#i swear if they start to believe desmond is some kind of entity like an angel or a ghost

[teecupangel]

A small moment of angst before I go to sleep: Desmond feeling caged in a'la "Break". Except instead of being snarky he leans more and more into the Bleeding Effect for any kind of support and affection. And maybe thanks to the whole place and the Appla at hand the interactions echo to his ancestor? Like, Desmond sitting on his bedroll and cuddling up to what appears an Ezio on a couch, except Ezio feels that all the years back. For Desmond, it's a bleed. But for them? It's real

Well... this thing got out of hand... (It was meant to be short but, I guess, it's short... considering it's me writing it XD)

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He doesn’t notice it at first. The Grand Temple was a place of contradiction. Smooth dark walls merge with the natural roughness of rocks. Some rooms are as cold as the most bitter winter night. Others as hot as a ruthless cloud-ness summer day.

And Desmond was usually an observant person. Both because of his upbringing and childhood training for the first sixteen years of his life and the constant paranoia and fear that gripped his very being after he left the Farm.

But the Animus…

It messes with one’s mind. Not only when one was accessing the memories it played but even after it had been turned off.

Desmond had experienced it before. The Bleeding Effect. It started out slow. In Abstergo, he would see shadows in the corner of his eyes and hear whispers too soft for him to understand.

He thought it was simply his mind playing tricks on him. His stress making him see or hear things not there.

Then Lucy explained what the Bleeding Effect was. Rome happened.

Monteriggioni happened.

The Synch Nexus happened.

And now, his Bleeding Effect had changed. He could hear them clearly. They would comment on whatever random topic anyone was talking about. They would warn him when he got too close to a ledge or when he was stepping on unstable ground whenever he looked around.

They called his attention when his mind got away with him.

“Desmond.”

It was… comforting.

The first time it happened, it was Ezio’s voice, using the same tone as when he spoke to Desmond back in the library underneath Masyaf.

The second time it happened, it was Altaïr’s voice and Desmond almost missed a jump. Hearing the man sigh made him shout “It’s your fault, asshole!” as he turned around.

But no one was there.

He had even started to hear Ratonhnhaké:ton. Soft whispers in his native tongue. He didn’t call him by his name but he could hear him say “Careful” or “Look up” whenever Desmond was by himself, checking what was still accessible in the ruins.

He told Rebecca about it, of course. She seemed curious but there was a hint of worry in her eyes. They both knew what this meant.

The Bleeding Effect was worsening.

========================================

The first time it happened. Of course, it would be Altaïr first which was poetic or symbolic, Desmond didn’t really care. After all, Altaïr was his first. It would make sense that anything that would worsen his current situation could be traced back to Altaïr.

The first ancestor he accessed in the Animus after getting kidnapped.

The first vivid Bleeding Effect episode he ever experienced.

So when he woke up, gasping Clay’s name as his dreams replayed his final day with the light-haired man, he was too rattled. Hands still shaking and heart still beating too fast.

He saw golden light coming from an empty room a few feet from where he decided to sleep for the night and walked toward it.

The moment he reached the doorway, he froze.

The entire room rocked slightly and Desmond had to place his hand on one of the crates nearby to keep his balance, unused to the swaying of…

A ship.

Desmond knew the memory immediately.

He saw him asleep, sitting uncomfortably on his chair with what will later be known as his Codex open before him. The golden light Desmond had seen coming from a small lamp on the same table as the Codex, glowing brighter than it should. Desmond walked towards him and quietly closed the Codex before grabbing a nearby blanket and placing it over Altaïr’s shoulders.

Altaïr grunted softly but did not wake and Desmond…

Desmond felt lost.

Unsure why he was bleeding this memory.

Unsure of what else to do.

The entire room swayed harder than before and Desmond yelped as he lost his balance. He fell by Altaïr’s legs, hitting the side of his face on his lap. The Syrian let out a low growl and Desmond froze, waiting to see if he would wake.

He did not.

Desmond knew he should get up. Kneeling by Altaïr’s side, head and arms resting on his lap as the other man slept, was…

Weird.

Absolutely weird.

But…

At the same time…

He was warm.

And he was Altaïr.

He was safe.

Desmond pressed his cheek against the man’s lap and closed his eyes.

The swaying of the ship should have made him nauseous.

But together with Altaïr’s warmth…

It was peaceful.

He woke to the sound of his phone’s alarm, back aching in protest at the uncomfortable position he had slept on. On his knees, resting his arms and head on some kind of smooth black object that may have been a chair before.

Maybe.

Desmond sighed as he stood and stretched.

He cannot deny it. As strange as that episode had been.

… It was probably the best sleep he had in a while.

========================================

Altaïr felt him when he entered his room. His footsteps had been soft, and would have probably been unnoticeable even to an Assassin who had been on the field for years. But Altaïr heard them.

To be more exact.

He felt him.

Something about the person who entered his room simply made Altaïr feel…

Alert.

Like his entire being was focused solely on his uninvited guest.

He stayed relaxed and kept his eyes closed, using his senses to tell him what the intruder was doing. He stood next to Altaïr and closed the journal Altaïr had been writing on. Then he…

Placed the itchy blanket on Altaïr’s shoulders?

Altaïr was unsure why he had done such a thing.

That was when the ship swayed hard, most probably against some kind of large wave or such, and the man let out a loud yelp that would have woken Altaïr had he truly been sleeping anyway.

He let out a small grunt as he felt the man fall on his lap.

They both froze.

Altaïr pretended to relax once more and waited.

His wary gave way to confusion when he felt the man relax as he stayed kneeling by Altaïr’s side. Felt the man rub his cheek slightly against his lap with a soft sigh. Altaïr waited for a few minutes before realizing that the man was truly asleep.

On his lap.

… In what world did this strange intruder believe that would be alright?

Did he not think that Altaïr would wake earlier than him?

Or did that not matter?

Was he here because he wished to-

Altaïr opened his eyes and his breath hitched.

The man was no longer next to him.

He was alone.

Had not been for the closed journal…

The blanket on his shoulders…

The warmth he could still feel on his lap…

He would have thought he dreamt it all.

But no.

It wasn’t a dream.

He stared at the blanket as he repeated.

There was no way it had been a dream.

========================================

The Bleeding Effect only got worse.

Or perhaps Desmond could say it had gotten better.

He could feel them now.

Could feel their warmth.

They felt real.

And, in this new prison called the Grand Temple, they provided an escape that Desmond couldn’t help but gravitate towards.

He never told Rebecca and Shaun.

And there was no way in hell he was going to tell Bill about it.

This was his little secret.

A little piece of paradise that his mind has conjured to give him peace even for just a few moments.

How nice it would be if time was to simply stop.

For the sun to stop ticking just for a few moments.

And let Desmond rest…

A single night in Manhattan made him miss his life before all of these.

Before Abstergo.

Before the Animus.

Before being heralded as the chosen one to save the world by a woman who said she wasn’t a god using the same lips that dictated Desmond’s fate.

When he was just a simple bartender in New York.

It was a lonely life, sure.

But it was peaceful.

A bit boring, maybe.

But, after months of being strapped into the Animus, reliving the lives and the tragedies of his ancestors…

A part of Desmond missed it.

He didn’t want to go back. He can’t. Not after knowing everything Ezio had sacrificed. Not after knowing how Altaïr’s life ended.

Not while he wanted to make sure, to see with his own eyes, that Ratonhnhaké:ton would be alright.

But that night, while he slept in the back of the van as Shaun drove them back to the Grand Temple, he couldn’t help but miss his small studio in New York.

He couldn’t help but miss the boring nights in Bad Weather.

That was when he felt it.

Warmth.

Right next to him.

He sought it out, turning until his forehead hit someone’s back.

He opened his eyes and…

He saw Ezio’s back, the slight tremblings of his shoulders…

He saw the crest of House Auditore adorning the cape he held in his hands.

And he remembered this memory.

He remembered the words he wished he could say back then.

So he pressed his cheek against Ezio’s back and wrapped his arms around Ezio’s waist.

“It’s okay, Ezio.”

“It’s alright to cry.”

He tightened his hold on Ezio as he heard the soft muffled cries coming from the grieving man.

There were no words Desmond could offer him.

All he could offer was his warmth, the same way their warmth had comforted him.

And Desmond hoped it would be enough.

“Hey.” Rebecca gently tapped his arm and he opened his eyes with a groan. She grinned as she teased, “I don’t think you should be using that as a pillow.”

Desmond blinked, not understanding what Rebecca meant by that until…

He realized that he was hugging the box where they stored the power source they just got.

========================================

Ezio wished that it was more than just a cape.

That his reward for finding all of those feathers was… more.

It was foolish to believe that those feathers would cure his mother of her grief.

Of his own grief.

But he had to be strong.

He was the only man left in their family.

It was up to him to show the strength of House Auditore.

It was up to him to protect his mother and sister.

It was up to him to-

Ezio gripped the cape embroidered with their family crest tightly, unable to stop his shoulders from shaking.

Even if it was in the silence of his room, he couldn’t…

He shouldn’t…

He needed to be strong.

He needed to be an Auditore.

A fighter.

A-

“It’s okay, Ezio.”

Ezio froze as he felt a warmth behind him.

He was back.

The one Ezio could never see.

The one whose warmth always brought peace to Ezio…

The one who will always leave whenever Ezio turned to face him.

His words were strange and hard to understand but…

The softness of the tone…

The gentle way he wrapped his arms around Ezio and pressed his cheek against his back…

“It’s alright to cry.”

Ezio let out a muffled sob as tears finally fell from his eyes. His shoulders began to shake as he tried to silence his sobs.

He feared this moment of weakness would make him go away.

But he didn’t.

He only tightened his hold on Ezio and shared his warmth.

As Ezio openly cried for the first time since the death of his father and brothers.

========================================

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Shaun snarked as they continued to hike their way to what was supposed to be Davenport manor.

“Don’t look at me. I’m looking at a map that’s not been updated in ages.” Rebecca groaned as she looked at the map in her hands with eyes promising a slow torturous death, “‘Cause someone said we can’t use GPS.”

“It’s too risky,” Bill grunted.

“Oh? Is that also why we parked our car a couple of kilometers away instead of driving?” Shaun sarcastically asked, making Bill glare at him.

“We received word from Gavin that Abstergo has been lurking around these parts. We can’t risk them identifying the van and realizing we went to the homestead.” Bill explained with an annoyed sigh.

Desmond simply kept quiet.

He enjoyed the impromptu hike.

After being in the Grand Temple for so long, only allowed to leave when they needed him to get a power source…

This was nice.

And the forest they were in looked familiar.

He was sure he saw this forest in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories.

Back then…

Desmond’s breath hitched.

This wasn’t the forest near Davenport Manor.

This was the forest near Ratonhnhaké:ton’s village.

That didn’t make any sense.

That forest should be near the Grand Temple, in Turin, New York.

They were in Rockport, Massachusetts…

He was having an episode again.

And he couldn’t hear or see any of his teammates.

“Shaun, Rebecca…” Desmond called out, trying not to panic.

Even if he was having an episode, they should still see him.

They should still be able to-

There was a sound.

Desmond turned to the sound and his eyes widened.

There was someone lying on the ground.

His legs moved on their own, running towards the fallen…

It was a boy…

No.

It was…

“Ratonhnhaké:ton!” Desmond shouted as he knelt next to the unconscious boy.

“Ohshitshitshit.” Desmond panicked, seeing the cut on the boy’s head as blood fell from it furiously.

This memory…

It was the day…

The day Charles Lee and Ratonhnhaké:ton met.

Was Ratonhnhaké:ton hurt that day?

Desmond didn’t remember.

Because Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories stopped when he lost consciousness…

Desmond looked around but all he could see were the fallen leaves around them.

Even if he was to use the leaves to stop the bleeding, Ratonhnhaké:ton might get an infection instead.

He opened his shoulder bag and grabbed the first thing he saw, forgetting he actually had a small first aid kit inside the bag because of how panicked he was (even though he should know that Ratonhnhaké:ton was going to be fine anyway). Instead, he managed to grab a clean white handkerchief that had been in the shoulder bag when Lucy gave it to him.

He didn’t even know whose handkerchief it was but it was clean.

Ratonhnhaké:ton moaned and Desmond whispered gently, “I know it hurts. Sorry.”

He held Ratonhnhaké:ton in his arms as he pressed the handkerchief against the cut on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s forehead.

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Ever-” The words wouldn’t leave his lips.

He couldn’t say it.

Not when he knew what would greet Ratonhnhaké:ton when he returned to his village.

Instead, he tightened his hold on Ratonhnhaké:ton and whispered, “You’re not alone, okay?”

“You’re not alone.” Desmond whispered, “I’m here, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

He felt Ratonhnhaké:ton move and…

“Desmond!”

Desmond turned around and his breath hitched once more as the forest around him had changed.

He was back.

He turned to look back and…

He was holding the Apple.

“Desmond?!”

“Yeah!” Desmond shouted back and quickly placed the Apple back into his hoodie. He jogged to where his teammates were calling him and found them soon enough, looking worried and…

“Where the hell were you?!” Bill demanded.

Desmond simply shrugged as he replied, “Had to take a leak.”

Rebecca let out a snort while Shaun rolled his eyes.

Desmond ignored the way Bill’s eyes silently told him that he knew Desmond was lying and said, “I think I remember where we are now.”

He pointed behind Bill, “That’s where the church used to be.”

“Oh, great. I guess we’re on the right track then.” Rebecca said with a grateful sigh.

“Let’s get going before we get mauled by cougars.”

“I don’t think they have cougars here.”

“There were in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories.”

“I think that was just the Animus taking ‘creative liberties’.”

“Oh, you insulting Baby huh?”

“Owowowowowow-!”

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Warm.

He felt warm.

A gentle hand.

A sting of pain.

“I know it hurts. Sorry.”

Another one who spoke that language.

An enemy?

No.

He was warm.

He held Ratonhnhaké:ton gently.

Pressed something on his head.

He could feel it growing wet with his blood.

He was trying to help.

He was trying to comfort Ratonhnhaké:ton.

And all Ratonhnhaké:ton could do was try to open his eyes.

Yet his eyes would not cooperate with him.

“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Ever-”

The man stopped.

Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to raise his hand.

The way he said that last word.

The sudden stop.

He was in need of comfort too.

Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered if he’d like it if Ratonhnhaké:ton was to pat his head just like his mother did sometimes to comfort Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Ratonhnhaké:ton felt the man tighten his hold on him and whisper, “You’re not alone, okay?”

“You’re not alone.”

His voice was comforting.

He was warm.

Yet he could feel the slight trembling of his arms.

The sadness in his tone.

“I’m here, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

And Ratonhnhaké:ton wanted to tell him.

His eyes finally opened as he whispered, “I’m here too.”

And he found himself alone. He had to catch himself with his hands before he fell on his back.

He saw something white flutter to the ground.

He grabbed it and stared at it.

It was a white fabric.

Drenched in his own blood.