asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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assassin's creed

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.2
Fill Only

Welcome to the Brotherhood

∆ 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!

List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There have been a lot of fics dealing with how the Animus has screwed around with Desmond mentally. So I want to see something dealing with the effects sitting around 24/7 has had on his BODY.

Is he eating enough? Sleeping enough? Wasting away? Is he getting pudgy? Is it making Des depressed or something else? Is he strangely affected by what's going on inside the Animus, like mysterious scars/wounds/~~hardons~~? Go wild! Anon can decide if it's angsty or humorous, but gimme some body loving.

And if maybe anon wants to throw a little Shawn/Des smexy tiemz in there, I totally won't argue.

Would totally love to see this go in a humorous direction. Lol after one session Desmond wakes up and has a full on Ezio!beard going on.

Second your prompt!

Tentatively claiming this. I've found I adore writing Desmond, and I always write him out of shape anyways. So lets see if I'll get a plot bunny.

OP. Oh please do anon! I would love anything you might come up with.

I can't wait to see this filled!!
I personally find the whole "the animus makes me able to do parkour! :D" idea hilarious and so, so wrong. Desmond might have learned the moves, but he definitely did not get that muscle because of the machine! It's so much more interesting to see the more realistic consequences of sitting around on a chair all day xD

Anon from this same comment - I'm filling this out, too. I hope original writer!anon who claimed this prompt does not mind! :'D It'll be up by tonight!

A/N: Second writer!anon hopes OP enjoys! I'm tackling the angstier side :D

--

At Abstergo he'd never noticed the growth of his beard, because they would shave it off him when he was asleep. The realization of this happening upon reaching the Assassin's hideout had sent a shudder of disgust and added an additional vibe of CREEPY to Dr Vidic's already repugnant character. He'd barely been a week off the streets, then, so he hadn't noticed much physical change beyond his ability to see blood-paintings on the wall if he squinted just right, and a sudden urge to murder anything that glowed red in the half-light.

Lucy had given him a tentative smile and a brief explanation about "the bleeding effect", which Desmond had taken lightly enough. It sounded cool, anyway: so he spent a couple hours inside a machine, reliving some ancestral dude's memories, and he would be able to do all that free running and ass-kicking, just by watching? Awesome! It sounded like the fastest way to get fit, ever.

But slowly, Desmond began to realize everything wasn't peaches and cream. It began at the hideout in somewhere, Italy, some days after fleeing Abstergo. In addition to the myriad of ghostly carriages and muttering, indistinct voices, Desmond was finding himself easily out of breath. A closer look in a mirror after a shower had him grabbing the tiny folds of his stomach, and pulling. He'd never been a man to be out of shape, even after leaving the Farm: eating healthily and doing daily exercise had done wonders for his physique. But all this lying around had started him on the road to pudgy-land.

And so he went to the warehouse downstairs to train. Lucy had recommended he try out his ancestor's moves, to make use of the bleeding effect -- but Desmond's mind was far too ahead of his body. He almost broke a limb trying to swing from one ceiling beam to another, only to discover his arm strength was many times less than his mind informed him it should be. He ended up crashing spectacularly onto a tower of boxes, making a mess and only just barely escaping with his dignity as he rolled to his feet.

Shaun made fun of him, of course: that was practically in the man's job description, given what Desmond had seen of him so far. Everyone had heard the racket and Lucy had swiftly come down to see what was happening -- Rebecca had even begun to pack in fear that they'd been discovered. Then, even she had joined in on the slow clap of shame, once Lucy had deigned Desmond to be safe and ok.

It was this ever-thinning wire of awareness that time was running out that caused them to lengthen Desmond's animus-time, upon Rebecca's suggestion. Lucy was reluctant, but even Desmond could see that the Templars were biting at their heels: he agreed readily. Again, not the sharpest tool in the shed. But certainly one with a good heart. Even Shaun had to admit that, even if only to the recess of his mind.

It came to be that Desmond would be strapped in from early morning till noon, every day. He would wake up disorientated, feeling like days had passed instead of hours. He'd lost his appetite, too, his mind refusing to believe he hadn't devoured that meal at Teadora's, or caught a cat nap at Leonardo's. His focus was utterly on killing Rodrigo Borigia, the man who'd murdered his family -- food and sleep were an occasional possibility, but not nearly the need that the hunt was.

"Desmond," Shaun snarked one afternoon, having observed Desmond stare rather fixedly and quite moodily at the wall for over a minute. "You look like a bloody wino." It could be mistaken for worry, but Desmond doubted it.

Startled out of his reverie, Desmond had enough energy to muster a glare and some random witty retort at Shaun before stomping off. A look in the bathroom mirror later revealed he'd forgotten to shave for what seemed to be three days now -- but hadn't he done so yesterday? The days were blurring… he viciously grabbed at his belly underneath his shirt, which was slowly beginning to sag. He'd lost his six-pack, too. He decided to train every afternoon after the animus session, to stop this from happening. He skipped breakfast, figuring with all his lack of activity, the less food he ate, the slower he'd grow fat.

And then Vidic decided to say hello. After a managing a ridiculously rushed, heart-pounding, teeth-gritting escape, Lucy grimly told Desmond they had to up the hours inside the animus. "We can't let them get the Apple," she explained, her eyes pained.

She didn't have to, really. Desmond understood.

It was obvious what this was doing to him, everyone could see. From morning till night he'd be strapped in -- he'd wake up alternatively craving food or feeling nauseated by it, and he was so exhausted he should have fallen asleep in an instant, but his body was far too alert for bed. With Lucy's permission, he would roam the streets of Monteriggioni aimlessly, leaping from building to building like Ezio would have, his deteriorating muscles screaming bloody murder in his veins with every jump.

"Where's the daft child?" Shaun asked Rebecca, one late night. Lucy was busy catching her turn of sleep -- five hours. Up until then he'd been updating the Animus historical database after trying a hand at cracking 16's cryptic messages and failing spectacularly.

"You worried?" Rebecca grinned, elbow deep in the Animus' entrails. It had overheated today because they'd been using it so often, and for so long. "He's out running."

"For your information, I am not worried." Shaun rolled his eyes in irritation. "He hasn't called in for a few minutes, and it's nearing dawn."

"Worry wart," Rebecca hummed cheerfully.

"Bugger off," Shaun hissed, and moodily returned to his typing.

Desmond returned a minutes before his time limit, limping. There were pockets under his eyes, and his face seemed sunken, like someone had sucked the life out of him. He hadn't shaved all day, and there was a good shadow parching his lips and chin, though not about his pale scar.

"Welcome back, you twat," Shaun told him acidly, glasses askew. "Next time, remember to tell us if you're going to be out all bloody night!"

"He was worried," Rebecca said mildly, not looking up from her work.

"I was not!" Shaun snarled, but it hardly mattered. Desmond gave him a blank look, as if he hadn't really heard. He made his way to the animus and collapsed on it, closing his eyes.

"Session doesn't start for another two hours," Rebecca said gently. "Go to bed, Desmond."

"I can sleep while inside the Animus," Desmond said tightly.

"REM doesn't function the same--" Rebecca began.

"Cazzo," Desmond snarled, his eyes aflame. "I'll rest when I'm dead!"

"You bleeding digit!" Shaun yelled, standing up angrily, face red. "Don't you bloody dare yell at Rebecca like that!"

"Shaun, it's fine," Rebecca said, eyes shuttered. She slipped the needle inside his hole-ridden arm, sedating him to unconsciousness for the procedure. "Whatever you say, Desmond."

Desmond's sunken eyes fluttered, and closed, moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, reliving Ezio's every moment. Shaun grit his teeth, torn between a very real worry and a more present anger. He resolved to forget about Desmond, and focused on the database.

It was Rebecca's turn to nap when Desmond twitched and groaned loudly, calling Shaun's attention. Lucy had woken up some time ago to buy food and thus Shaun was the only one available to oversee his progress. Frustrated, he left his desk and loomed over Desmond's scrunched face, observing it in detail. A bad memory? A glance at the animus computer screen showed Ezio had merely fallen off a building (hence the noise), and was now busy running after a target.

But Shaun was disinterested in Ezio's progress, compared to Desmond's physical state.

The man was pale, his features wasted. If Shaun squinted, he could swear he could see the beginnings of a greying patch underneath his thicker fringe -- Desmond's hair was growing out rather awkwardly, what with none of them owning a pair of scissors. His beard was just as scruffy as Ezio's was now, thick and untamed. There were lines that he hadn't seen before on Desmond's face, lines of anger and worry.

"What are we doing to you," Shaun muttered quietly, dismayed.

Random!anon is intrigued to see where this is going. Poor Desmond... ;__;

Beat me to the fill writeanon but I am insanely curious about this and wish to know more *waits*

OP here. I am seriously loving this fill, anon! I'm really looking forward to seeing how this plays out.

A/N: This writer!anon is so happy people are enjoying the fic! Sorry for taking a while to type this next part up, was partying with friends XD I'll finish this before I go to bed! Keep refreshing every hour, anons, I'll be done soon <3

--

And then, on the screen, Ezio suffered a blow to the face - something that happened often enough that it would have hardly merited attention, had Desmond's nose not abruptly spouted a fountain of blood.

"Holy--" Shaun sputtered, jumping back in shock. "Bloody hell!" Desmond's head leaned slightly to a side, the blood coursing down his face in a steady, lazy trail. Shaun had never seen this happen before, and fumbled about looking for something to stem the flow, hands shaking.

"'Becca!" He hissed as he dove through his things, seeking a kleenex. "Rebecca!"

"Hngh?" the engineer muttered unintelligently, slowly lifting her head from her sleeping bag some feet away. "Was'wrong?"

"Desmond's bleeding all over the place!" Shaun exclaimed frantically, awkwardly piling several sheets of kleenex on Desmond's face and scrubbing, trying to wipe the blood away. "It's like he took the blow Ezio got in real time!"

"What!?" Rebecca shot up, startled. "I'll turn the animus off!"

"Be careful!" Shaun warned, worried. "If we jerk him out before he's ready--"

"If we leave him in any longer, his brain will fry off!" Rebecca snarled, typing away without a trace of bleariness. "What if Ezio gets stabbed!?"

"Stay with us, Desmond," Shaun found himself saying quickly, knowing he was saying it more for his own benefit. "You're almost out."

Rebecca forced Desmond to desynchronize, and shut off the machine. The abruptness of the exit had Desmond's eyes snapping open, still half-within the constraints of Ezio's mind. Immediately, the man howled something in Italian -- some expression of shock or confusion, ripping out the needle in his arm and scrabbling off the animus, shoving Shaun out of the way in the process.

"Bloody hell!"

"Desmond!" Rebecca cried shrilly.

"Dove sono?" Desmond snarled, his eyes moving around wildly, his stance feral and ready to strike or flee at any moment. "Chi son?"

"Desmond, you bleeding twat!" Shaun screamed. "Wake the fuck up!"

Desmond hissed as the blood coursing down his face trickled down to his clothes, his hands vaguely attempting to stop the flow. He was cursing in a steady stream of Italian, stumbling around the room in confusion, crashing over Lucy's desk and finding himself face planting on the floor.

"Merda!" the man howled, his limbs feeling like jello. "Che diavolo e tutto questo!?" He leapt to his feet and, seeing how close Shaun had gotten, tackled Shaun to the ground, ready to assassinate him. Only to realize he had no blade strapped to his arm -- Lucy had taken it from Desmond, to take as a defense measure. Rebecca was screaming something in the background, likely calling Lucy frantically

Desmond and Shaun rolled around, struggling, but Desmond was in no condition to fight. Shaun found it surprisingly easy to overpower Desmond, flipping him and pushing his head to the ground, locking his knees at Desmond's sides to keep him from moving. He was shocked (and, dare he say it, rather horrified) at how skinny Desmond felt between his legs.

Despite being overpowered, Desmond struggled and snarled, his back heaving up and down from exhaustion, pain and terror. Shaun had the sudden urge to weep.

"Desmond, Desmond buddy, it's me, Shaun," he said loudly, hoarsely, shaking Desmond's shoulder with his free hand. "Wake up, Desmond, please."

"Lucy's on her way," Rebecca said, shaken, a few feet away. As if she couldn't bring herself to come any closer. As if she couldn't face what they'd all allowed Desmond to become.

Shaun's face was hidden by his fringe and glasses, beads of what Rebecca thought were sweat trailing down his cheek, and down his neck. His ears were red from the exertion it took to keep Desmond down, and his arms were shaking. Below him, Desmond was still flailing, but his movements were slowing, jerky-like, akin to death throes. A broken string of Italian was steadily leaving him like a breathless exhale, but it was muffled and nasal-sounding through the blood clogging Desmond's nose.

"I'm sorry, Desmond," Shaun's words were so quiet, Rebecca just barely heard them before Shaun hit the back of Desmond's neck with a swift and accurate chop, dropping him like a stone.

"What are you doing!" the frazzle-haired engineer cried.

"What else did you bloody want me to do!" Shaun yelled at her, and Rebecca inhaled sharply, seeing his furious, tear-streaked eyes.

"...help me lift him up onto the Animus," she said softly.

"What! Are you barking mad!" Shaun hissed, voice cracking. "You want to put him in, again!?"

"Of course not!" Rebecca snapped. "But we need to check him for injuries, to see if getting hit as Ezio didn't transfer as more than just a nosebleed! And unless you want to lift him up onto a desk filled with books and papers...!"

Shaun grit his teeth, but could not argue. He hardly wanted to leave Desmond on the floor, either, considering how cold and dirty it was. With a tight nod, together, Rebecca and Shaun hefted Desmond up and crab-walked over to the Animus. It was a silent affair, both stunned and horrified silent by how light Desmond seemed between the two of them. His body was thin and lifeless, weighing much less than Shaun would have expected of a male of his age. From Rebecca's troubled gaze, Shaun knew she was thinking the same thing.

Desmond's nosebleed had trickled off, but there was still a rather sizable smear of drying blood across his face. Rebecca busied himself with rubbing it off gently, flecks coating her fingernails despite the barrier of kleenex. Shaun, for his part, unzipped Desmond's hoodie and pulled up his shirt, inspecting him for injuries.

"'Becca, look," Shaun's voice shook, quiet.

"Oh man," Rebecca whispered. "What the hell..?"

There was a myriad of bruises peppering his chest, in varying degrees of green and purple, disappearing down his naval. Before, Shaun might have dismissed them as a result of an accidental fall while free running, or perhaps running into the corner of a desk -- and, surely, some of these were because of such things -- but there were a select few that looked precisely fist-shaped. And either Desmond was unconsciously punching himself (unlikely), or Desmond's synchronization with his ancestor had finally reached a level none of them would have ever expected.

"'Becca, this is killing him," Shaun said, low and with certainty.

Oh my god. Writeanon this is awesome and I want more!

This is amazing, please update this soon, the suspence is killing me :D

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay! Paideia at Reed is stealing my time and attention XD

--

Lucy arrived within minutes, face flushed and eyes round with worry. Rebecca quietly filled her in with what had happened while Shaun took it upon himself to scout out and identify all of Desmond's injuries, rolling up sleeves and pant legs alike. He was no medic, but he didn't need doctor's eyes to know Desmond's body was pretty much a big collection of hurt. In places Shaun knew Ezio had gotten slashed recently, Desmond's kin was a vicious red, almost blistering, on the edge of tearing open.

Psychosomatic injuries, but the kind that might someday escalate to a certain death.

Lucy joined Shaun, her hair a mess. "How is he?" she whispered.

"I think this speaks for itself," Shaun said viciously, wanting to scream and cry all at once. "Don't you think?" As always, his frustration manifested itself by pushing those nearest to him away, like spines.

"Shaun!" Rebecca hissed. Shaun turned away bitterly, but did not apologize.

"Oh, Desmond," Lucy whimpered, and akin to the crumbling of a dam, tears flooded her eyes and coursed down one-by-one, like a countdown.

They patched up Desmond as best they could, silent between the three of them. Desmond's skin was loose in some places, his previously solid-looking muscles lax and tender from lack of use. When Shaun wrestled Desmond's shirt off to place some salve on a sizable strike near his heart, he resolved not to mention the fact that he could easily see a few of Desmond's ribs. It wasn't as if they couldn't see it for themselves.

Desmond started coming around some time after, startling the silence that had overtaken the three. A low groan was their first indication, to which Lucy shot up to her feet, eyes cloudy. Shaun, for his part, had his head buried in his hands, unmoving.

"We have to restrain him," she said quietly.

"What!" Shaun snapped, head coming up.

"If he still thinks he's Ezio, he'll be a danger to us, and to himself." Lucy's eyes were solemn, but her hands were quick in motion, finding a length of spare cable and wrapping Desmond's wrists together.

"Are you bloody well mad! He can barely move on his own!" Shaun yelled, his chair clattering behind him from the force of his rising. He grabbed Lucy's shoulder harshly, tugging her. "He's no danger to anyone!"

Rebecca looked troubled, hesitant to join in either side. "Guys," she whispered. "Maybe we should ask Desmond?"

"Shaun, you didn't deal with Subject 16 - even in a state of utter deterioration, he was quite capable of killing people. I cannot allow that to happen."

"So what - you're going to refer to him as Subject 17 now? Like some kind of bleeding animal? Like he's gone off the deep end already?"

Desmond had never seen Shaun look so angry.

"Stop it, you two!" Rebecca cried, desperately. "He can hear you!"

It was almost comical how fast their heads both snapped around to look down at Desmond, who merely blinked up at them blearily.

"Uh," Desmond said, hazily. "Hi?"

"Desmond!" Lucy cried, relieved. "Oh my god."

"What's going on?" Desmond asked. His voice was hoarse. "Where's my shirt?"

Shaun stared at him. "You don't remember?"

"Huh?" Desmond blinked. "Remember what? ...wait," he raised up his hands, which had been tied together. "Why am I tied up?"

"Desmond," Rebecca began, but trailed off. The three of them looked at each other with troubled gazes, the realization of Desmond's lack of memory a dense weight upon them all.

"I mean, it's kinky and all, but I'm kind of cold." Desmond grinned, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room.

"Sorry about that, Desmond," Lucy recovered quickly enough, untying his hands.

"Here's your shirt," Rebecca followed, which Desmond slipped on over his head gratefully.

Shaun was at a loss. Were they just going to ignore this, as if it had never happened? There was no way Desmond was not unaware of the salves and bandages they'd put on his body. And he had been awake for the last of their discussion. Desmond was thick at times, but he was not dumb.

"Really?" He sputtered, and all three heads turned to look at him. Lucy's eyes were particularly hard, as if telling him to shut up. As if! "Are we really just going to ignore all of this happened!?"

"Shaun," Lucy's tone held a warning.

"It's fine," Desmond interrupted them, and his eyes were half-lidded, far too calm. Within their depths, Shaun would've sworn he saw a swirl of gold. "You can strap me to the Animus, if it makes you feel safer, Shaun."

Shaun sputtered a "that's not--!"

"We have to find the Apple before the Templars do," Desmond said, and his tone was heavy with finality. "None of us can afford any setbacks." He grinned, and it was so forced it was breaking Shaun's heart. "We're very close, I can feel it. I won't break before we get it."

"Have you all lost your minds!" Shaun's voice was so loud, the echoes reverberated back to him tenfold. "Can't you see what this is doing to him! At this rate, you will either die or go bloody berserk, you bleeding idiot!"

"I won't break before we get it," Desmond assured them again, and closed his eyes, leaning back against the Animus. "Rebecca, send me back inside."

"Desmond!" Shaun yelled, glasses askew. "Did you not hear what I said?"

"He's right," Lucy said, and her voice was so steely, Shaun knew she was probably a storm of emotions inside. But it did not deter him from feeling a horrendous slick of hate building up inside of him. "This is bigger than all of us. We cannot allow the Templars to get the location of the Apple before us. Rebecca?"

Rebecca looked lost, but she came forward anyway, needle shaking in her hand.

Shaun's lips flapped open and close, soundlessly. Grief, anger, frustration -- and, finally, resignation -- he threw his hands in the air, turned around and sat down on his seat, frame shuddering. "Do whatever you want," he hissed. What was left? Better to become utterly unattached, than care too much and break from the strain. He could do nothing but look at history, and see it repeat. Wasn't that the job of a Historian?

Rebecca's hands were shaking so much, she couldn't get the vein she needed. Desmond's arm was already ridden with holes from all the other times they'd pulled him under - a junkie's arm. Three pokes in, and she accidentally collapsed the vein, a purple bruise sure to form. "I'm so sorry," she said, shakily. "Oh god, Desmond, I'm so sorry."

All Subject 17 did was smile benignly, and offer up his other arm.

Time really was running out, even Shaun could not deny this. In light of Desmond's mental and physical deterioration, they could not afford to lose any more time. Lucy's new regimen put Desmond under for twelve-hour stretches, sometimes even more. Given that they could not feed him while he was reliving Ezio's memories, they set up a daily saline drip. Lucy bought seven of them, and Shaun could hardly stop himself from pessimistically assuming she hadn't bought more because she didn't expect him to last any longer than a week.

And when Desmond was allowed to return to consciousness, he was hardly himself -- babbling in Italian mostly, sometimes Arabic, and a couple times, Shaun could swear he identified a variety of other languages being muttered under-breath. When taken out of the Animus, he always seemed desolate, angry, restless, wanting to move and run and fly -- but his body could not keep up with him, weak as it was, and they ultimately confined him to the seat so he wouldn't hurt himself. He soiled himself once, twice before Lucy went out and bought an ergonomic bedpan. She took it upon herself to clean it every six hours, perhaps as some sort of self-punishment in atonement for what she knew she was responsible for doing to Desmond.

Shaun, for his part, kept quiet. At this point, he could hardly blame Desmond for not making an appearance at the forefront of his waking moments, instead favouring taking a backseat to madness. Truth be told, Shaun would have done the same. He busied himself with aiding the other assassin teams, working the night shifts guarding Desmond to give Lucy some reprieve. The woman hardly slept as it was.

Rebecca modified the Animus to accommodate as Desmond's now permanent seat, adding a variety of supposed creature comforts like extra padding and a wider width, to allow a bit of movement. She also gave it four sturdy circular attachments, to cuff Desmond's hands and feet. His wrists quickly chaffed, and they had to add padding to the cuffs, too.

The memories of Desmond's chipper smile and stupid questions seemed so far away, now. In Desmond's place, Subject 17 was a frail, dying corpse. It was so ridiculous, Shaun laughed himself to tears one late night, his breath hitching oddly in places. He didn't even feel Rebecca's soft, hesitant hand on his shoulder, so busy he was trying not to choke himself from lack of air.

Subject 17's imprisonment was fully underway, Shaun thought to himself. Now they only needed to take his life. Abruptly before him, the computer screen bulged and blurred, and Shaun impatiently wiped away the tears. He had work to do.

And all the while Desmond was dying, Ezio grew closer and closer to the Apple. Until he finally found it.

So much awesome in this fill. Much love for the write!anon.

Is it weird I want to cry?

It was all anticlimactic, from there. They had no more need for Desmond, with the location of the Apple revealed. They had to get to Rome -- namely, the Santa Maria Aracoeli -- as soon as possible, but they could hardly leave Desmond behind. Lucy pulled all her threads with the higher-up Assassins, viciously arguing until they agreed to take in Desmond while Lucy and her team went on to investigate the Vault. They picked him up in a nondescript van, some miles away from Monteriggioni.

Desmond was pale, unconscious, still strapped to the Animus 2.0 as he was loaded onto the vehicle. To Shaun, it seemed to him like he was already dead, and that bloody chair was his coffin. For all intents and purposes, considering Desmond's fractured and deteriorated state, it might as well have been deemed his deathbed.

"We have to go," Rebecca said softly, tugging his arm. Shaun had been staring at the empty space where the van had been minutes prior -- it had driven off, away, into the distance. Subject 17, or what was left of him, was no longer there.

"Yeah," Shaun said. "Duty calls."

Lucy said nothing, taking the wheel. They drove off, too.

It was laughable, really, what happened when they got to the vault under Santa Maria Aracoeli. It was all going well - Shaun had figured out the spoken password, 72, given Desmond's earlier remarks about the cryptic messages Ezio had left on the wall of the Villa Auditore. They had made their way down, discovering no enemies, no hidden traps. All the torture they'd put Desmond through had seemed like it had a meaning, the three of them feeling the excitement of being so close to the Apple, to being one step ahead of the Templars.

Until they were faced by a dead end. Only a descendant of the mixture of Those Who Came Before and a human could activate the steps leading to the Apple, and no amount of teamwork amongst the three of them allowed them to reach the middle platform, where the Apple sat. Shaun couldn't help it: he laughed. He laughed himself to tears. So much sacrifice to get so close, only to be thwarted by something so stupid.

They made their way out, and Shaun couldn't remember if they'd argued or yelled at each other, or simply walked in silence. They were still ahead of the Templars, who did not know the location of the Apple -- but, surely, they were not far behind. Who knew if they'd already captured a Subject 18 to continue with their experimentations? They had no inside men left, insofar as he was aware. What were they going to do now?

Go back to work, it seemed. Headquarters called Shaun back, to stay off the field and return to doing reconnoissance and support behind the scenes. Lucy was sent on another mission, perhaps an infiltration like her last job. Rebecca was given a team of engineers to construct a more efficient, less harmful version of the Animus. Were they going to stick more people inside that death machine?, Shaun thought, disgusted. How long was this going to go on? It was all futile. It was all futile.

And so they were separated. Shaun later learned by digging through some databases that Abstergo had indeed caught a new labrat, an unfortunate descendant of Ezio from a bastard line. The assassins, he read, were on the move to recover him, to use him to get the Apple. Was that it, then? Had Desmond so simply and so stupidly died, only to be replaced? Was that the fate of all those who walked in the shadows?

Shaun had nothing left to cry. He laughed.

And then, exactly a month after parting with Desmond, Shaun found him again.

--

A/N: You all are amazing <3 Thank you so much for still reading despite me deviating from the prompt and throwing ball after curve ball of angst at you ;; This story is almost finished! I predict another part or two :D

I literally gasped out loud.
omg omg omg anon I'm waiting very impatiently for this cause this is so awesome. Can't wait for the last bits!

Brilliant job anon, I can't wait till the next part!

A/N: Omfg, this story was headed in a completely different direction and yet somehow I ended up writing these last 5 parts. Stupid plot bunnies! I have sincerely have no idea how I got to this conclusion! Still, I hope these last parts are enjoyable xD;;

--

Shaun wasn't a natural-born assassin, but he'd always had the ability to see how supposedly miscellaneous information fit together. It was like his very own Eagle Vision, except that instead of seeing the world in terms of ally or foe, he drew sense from raw data.

It hadn't been intentional, though he'd certainly been keeping an eye out for any mention of Desmond in all the emails he intercepted, Assassin or Templar. Higher-ups in Abstergo had a tendency to exchange sensitive information using rather abstract euphemisms -- for instance, whenever they were talking about Desmond, they would use the key word Martini. Haha, Shaun thought dryly. So clever.

Given these parameters, Shaun deduced that Abstergo had found intel that the Assassins were keeping him in a safe house somewhere, recovering. A prod in the right direction had Shaun understanding that the Assassins were helping Desmond recover because they had ulterior motives. Naturally, wanted to see if they could use him to get the Apple. Same as the Templars.

Shaun didn't know whether to be disgusted or understanding. What he did know was that he wanted to see Desmond again. To apologize? To sympathize? He hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

It should have been harder to find the safe house, but Shaun was rather talented at finding things. He Bcc'd Lucy and Rebecca in an email to the Assassins' Headquarters, inquiring to see if he could be allowed to visit Desmond. He also enumerated a rather long list of the cracks they had in their security, berating the idiots who didn't know how to encrypt their emails properly. Fortunately for him, Headquarters wasn't annoyed at him for prodding. They thanked him for the warnings, and informed him they were moving Desmond. They then added that he would be escorted to Desmond in two days' time.

Lucy immediately called him, after, angry at the approach he'd taken, telling him Headquarters could have easily taken his intrusion the wrong way. Then, after ranting for a long minute about his stupidity, she burst into tears and told him to say hello and sorry to Desmond for her. She was still on a mission, she said carefully, and could not abandon it halfway through. Shaun let this soak in. Considerably mellower, he assured her he would do that for her.

Just minutes after, Rebecca hacked into his computer and opened a chat window on his desktop, startling the shit out of him before he realized it was her. She excitedly told him she'd heard from Lucy and that she'd gone ahead and done her own digging, unbeknownst to their employers, and that insofar as she could tell, Desmond had been moved to X facility, not far from where Shaun was. She also sent him a compiled .pdf of the files they had on Desmond, revealing sensitive information that implied Desmond was not completely sane all the time, though he did have lucid periods.

Through a subsequent complicated string of text-based emoticons, Shaun deduced Rebecca was still upset about what they'd done to Desmond and wished she could be there to personally apologize. So, Shaun promised to say hello and sorry to Desmond for her, too. Rebecca replied " ^(TToTT)^!!! ty & gl bby~~!! m(__)m " and logged off.

Shaun was nervous as the weekend approached. He didn't know exactly what to expect, how the meeting would go. The files on Desmond were brief, there were no images to accompany the reports. What exactly did they mean by 'lucid periods'? Would he remember who Shaun was? Would Desmond blame them all, if he did? He spoke again to Lucy and Rebecca, and steeled his nerves.

A car came by for him on the designated day. They drove him to a nearby clinic: it was a shabby-looking thing from the outside. Inside it looked just as shabby. There was a trapdoor leading to a nasty-looking basement. There was a door there, which opened to a ridiculously pristine-looking hallway. Haha, Shaun thought again, dryly. Everyone's so fucking clever.

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(Anonymous) - 2011-03-14 04:16 (UTC) - Expand

Holy crap, anon! You are tugging the ever-loving hell outta my heartstrings. I absolutely love how utterly torn up everyone is and the fact that Desmond is just kinda...checking out. On the angst side of the board, this is exactly what I was looking for. Go anon, go! Keep up the awesome job!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

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