his surprise.

The man smiled and held his hand out to him.

“It’s nice to meet you. I am Ezio Auditore, the lecturer for the meeting tomorrow.”

He didn’t think twice before shaking his hand. Renowned professor Ezio Auditore, born in Italy but moved to the States about the same age Malik left France for Canada. A master at renaissance and defender of modern representation of the house of Borgia. Some students even referred to him as real life Robert Langdon for his distinctive wisdom, charm with women and being a natural silver fox (something Malik always scoffed at whenever he overheard his students). He dared say he was a fan of Ezio.

“It’s a pleasure” he managed at least. “Forgive me, but are you staying here as well?” They would be staying in the same hotel for a week? This made dealing with Altaïr at the airport seem worth it.

“No, no.” Ezio chuckled. “I live nearby. In fact, when I heard you’d be staying here, I was wondering if you wouldn’t rather stay at my place? Sofia, my wife, and I would love to chat with you.”

He nearly gasped. He couldn’t believe the Professor was offering him to stay with them. They wanted to talk to him! Why would such an important man want anything to do with Malik, a simple teacher?

“Sir Auditore, I don’t--”

“Please, just call me Ezio.”

“Ezio, I don’t think- I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It is no trouble, my friend. If anything I should be the one apologizing for all the questions I might have for you.”

“Questions?”

Ezio tapped his shoulder lightly and guided him away from the hotel. As they walked, Ezio began talking again.

“Yes! I’ve always been curious about the Mentor’s right-hand man. I never thought I’d meet anyone from Masyaf besides Altaïr himself, and now that we know you’re here in this age as well... It really is an honor to me.”

“Woah.” Malik stopped on his tracks, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but... what are you talking about?” he took a deep breath “And please tell me we’re not talking about the same Altaïr.”

Ezio’s features changed from smiling to something that seemed like confusion, but Malik didn’t understand. He was the one confused here.

“I was saying - I thought you...” Ezio brought one hand to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Wait, how much did Altaïr tell you?”

“Tell me what? If we’re talking about the same prick, as I assume we are because he said he’d attend the lecture as well... Then nothing. I’ve been trying - and failing, mind you - to avoid him as much as possible for the past two weeks. I don’t want to talk to him about anything”

“Two weeks? Oh my God.” Ezio’s hand slid to his mouth as his eyes shot open. “No, this is not possible. He left for Montreal two years ago. Don’t tell me you only met for the first time two weeks ago?”

“Met? More like he gave one of the worst headaches I’ve ever had. I collapsed because of him!”

They went silent. Malik couldn’t tell if Ezio was too shocked to speak or too angry. He stared at Malik as if he couldn’t believe anything about what he just said. But he was the one who couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. So many things to be discussed - history things, and they were talking about the delinquent.

Finally, the older man sighed and returned to leading the way to what Malik soon found out was his car.

“I’m sorry to hear this Malik. It seems as though you didn’t have the the best first meeting. This explains why he returned from Montreal in such a bad mood. I probably said way more than I was supposed to. I would explain everything to you, but this is too much for me. Besides, Altaïr is the one who knows you, so he’ll do a better job anyway.”

They approached a black car and Ezio pointed him to the passenger’s seat. He quickly entered the car and put his luggage on the back seat. When Ezio sat beside him and closed the door, Malik stared at him again.

“What is this all about?” Her swallowed and licked his lips.

“We’ll meet Altaïr tomorrow at the lecture, so let’s talk about everything then.” He started the car and took off to a more residential area.

“He did say he wanted to talk to me after it.”

“Please do. There’s a war going on and we’re losing it. Our Mentor is dead and we need Altaïr more than ever, but he’s been rather uncooperative ever since his visions started.”

The visions. Malik was right, they had something to do with Altaïr and apparently he was suffering from them too.

“Don’t get me wrong, Malik, I know the nightmares, I’ve been through them as well. We all did. But we need him now that the Mentor is gone. But ever since we learned about you, ever since he found out about your existence, he’s been restless. We need you here, Malik. You’re the only one who can whip him into shape.”

Malik opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off before he even started.

“But no matter, he’ll explain everything tomorrow. For now, let’s not talk about unpleasant things. How was the flight?”

It took Malik a while to answer. Ezio kept asking things - trivial things - during the whole way to his house, a rather large mansion. Malik answered them all, sometimes asking him some things about himself as well, but the whole ride he couldn’t forget his words.

Somehow he had the feeling he was getting into something much bigger and that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

----------

Sorry this chapter turned out rather small. Too much talking, less descriptive things, but it was necessary and this seemed like a good point to cut off this part. Next chapter will have a lot of talking as well, since now things will start to get explained, but oh well.

Btw, I hope OP doesn't mind that I included Ezio?Well, more specifically R!Ezio (I know some people abhor Revelations but oops, I love it). I might include more characters as well (Shaun and Rebecca will at least be mentioned in the next chapter).

I suck at writing porn, so I better get prepared to start it because it's only a chapter or two away. Ooh boy.

I SCREECHED WHEN I SAW AN UPDATE

OH MY GOD NO I LOVE THAT YOU INCLUDED EZIO AND IT'S R!EZIO TOO WITH SOFIA OMGGGG (eziosofia needs more love) ;;;;n;;;; you're just hitting all my favorite things (Omg no i love rev?? i love all the games HHH) i was like "OH GOD THAT MEANS EZIO AND SOFIA FOUND EACH OTHER IN THIS LIFE TOO OMFGGGGG <333"

ugh omg the plot is thickening how curious!! :D i can't wait to see what happens now omg mentor? need malik?? FOR WHAT?? hhhh this is so exciting!

i have faith in your porn writing skills ahahah even so I loved this update omg poor malik he just wants a simple life ahah ;U;

Great update author-anon!! :]

I intended to write Altaïr and Malik’s big talk in this chapter, but things grew so out of hand asdfghjkl; This chapter is more like a filler and probably boring as fuck, but it's important I swear. ~~Did I mention porn was just a chapter or two away? Boy, if I had any idea...~~

----------

It’s not that Malik never expected professor Ezio to have a normal life. However, after hearing so much about his accomplishments in life, reading so many of his books, it was hard to picture this incredible man coming home and being attacked by children.

The professor had just unlocked the door when two small kids darted up from the floor where they had been playing and ran to the man, hugging him tightly across the legs. It was the sort of thing he wouldn’t have imagined in a million years, although it was a cute image.

Malik loved kids. Always had. It was natural, after all, since he grew up taking care of Kadar. Marcello was too shy to get too close to him, but Flavia was too lively to stay put and in less than ten minutes she had brought down to the living room a bunch of dolls, books and some paper collection she seemed to enjoy and wanted to show him everything. She didn’t rest until she had talked about all the books her father had bought to her. (Things like “my first history book” that brought many memories back from when he used to buy them for his young brother as well. Sadly Kadar never took interest in history as he did, leading him to stop trying getting him into it eventually.)

But all too soon Ezio ushered her to bed and Malik was left alone in the big living room. He came back later, apologizing for her enthusiasm, but Malik shook his head and smiled.

“I have a younger brother. Had to take care of him since I was small. I grew fond of kids.”

As Ezio made himself comfortable on a reclinable armchair next to him, he took the time to look around. The living room was nothing short of amazing. It was as big as Malik’s entire apartment. A huge white fireplace stood tall in one of the walls. On top of it, hang on the wall, was an equally large TV screen. There was a couch - the one he was sat on - and two armchairs, all around a glass coffee table. Beneath it an old carpet with arabic patterns in dark red crossed from one chair to the other. On the walls there were many replica paintings, some of which Malik knew well, others he couldn’t quite remember on the spot.

On the far end of the room there was a small kitchen area, with a small stove, freezer and a counter with tall chairs. From the ceiling hang a horizontal luminaire with small holes for wine glasses to be placed upside down (some already were, but the others were empty). Everything about the mansion left him in awe and he couldn’t wait until he saw the other rooms, imagining they were just as grand.

His host kept him company and they went on talking for a quite a long time, until Ezio got up and went to kitchen when hunger made itself present for both of them. It wasn’t much later when a woman came in and removed her coat and left a few bags on top of a table.

“Ah, Sofia. Just in time.”

She was a beautiful redhead woman, probably still in her thirties, holding many books on her hands. Malik quickly rose from his seat and helped her with them.

“Risotto again?” She chuckled when Ezio muttered “But you love my risotto!”. Then she turned towards Malik and nodded. “Thank you. You can put them down on the coffee table, I’ll organize this mess later.”

“Sofia, this is--”

“Mr. Al-Sayf, I know.” After Malik put the books down, he came back and shook her extended hand, much like he did when he first met Ezio. “Altaïr came to the bookstore earlier and he told me what happened.”

Malik and Ezio exchanged looks. From there, Ezio cleaned his hands on a kitchen cloth and sighed.

“About that, it seems we have a problem here.”

The woman sat on the couch and looked from one to the other in confusion. He felt as though it would be a long night.

----------

Malik’s dreams, when not nightmares, were usually boring and non-significative. Most of the times, he was in the same room, with the bright light of the sun coming in through the only door to his left while he worked on some papers in front of him. They looked like maps, although he wasn’t entirely sure. Sometimes he didn’t even remember what he was working on.

These dreams, usually long and dull, were actually the ones he enjoyed the most. He always woke up the following day feeling like he had a good night’s sleep, which became something incredibly rare these days.

He also realized that sometimes those men in white would come and talked to him. One time, and only once, a man covered in red came through the ceiling door. As calm as he could possibly be, he got around the counter and helped the man lay down on some colored cushions outside the room.

Malik was no doctor, but he walked behind the counter again and got some bottles, a bowl, leaves and cloths (all with one hand - and by now he was used to the fact that, somehow, his left arm was missing in his dreams for some reason). The bowl he filled with water from the fountain on the farthest wall. Upon returning, he set everything down by the man’s side and began his work. First by removing the man’s bloodied robes and tossing them aside (he would clean them and sew the holes caused by knives and falchions later). He turned the man around (not without him muttering something that sounded offensive, but he was too busy trying to work to care) and cleaned the blood with a wet cloth. The man stopped talking, but still hissed every time he connected with his exposed back.

Malik handed a bottle of poppy for the man, but he turned his head to the other side, refusing it. He didn’t insist, but left the bottle there in case he changed his mind. After everything was cleaned up and the leaves pressed against the bruises, he bandaged his back with a thin beige cloth and turned him back up, taking care not to hurt him. As he did so, Malik sat on the cushions beneath the man’s head and let him rest on his legs while his back was against the wall. His fingers caressed the man’s hair gently and a nice breeze came in from the roof. When Malik looked down, the man was already sleeping.

He had never felt so peaceful before.

He woke up at two in the morning, still feeling the hair brushing against his fingers and the inner peace it caused him. That was probably why he couldn’t bring himself to panic over the fact that he was almost sure the man from his dreams was Altaïr. If they were trying to tell him something, he was completely lost after that. Sighing, he got up and wandered through the house, returning to the living room.

Finding the lights on was a bit surprising, but even more so was finding Sofia doing something in the kitchen area. As soon as he entered, she looked back at him.

“Having trouble to sleep as well?”

Malik approached the counter and sat on one of the tall chairs. “Something like that.”

“Right. The dreams.” She turned back to the stove and removed the kettle. “Would you like some tea? I have a difficult relationship with sleep as well and it helps a lot.”

“Thanks.”

She smiled and filled two cups with tea bags with hot water.

“I’m not like you and Ezio. I never had the dreams.”

He looked at her with interest. By this time, he was so used to meeting people talking about weird dreams that finding a normal person for once felt completely out of place.

“I don’t know if it has something to do with you because of your ancestry, but I was never plagued with these... visions, as Ezio called them. But he suffered a lot through them, so I...” Her eyes were distant and Malik knew she was reliving some unpleasant memories. “Well, I wasn’t there at first. By the time we started living together he was at the end of his visions. They stopped entirely after Flavia was born.”

“They’re weird, make no sense.”

“He used to say the same thing. Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like.”

“They’re like...” He stopped. He didn’t even know what to say. What did the dreams feel like? Visions, sure. But from what? An alternative universe? Another life? Hidden memories? “They feel so real. I guess that’s the weird part. They just don’t feel like dreams.”

To his surprise, she chuckled.

“I bet. The first time I saw Ezio going through one of them was back when I was still in Italy. I was born in Spain, but my parents were from Venice, so when I turned 20, I went back to their hometown and reopened a small cafe bookstore they had there. One day, he simply came in, paid for a coffee and returned almost every day after that. We started talking and getting to know each other. Before I knew it, he was practically living there and I hired him as an assistant during his free time.”

Malik knew Ezio had spent two years in Venice finishing one of his books, but never knew he actually worked on a bookstore, even if it was part-time. He never included that bit in any of his biographies or resumé. What an interesting bit of information.

“One day I was cleaning the store after I closed it and I guess he fell asleep on one of the chairs because next thing I know he’s jumping out from his seat and running to me, like he was in panic!” Her eyes grew large as she continued with her story. “It was like.. It was like he was completely in shock! He grabbed my arms with so much strength and fell to his knees in front of me and started screaming how I could never leave him and that I had to stay with him. He was on the verge of tears when he hugged me like I was going to just disappear and told me I had to marry him. Would you believe that? Most people ask their loved ones to marry them, but he practically demanded.”

He blinked. “And you accepted?”

“Hell no.” Sofia snorted and moved to throw the tea bags away, handing him one of the cups. “I thought he was crazy and sent him away. He never showed up after that.” She took a sip of her tea, but put it down soon afterwards. He noticed as her expression became serene when she spoke next. “But I felt so bad for it. I mean, okay, that was strange, but he didn’t do anything bad to me. I knew where he lived so I paid him a visit. He apologized and explained to me what was going on.” Her fingers tapped on her cup.

“He told me he had seen me in his dreams and that we had been married there. He was calm and collected when he said that, nothing like what he had been at the bookstore. I didn’t believe him at first, but I thought he was just trying to be charming by saying cute things like that, so I took him on his offer.”

“And you married him.”

“No, no! Not that offer. I mean we started going out. Then we married.”

Malik drank his tea and looked straight at her. “But you make it sound as though you believe him now.”

“Because I do.” She finished her own cup and left both at the sink to wash later. When she turned back to Malik, she had a tired smile on her face. “Tell you what, talk to Altaïr. If you don’t believe the things he tell you, come see me at my bookstore. I’ll show you something that you may find interesting.”

He nodded, although confusion remained. She covered a yawn with her hand and waved him good night, returning to her own room. He should have done the same thing and returned to his own room, but couldn’t stop thinking about her story with Ezio. What if they were scenes from a past life? What would that mean?

He knew Kadar in his past life, he figured that much. Altaïr as well, as it seemed. But that dream he had before, the one where he patched the man up, something felt different about it. There was a connection there, as if he had known the Altaïr from his dreams for a long time.

He quickly shook his head. No point in thinking about the man. With sleep finally returning, he turned off the lights and went back to the guest room. He would have a long day ahead and should be prepared.

(And Malik hated admitting he was looking forward to it.)

SCREECHES

OH GOSH SOFIA AND EZIO ARE SO CUTE AND SO IS FLAVIA AND MARCELLo. Omg malik being good with kids is the cutest thing I have ever.

Ahhh Author-anon i seriously am loving this I can't wait to have altair and malik talk! Im just on the edge of my seat.

Sofia is so endearing ahaha her recounts of when she met Ezio was great. Good update author I can't wait to see what happens (((and hell yeah porn)))

Ooooooooooooh my god, this is simply amazing! I can hardly describe how much I love this story and your writing style! Everything is so fluid to read and the characters are A+. :D

New York was big. Too big. Constricting.

Everything about it was big and grand. The people, the buildings, the prices. But not the space. Malik apparently thought it would be a good idea to venture through the city alone. Big mistake - too many cars, too many people walking in the streets. Whether he went by bus or by foot, he was screwed. He should have accepted Sofia’s offer to drive him through the city and show him some nice places. But he couldn’t accept that, he wouldn’t dare distract her from her work, so he decided to take the subway. What could possibly go wrong after all?

After getting out on the wrong station about three times, he finally made it to Central Park, though by the time he arrived he wasn’t even in the mood to go in anymore, so he went around the place.

A few stops at some places and he came back to Ezio’s place with a bunch of trinkets and gifts for his brother and Anne, plus the new nano generation from the Apple Store - he really needed a new one. He couldn’t have been more grateful for finally propping down on the couch. He heard movement from the kitchen and turned around. Ezio came in his direction.

“Glad you’re back. You should probably go change yourself, Sofia and I are leaving in half an hour.” Ezio patted his shoulder once and disappeared in the halls, probably heading to his own room.

Malik wasted no time. Grabbing his things, he marched to his own room and dropped everything on the bed. He grabbed the social attire he brought specifically for the conference and ran to the spare bathroom.

Just before getting under the warm water, Malik sighed. He was nervous and he knew it wasn’t because of the lecture.

----------

Just like the rest of the city, the hall was huge, complete with a big stage and an even bigger projection screen behind it. They arrived early, naturally, so that Ezio could arrange everything with the rest of the lecturers (there were three total, counting the professor). Sofia stayed backstage with them for the most part. He offered help as well, but she told him to sit down and relax.

So sit down and relax he did. The place began to fill with people over time. He noticed that most were young men and women, ranging from 20 to 24 years old, probably. They all held books and pens in one hand and a macbook on another. No doubt students. At some point some teachers and other known professors began to find their own seats as well. He remembered a guy all the way in the front row to be one of the teachers from his college, but they never talked so he didn’t even bother getting up to greet him.

There was still another 15 minutes before it started but the place was already crowded. So much in fact, that some students were sitting on the ground by the side of the chairs. Wow. He knew this would be big, but still.

Just ten minutes left and he noticed Sofia returning to sit by his side.

“Everything is ready now.”

“You always attend to Ezio’s lectures?”

“Wouldn’t miss them for anything.”

He chuckled quickly, but became serious again. “I don’t see Altaïr.” It came out before he realized and he immediately regretted it. Thankfully Sofia didn’t comment on it.

“He’s backstage, no doubt talking business with Ezio. Don’t get all nervous now.” She commented with a low giggle.

Damn you.

She had been right. Not five minutes later and from the stage door to the side came Altaïr, hood in place, walking up the corridor. As he approached Malik’s row, their eyes met and as always, Altaïr didn’t seem too happy to see him. Malik glared back and couldn’t be more grateful that all seats in the row had been taken. He watched as Altaïr went all the way to the back and leaned against the wall among other students, crossing his arms and still glaring at him.

Malik shrugged and turned back to the stage. However, he immediately regretted not having a seat for Altaïr by his side. Now he would have to deal with the creepy sensation of someone watching him from behind for almost two hours. His fingers moved to the back of his neck, scratching. He knew he was being watched and it felt horrible. How was he supposed to concentrate like this?

There wasn’t much time to think anyway, for soon the lights dimmed and the stage was lit with the big projection screen. Ezio finally got on stage with the other lecturers and a couple of journalists that would interview them before the actual thing began.

----------

It all ended faster than he expected.

Sofia promptly got up and moved to the stage where she congratulated the lecturers for the good presentation. All around people started getting up and moving to the back where two very long tables were served with food and drink for all. He didn’t even glance back, Altaïr could wait a little longer. Meanwhile he moved to the stage as well, practically fighting against the flux of people moving in the other direction.

When he finally made it to Ezio, he smiled and extended his hand for the man to shake.

“It was really good. I’m so glad the principal had me come.”

“Glad you enjoyed.”

Ezio proceeded to introduce him to his fellow partners and he couldn’t keep his excitement down. He had been in other lectures before, he even did a few of his own, but they were always small and there was never any celebrity from the history world to accompany him. For all he’s been going through, it was worth it.

He was still talking to one of the men when from the corner of his eyes he decided to glance at the back of the room. When altaïr noticed he was looking, the man uncrossed his arms and lifted from the wall, walking to the terrace outside. Ezio approached him and whispered.

“Guess there’s no more avoiding it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Sighing in defeat and preparing himself to face the man, Malik straightened his shoulders and followed in Altaïr’s direction.

At this height the winds were blowing pretty strongly. Malik, never one for cold temperatures no matter how much time he’s spent in Canada, immediately rubbed his arms. It was definitely nothing like the extreme temperatures in Montreal, but he simply disliked cold. He’s always been much fonder of warm and hot temperatures for some reason.

He looked to one side and then the other, finally spotting the man he was looking for. He was sitting on the protective barrier, lazily swinging one foot back and forth. Is he mad? This is the 25th floor!, he nearly screamed, but decided against it. Like hell he would babysit a grown man and if he fell, well, all the better.

Clearing his throat, he approached, hiding his hands in his pockets. Altaïr turned his face in his direction, looked him up and down, and arranged himself so he was fully turned to him. Still, he didn’t say anything, just kept staring.

After a few seconds Malik grew irritated and started tapping his foot. When even that didn’t make the man speak, he gave up.

“Well? I don’t have all night.”

No response.

“Fine, if you’ve nothing to say, I’m leaving.” Malik threw his hands in the air, incredibly angry and embarrassed for actually taking him seriously and turned around.

“I’m thinking.”

He sighed and turned again. “Think faster, I really don’t have all night.”

“Shut up, you have an entire week here.”

Malik blinked confused. “How do you know about that?” Had Altaïr been stalking him? “Look, just...” He shook his head. “Before we even start, you have to promise that this will be the last time I’ll ever see you again.”

“What?”

“I’m tired of running into you. I want nothing to do with you. Just say what you have to say and leave me alone, or this conversation won’t even start.”

“Fine.”

Malik seemed content with the reply, but was bothered by how fast it came. Weeks of being plagued by this man and he won’t even put up a fight to try and make him stay? It made it seem like those past weeks were for nothing. Although, that also meant tonight would be the last time he would have anything to do with him. That was a good thing, he should be celebrating.

“How much do you know anyway?” Altaïr’s voice was firm and cold, it sent a shiver up his spine.

“You mean about the dreams.” He paused, thinking back on them. “I guess not much, only that they are the reason I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.” It’s not like he was going to say everyone kept telling him they were memories from his past life. He was sure the other man would laugh so hard he would fall over and Malik didn’t want to be blamed for killing him.

“No, I mean, what do you dream of often?”

“Hm... my brother most of the times.” Kadar was definitely seen often. Sometimes, other robbed figures, but mostly his brother. When he was small, when he got his own robe, when he died. There was also that one quick memory from yesterday’s dream where he treated a man that he was almost sure was Altaïr, but he was definitely not saying it. If anything he would think Malik was a freak.

“What?” Altaïr grimaced. “This is wrong, you should’ve been dreaming about me.”

Malik scoffed at the response. “Not everything revolves around you, get off your high horse.” But he felt kind of embarrassed because he had dreamt of him before, he simply wouldn’t admit it. But it was definitely not as often as his brother showing up in his dreams.

If Altaïr was offended by his comment, he didn’t show it. Instead, he calmly placed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and looked straight at him. Malik felt his breath get caught in his lungs and straightened up, listening intently.

“This is difficult to explain. I expected you to have started yours dreams sooner, but no matter. I’m sure you realize this by now, but they’re far from normal dreams. They’re memories from a distant time, another life in which you, your brother and I lived together. I can’t explain to you why you have the dreams, but I can explain how.”

Malik wanted to ask if by can’t explain he meant he didn’t know it or if he meant he knew and just couldn’t talk about it, but refrained. He would let Altaïr explain and then he would ask his questions.

“It’s a curse that happens to certain people. It’s not just you and me. It happened to Ezio as well, as you probably already know. His friend Leonardo as well and some other people you have yet to meet. We don’t know much about it other than it happens.”

“And how do I stop them?”

“You don’t. It will stop automatically over time. It’s a progression - once it starts showing you your old memories it will only stop once it has finished showing it all. Or all the important parts, at least.”

“You expect me to believe I lived another life before? Reincarnation, is that it?” He scoffed again at the story, but deep down he was even more surprised at the fact that he didn’t find it so surprising. Probably because everyone’s been talking about it - Anne, Kadar, Sofia... it just wasn’t such a shocking matter anymore.

“Believe it or not, I don’t care. Fact is, the dreams won’t stop. The more you fight against them, the tougher they will be. But here’s the catch, we have found a way to accelerate the process. Make the dreams come faster and they’ll stop sooner than expected.”

That seemed to catch his attention. The sooner he could get rid of them, the better. Raising an eyebrow, he nodded and motioned for Altaïr to continue.

For once, Altaïr was the one sighing. He shifted in his place and gestured with his hands. “This curse binds together people who have lived during the same time period. For Ezio it was him, his uncle and his friend Leonardo. For other members of our group as well. And so on.” He paused for a second and Malik noticed that for the first time in the entire night he seemed tired and his eyes moved somewhere else, not looking straight at him anymore. What was that supposed to mean? “You and I come from the same time period so it binds us together. If we want to finish this, we need to do it together or we’ll suffer through it alone.”

“How?” He took a deep breath.

Altaïr’s eyes were back on his as if he had never faltered in the first place. “When we stay away from each other they get rougher. The closer we are to each other, the easier it will be to deal with them. It’s not a hundred percent functional, but it works most of the time. That’s why I moved to Canada, if you want to know.” He shrugged. “But our brotherhood is getting weak, so I had to come back.”

Malik let the information sink in and pinched his nose. What a headache. What exactly did that mean, he would have to stay close to Altaïr? How close? Just living in the same country? Same state? Did they have to be neighbors? And more importantly, were the nightmares so unbearable that he would agree to this? How far could he go with the panic attacks? While thinking about all that, he decide to ask more about the last part.

“Brotherhood?” Didn’t Ezio say something the day before? Something about how they were losing some war. Maybe it wasn’t the same thing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were related. What kind of war was it anyway?

Altaïr was pensive again. He stroked his chin, and stared at Malik as if contemplating whether or not to indulge information.

“How much do you know about secret organizations?

“What kind?”

Altaïr sighed. “Okay, look, this may sound crazy, I don’t care if you believe in this or not, just make sure you don’t open your mouth about it. There is this war going on, control versus freedom. There are people who want to control humanity, so they forge our path - they make politics, economics, everything work the way they want. It’s a worldwide war that has been fought since humanity began. Our organization fights for humanity’s freedom.”

Malik resisted the urge to laugh. Part of him felt it was a joke, the other part wanted to hear more.

“You mean like... Anonymous?”

“Hmpf.” he snorted. “Not like them. We are them. Or rather, they’re part of us, except in a much smaller scale. They started on their own at first. They were lead by Rebecca and Shaun, two of our best members, but when they got bigger we absorbed them and now they’re one of our most important factions. We can’t fight everything at once, so we have segments. Anonymous for digital freedom, Gulabi gang against women oppression in India, and so on. They’re all part of us.”

His breath was caught again and his eyes widened. Was he serious? How big was this group of his? And why was he sharing such an important information with him? What did he, a tiny teacher from Montreal, have anything to do with this? A curse? Secret organizations? No, this was too much for him.”

“That’s... quite a story.”

He thought Altaïr would get angry at him for not believing, but instead the hooded man grinned.

“I know. It gets betters. I could tell you more, but then you’d have to join us. Actually I would like that.”

Something about the way he said it with that stupid smile made him incredibly angry.

“That’s your own damn problem, novice.”

Altaïr’s grin widened. Malik blinked. What. What, what? Wait, did he just say something that he shouldn’t?

He didn’t have time to think about it because in a second Altaïr jumped down from the fence and was in front of him, trapping his face between his hands.

“Yes! Exactly! See? You remember me.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” He batted his hands away. Altaïr didn’t seem happy because his smile was gone instantly.

“This is wrong. Stop dreaming about your brother and start remembering me already, dammit.” Malik made to answer with an angry reply, but Altaïr beat him to it. “Whatever, I can wait. Just hurry up, I need you to join us already.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten about our deal. I listened to you, now I have nothing to do with you anymore. Too bad.”

“No, our deal was for me to leave you alone.” He grabbed a cell phone from the pocket in his jeans and started messing with it. “And I’m going to keep my end of the bargain.”

Instantly his own phone vibrated in his back pocket. Grabbing it, he quickly typed the code to unlock the screen. It was a message from an unknown number.

“That’s my number. I’m not going to seek you out anymore, but I can’t promise the contrary won’t happen. Should the dreams get too unbearable, call me.”

Malik glared the number with fury. What a pretentious prick! What made him think Malik would just give him a call and come back running to him? Because that’s exactly what he had just insinuated. He should probably delete the message, probably delete the number from memory too. No, he was never going to call him.

But when Malik looked in front of him to say what he thought about all of this, he was gone. Just like that, Altaïr simply disappeared. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he opened the message that read a single line:

so call me maybe

He nearly tossed his phone over.

----------

At the very least Altaïr was a man of his word. For the rest of the week he didn't hear or see the hooded man. Ezio mentioned him a couple of times - asking how their meeting had been - but he couldn’t exactly blame the professor for reminding him of the freak.

Instead, he focused on sightseeing. The night prior to his last day in New York he attended another lecture and was glad Altaïr didn’t show up. Still, curiosity got the best of him and when Ezio drove him home, he quietly asked why he wasn’t there. His response was that he had been busy with the brotherhood and thus couldn’t come. There was that as well. The only reason why he hadn't completely disregarded the entire story was because Ezio was in it as well and he trusted the professor. If the professor believed in Altaïr, then perhaps he could take his word to heart. But still, many doubts surrounding their so called brotherhood remained. Were they like masons? Illuminatti? What were they?

And so, on his last day, he thanked Ezio and Sofia both for the stay and safely returned home. No more Altaïr, ever. This time it was forever. He let out a sigh of relief.

Kadar was kind enough to pick him up. He asked about the trip, the lecture, the stay, even about Altaïr (he told his brother he met the man in New York, but didn’t say anything about the magical stuff of rights and freedoms and such nonsense). It felt good to be home.

The dreams persisted for another week, but none so bad he couldn’t take. Until they gradually started getting worse.

First he dreamed of cutting someone’s hand off. A wounded man with a broken hand, in a shape so bad it was beyond repair, so Malik, with his one arm, cut it out, just like they had sawed his arm before.

Then he dreamt of a badly injured Altaïr. They were in the castle, one he had seen in his visions before. A funeral had been going on when a sparkle lit up the sky, something so bright he fell to his knees. Altaïr, who had been by his side, ran. He climbed a tower just outside and did something he couldn’t see, but the bright light stopped and he got up again. He thought everything was over when they were attacked. A lot of soldiers came in from the unguarded gate killing everyone they saw in their way. Before he knew what was going on, someone shot Altaïr with an arrow and he fell. From the tower. It was probably over 65 feet tall. He only remembered rushing to the man and seeing blood, so much blood, and there was something in his hand, a golden object.

But the third time was the charm. He was taking care of a young man. He wasn’t in the same room he had been before, the one with the orange glow and cushions, taking care of maps. No, now he was proud and tall inside the castle and he was personally taking care of a young man that, for some reason, Malik felt a lot of affection for, like he was his own son or nephew. (Could it have been because he had lost Kadar in this universe? Because he saw his brother in him?) He doesn’t remember seeing this man a lot, but he knew he cared deeply for him and something made him want to protect the lad with everything he got.

A few days later another man came in his room with his head scalped and bloodied in hand, blaming him for killing this young man, this person he cared like he did a son. He was jailed, the head thrown in by his side for three days before the smell got the best of the guards and they finally decided to take it out. He could pray they buried the lad, though he doubted it.

Malik woke up. He didn’t scream, he didn’t panic. He just ran to the bathroom as fast as possible and vomited his dinner.

No, no. This was becoming nonsense. It had to stop.

Not even thinking twice about it, he returned to his room and grabbed the cell phone. It was still 1am, but he didn’t care if he woke Altaïr up - he messaged him. If Altaïr could make this stop, if he had to put up with Altaïr’s presence just to stop this, he would. No more panic attacks, no more throwing up.

Minutes passed, and no response. Sighing, Malik lied down again. He had been a fool to trust Altaïr, he shouldn’t have--

The screen brightened in the dark room and the cell phone vibrated against the night stand. Moving as slowly as possible, he reached the device. It came from Altaïr, but it didn’t say anything, just an address in New York. What was that supposed to mean?

Not even two seconds later and another message. It was a ticket to New York, a plane leaving in exactly two hours. He raised a brow at it. A third message and like before, it only read a single line.

im waiting for you

Normally Malik would have shrugged it off and returned to sleep. But this was far from a normal situation, so without even thinking about it, he packed up a backpack with a few clothes, a toothbrush and the charger for his phone.

A quick message to Kadar and he was off. He was at the address specified in the messaged at five o’clock. It was a small apartment, 8th floor.

Taking in a deep breath, he rang the bell.

Altair/Malik reincarnation

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Writer!Anon

Re: Writer!Anon

Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 1/?

Re: Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 2/?

Re: Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 3/?

Re: Fill: Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again 4/?

Writer!Anon 2 here

Dream Catcher - Prologue

OP

Re: Dream Catcher - Part 1a

Re: Dream Catcher - Part 1b

OP

Re: OP

OP

Dream Catcher - Part 2

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Dream Catcher - Part 3

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Re: Dream Catcher - Part 3

Dream Catcher - Part 4a

Dream Catcher - Part 4b