Redeeming Thyself

oOo

Rules:

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

Found this and thought it would be pretty fun!

The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus: Cat and Mouse

(3:15:00)

It was a promise of an assassin to lay their own life on the line to save the innocent. It was permitted, expected, and needed. It was what helped harbor faith of the people for those in the white robes who carried the sins of murder on their shoulders.

Altair had once knelt on the dirty ground in a dusty alley of Jerusalem a long time ago. Weary, bloody, and so exhausted--but he was determined. That day he had promised to give his life if only for one second of forgiveness, one moment of redemption from the one man he had stolen much more from.

That had been many weeks, many months ago. It had been longer than he cared to remember, and yet the memory was so embedded within his mind that it haunted him with its promise. Even now, standing on bloodied ground with war cries sounding from every corner, with bodies from both sides littering the stained earth, he could only see that day.

"Altair!"

Malik knocked into him from behind, tensed and ready as the enemy converged in a tight circle around them. With drawn swords they faced their enemies, assassin instincts on full alert and chaos echoing in their ears.

"You must live through this, Altair. You're life is mine, remember that!" Malik snapped. "I shall be the one to kill you!"

Altair's life had never been his own, but he rather preferred in the hands of someone like Malik.

All That Remains: Two Weeks

(4:17:00)

Desmond watched Lucy with sharp eyes, feeling the now familiar frustration and resentment welling up within once more. She remained oblivious, typing away on her computer and pointedly avoiding his stare.

"This is all just bullshit, you know that? Some sick, demented, twisted game of yours."

She didn't answer.

He felt hurt mix in with his dark thoughts.

"Coward," he muttered under his breath. Still, she gave no reaction.

Fed up, he jumped off the desk he was sitting on and stalked up behind her and grabbed her wrist. She spun around immediately and he glared down at her, hating the feeling of betrayal stinging in his stomach.

"Would you just listen to me for once," he said in a hoarse whisper. "After everything that has happened, you just going to avoid me? Why?!"

It had been a week since he last touched her, and even now, with her small wrist clutched in his hand, he felt himself yearning for more contact. He resented it.

"Desmond..."

"I won't let you back out of this, stop running from me."

"...I can't..."

"Why!" he demanded again, watching as uncertainty, guilt, and even a little bit of fear swam wetly in her eyes.

Because I love you too much.

Hollywood Undead: Pain

(2:40:00)

If he had to choose one thing he hated most about being the Animus, Desmond would say he hated the suffering he was forced to share with Altair the most. And it wasn't just the physical pain he despised, oh, no, it was the mental and the emotional torture his ancestor was put through.

It was pure hell.

From being used like a damned dog by Al Mualim to being betrayed like an old, ripped and torn child's toy. It disgusted Desmond and made him want to go out and kill every Templar, every traitor in sight and then some, just to try and ease the sting of manipulation Altair was forced to endure.

But he also wanted to slug his ancestor in the face for being so trusting and blind. Even Desmond had been able to see this coming. Granted he hadn't been able to see all of it, but come on, the old man was so transparent it was sad.

In the end, Desmond figured that Altair had respected his master too much to believe in what he knew because he did know. Or at least, he thought about it from time to time, but had always brushed it away because it seemed so impossible.

It was all just too sad and depressing for words.

Switchfoot: Meant to Live

(3:25:00)

Ezio watched the crowds ambling about beneath him from his perch on one of the many shops' roofs. He could see courtesans giggling and flirting in one corner, thugs stealing and gambling in another, children playing innocently on the streets, and merchants calling out for buyers.

In truth, he envied them with a burning passion. So oblivious to the trouble brewing just beneath their noses, to the killers and traitors and two-faced rich leaders walking among them.

And he pitied them, and he pitied himself. He pitied the people for being the clay so able and willing to manipulate into even the cruelest of hands without a second thought. He pitied them for never noticing until it was too late.

He pitied himself for being a part of it, a part of the murdering. Though his intentions were good, what still remained was the fact that he was carrying on a war started long before his time. It was something he could hardly comprehend at times.

How was it that something like this was carried through generation after generation? How was that men could feel such greed? It seemed impossible almost, but then the reality would set it and that was just it, reality. It was either kill or be killed, fight for your side and pray to come out victorious or die trying.

The sheer dedication was astounding, and the pride he felt when he thought about his part (of being an Assassino and destroying the Templars) in it all, how in the end the greater good would prevail, he would smile the smallest of smiles down at the people and forgive them for not being able to detect the wrong milling along in the shadows with them.

Trading Yesterday: Shattered

(4:50:00)

Desmond smiled his first genuine smile in a long, long time. Lucy found herself staring, unable to understand how it was not laced with superior teasing or mocking intentions. It was a sincere, one-of-a-kind smile.

He faltered under her scrutiny and gave a nervous laugh. "Jesus, Lucy, what the hell are you looking at me like that for?"

"Oh, um, I...It's just...nothing. It's nothing."

"Nothing?" he repeated, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow.

At her rather sharp affirmation, he backed off and looked down at the floor again, studying his shoes as he leaned against her desk. He could hear Shaun and Rebecca bickering in the other room.

"Why don't you go get some sleep, Desmond."

He shook his head and gave her a familiar cocky grin. "Nah, I'm good right here, thanks."

She gave him an exasperated look, knowing full well no amount of nagging on her part would make him leave.

It was a reassuring thought.

---

Nickelback: If Everyone Cared

(3:36:00)

Altair liked peace. He really did.

He liked to sit on the tallest perch he could find and just watch life happen. It was reassuring and comforting to know that, despite the blood he spilled, despite the lives he brutally took, life still went on in its never ending cycle.

It was...nice, he supposed. Peace was something always wanted but never really found because while men still harbored bad intentions and inflated pride, peace would never be in reach. And it still wasn't with the Crusades going on.

But he liked to think none of that was happening sometimes, and just pretend.

It was easy to pretend.

---

Heather Dale: Mordred's Lullaby

(3:15:00)

Al Mualim watched his most talented student leave the fortress once more to carry out the task set upon him. A grim smile graced his scarred and chapped lips and he clasped his hands behind his back.

He found himself feeling that itch, the insatiable need to hold power in his hands, but he restrained himself, forcing himself to think, instead, of Altair's last words.

"If that is your wish," he had said. His wish...If the boy only knew.

He was finding it easier and easier to shape that boy's beliefs into whatever he chose.

---

Skillet: Don't Wake Me

(3:55:00)

"Kadar! No! Please, don't go!"

"I'm sorry, Malik, I must."

"Brother..."

"Goodbye, Malik..."

When Malik finally woke up from a dream that had been repeating for a year now, he was sweating and gasping for breath, having just seen his brother walk away in the most blinding of lights once more. It never got easy, even though he saw it every night.

There was a rustle of fabric and he leaped out of bed, his hand snatching at the dagger hidden beneath his pillow before throwing himself across the room and on top of another body.

"Who are you?! What do you want!" he shouted, pressing his blade threateningly in to the throat of the intruder.

"Malik."

"Altair?" he asked, shocked.

Malik backed off immediately and stared down at the man dressed in bloodied white scholar robes as he placed his dagger on the table. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he offered his hand to help Altair off his back.

"I heard...noises."

Malik tensed and looked away, knowing now that Altair had undoubtedly heard him yelling for Kadar to come back and don't leave him behind. Knew that he had heard him whimpering like a small child, weak and pathetic.

Altair's tawny amber eyes stared out from beneath his hood as Malik refused to meet his gaze. Finally, he spoke in a raw and guilt-filled voice of remorse.

"I'm sorry."

It was all he could ever say.

The Cranberrys: Zombie

(2:58:00)

"Do you still miss them, Ezio?"

The Assassino didn't even glance in Leonardo's direction. "Sometimes. When I stop to remember them."

Leonardo nodded and drew up one of his knees to rest his chin on, mirroring his amico's position as the sun set over the city. He dropped the subject, knowing that Ezio preferred not to talk about his dead father and brothers all that often.

It was still a very fresh and inflamed wound, even though the vengeance had been satiated.

"Bellisimo, don't you think?" Leaonardo asked after a long silence, staring at the burning sun sinking below the horizon.

"Sí, it is," he agreed. "The best view in the city."

It felt good to break away from the killing for a while and just take in the world. Leonardo blinked slowly, wondering why moments like this couldn't last forever.

Nickelback: Hero

(3:16:00)

Altair reached a hand out slowly toward the blindingly blue sky, watching through the spaces between his fingers as he closed them and tried to catch a bit of the sky in his hand. When he brought his fist back down to his face and opened it, a single white feather rested gently in his palm.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tasting the sweet flavor of hay and dust on his tongue. He felt his blood flow faster through his veins, his heart beat a little quicker in his chest, and the wind blow so softly over him; twisting his white robes around his legs like a caress.

Below, far below, panicked cries of alarm shouted out, begging for a semblance of balance and safety. It sounded like the world was ending as the Templars rampaged through the city, breaking, maiming, destroying, conquering, and killing.

Altair's sharp eyes opened slowly, coloured a warm topaz in the sunlight and resembling an eagle's penetrating stare as he looked down below him. The eagle feather blew from his hand, getting caught on a breeze, and spun gently in the air beside him before disappearing on the wind.

The next moment, he was gone, and down on the street cries of jubilation rang through the broken city as more than one man or woman swore they saw an angel dressed in white with a blood red sash tied around his middle dive from the heavens.

Finally, a hero had come to save them.

Breaking Benjamin: Sooner or Later

(3:38:00)

Desmond laughed and dodged the book aimed at his head. His grin only widened when he straightened again at hearing Shaun's indignant huff.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh? Strike a nerve did I?" he teased.

"Goodbye, Desmond."

Desmond shrugged and smirked. "Fine, fine. I can see my presence isn't wanted."

"Indeed," Shaun muttered under his breath and turned back to his papers.

His eyes stared at one spot on the documents strewn in front of him as he listened to Desmond's retreating footsteps and, finally, the closing of the door. Sighing, Shaun relaxed and shuffled through the papers, searching for a certain file.

"Are you serious though?" Desmond asked, causing Shaun to slam his fists on the desk and whirl around and shout 'Desmond!' while the assassin merely frowned thoughtfully. "You've only had sex with one woman before?"

Shaun gave a glare bound to kill as he regretted fully ever deciding to open up with the younger man. It was apparent that Desmond was an arrogant brat who discovered immense enjoyment in causing others discomfort and Shaun found himself butting heads with the assassin more and more often.

The Templars would take over the world and smash every defense thrown up before either man would admit that, deep down, they felt a grudging respect for the other and even considered themselves sort-of friends now and then.

But never out loud, because that was just as painful and outlandish as cutting off a finger.

A/N: In case you didn't catch it, there are actually 11 drabbles instead of 10. Yes, yes, that was me being an idiot and not paying attention at how much I was writing! I noticed about halfway through the last one, and I just decided to leave it because one, I had already started and I didn't want to delete it and, two, the idea would have stayed to bug me in my head if I didn't write it.

This was actually harder than expected, you guys should try it. You think it's easy, but jeez, it's not. It's really not. But it was the perfect way to let off some writing steam. I have an annoying habit of getting mauled by plot bunnies on a daily basis, and this challenged me to write all of them and then some. Well, maybe not all of them but you get the point. Another note, none of these were meant to be yaoi, but, meh, you take it how you want it I suppose.

Lastly, I hope you enjoyed, and, seriously, you guys should try this if you read it! It's a lot of fun! Please review!