A/N: Trigger warnings apply! This story contains past child abuse, harsh and offensive language and sexual themes between same-sex couples. Please, please read at your own risk. I truly do not want to upset anybody who has gone through similar situations. Let me know what you think! Cross posting this from my account on AO3.

-i-

"Even in its darkest passages, the heart is unconquerable. It is important that the body survives, but it is more meaningful that the human spirit prevails."

-i-

Life can get pretty complicated sometimes. A man gets dealt a bad hand, he either overcomes and conquers his obstacles, or he falls headfirst into the abyss and lets himself be swallowed up without so much as a whimper. Sometimes there are a few who scratch and claw and kick their entire life, fighting right up until the very end, until their lungs just give out and their heart simply quits. Sometimes people battle demons no one ever knows about. Sometimes there are struggles going on inside a person that would bring others to their knees and make them start crying out for mercy from whatever god they believe in.

Sometimes there are people who never want for anything, people who are borne with silver spoons in their mouths and credit cards with no limits clutched in their little pink hands. Sometimes there are people who breeze through life without a care in the world because they are safe, because they have nothing at all to worry about and all they have to do is snap their fingers to get what they want. They never have to consider what it's like to feel fear. They don't have to comfort themselves with the futile hope that maybe – maybe one day there will be a light waiting for them at the end of the tunnel, that maybe their life isn't as insignificant as they've been told and that they aren't really all alone in the world. They just smile and keep on going, because their rose-colored glasses protect them from what life is really like.

Altair hates those people.

He hates them because they are normal. He hates them because they look him over every day without a thought, because they ignore the bruises and hisses of pain, because even with two ears they don't know how to really listen to a person. Even the ones who aren't blinded by dollar signs, the ones who can appreciate the little things in life and have beautiful laughs, he hates them just as much.

He hates everybody.

He doesn't have to be told it's stupid and unfair to them, he knows it is already. Those people can't help who they are any more than he can help who he is. It's just the way things are. He gets that, really, he does. But that doesn't mean he has to like it, that doesn't mean he has to accept it and let it go.

Over the years that hate has been his one and only constant, the one thing he can rely on unconditionally. People come and go, promises are made and broken, the world keeps spinning on and on and time never stops, but that festering thing in his chest has remained like a faithful beast called to heel by its master. It grows and consumes whatever he wishes, whatever he believes should be despised. It has kept him up, like a crutch, has given him the drive to put one foot in front of the other and not fall into the darkness singing so sweetly in his dreams.

Without it, he knows he would be nothing. He would fall and he would shatter like glass on the floor, fade away like a ghost – like Mom was; gone, a puff of smoke, a final breath seconds before a deadly mix of chemicals finish their poison and stop a weak heart inside an already still chest.

Altair hates so deeply and so fiercely because it is the only thing that keeps him going. It's the only thing that gives him the strength to protect the others because they can't do it themselves, because they don't even understand how. They're too small, too young, to begin to know why they should.

So he does it for them – has done it since he was ten and found Mom lying unconscious in the middle of the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of pills clutched in one hand and the other lying cold and stiff in a puddle of Dad's prized whiskey.

Since the very second a hand was laid on him in misplaced anger after her funeral, since the first hateful word spat in his face and the impression of large hands squeezed into his slack arms, since the moment he was unfairly blamed for every little thing that went wrong just because he was nearby, since that terrible, dark day when hands that were only ever meant to guide and to love took his world and tore everything apart – Altair has hated with every single cell inside his body, with every pulse of his beating heart.

And yet after all these years of pain and suffering, after every knockdown, drag out fight that left him passed out in the middle of the floor because the agony was just too much to take, after all the blood and broken bones and bruises and scars that he has been forced to endure, Altair can't even manage to lift his gaze from the scuffed, dirty loafers he's wearing braced against the shiny tiled floor to meet his father's eye.

The courtroom is completely silent. If someone were to drop a pen in that moment, it'd sound like a nuclear bomb going off. He shifts and winces at the sound of fabric rubbing together. He wishes it wouldn't be so quiet, maybe then he wouldn't have to listen to the erratic pounding of his heart slamming against his chest, or his loud, uneven breathing scraping from the rawness of his throat.

The adrenaline is almost too much to handle in such a closed, respectable place. He'd like to scream and throw something – create chaos for the sake of chaos. Anything to make the whole thing be over already so that they could go home. With Malik.

He is seconds away from flipping the desk and ripping his hair out when finally, mercifully, the judge lets out a defeated sigh and leans back into her chair with a creak of stretched leather.

"I am not confident in the abilities of children raising children in the place of an actual parent figure," she says slowly, watching with uncannily sharp eyes as Altair lifts his chin just that little bit extra so it becomes a challenge instead of simple comfort. "And I firmly believe that the three of you would benefit greatly from one of the many foster families that the state helpfully supports, rather than something so potentially unstable as your current situation."

He feels so incredibly tense that his spine is threatening to snap in half from the pressure. A glance to his right lets him see that his brothers are no better off than himself, each of them stiff and sickly pale from nerves. As he looks at them, Desmond's eyes flit over to his anxiously and hold. His bottom lip is trembling, and he looks so terrified that Altair's conviction breaks like a twig in a windstorm and has him stepping out just as Desmond crumples and reaches up to be held.

Still too skinny, he thinks angrily as he scoops the youngest up. Desmond is underweight, scrawny and looking like a little five year old rather than his actual eight years of age. He gives the others a second glance as he straightens back up, noting the extra bulk the two of them have managed to put on in the past few weeks. They look okay. Not as healthy as he'd like them to be, but it's a good start and a damn sight better than what they were just two months ago.

But is it enough to convince this woman that they should stay together?

Altair grits his teeth and faces the judge's stand once more, fighting the snarl that threatens to twist his features as his father's voice barks out in protest from the table behind them.

"How is that fair? That shouldn't be allowed, it's corrupting this entire process! Put him down, you hear me? You are not going to turn him against me anymore than you already have, you little queer ass traitor – "

"I will not have that kind of language in my court," the judge snaps loudly, her voice sharp as a whip crack as it cuts off their father mid-insult. Desmond flinches in his arms and Altair tightens his hold with a reassuring murmur. "Mr. Davis, I ask that you please control your client before I have him held in contempt."

A slight argument breaks out between lawyer and defendant, and then quiets once more as the judge fixes her eyes back on Altair with a deep frown creasing the space between her eyebrows. "I have listened to countless stories like yours over the years, young man. What you are asking for will not be easy. You are in for a long and difficult journey, and I pray that you are prepared for it. I hope you take this second chance as the blessing it is and do well with it, do you understand me?" She waits for the uncertain nod Altair responds with before letting slip a faint, amused smile that shows just a hint of teeth. "Good. With that being said, I hereby grant full guardianship of the minors Ezio Auditore, Connor Kenway and Desmond Miles to their eldest brother…Altair Ibn-La'Ahad."

He ends up having to kneel in the middle of the courtroom after his knees suddenly give out, but it's okay because his brothers are right there to hold him steady when he does, laughing and smiling and jostling around like a pile of clumsy puppies. He manages to catch the judge's eye among all the shifting limbs and gives her a grateful smile, mouthing 'thank you' over and over again.

He had hated her the second he and his brothers had come through the doors earlier that morning. He had been convinced her decision would send them back into their father's home, or torn apart for strangers to adopt. But, instead, she's just sitting up there in her stand and giving him the barest of smiles, nodding modestly back in response to his swelling gratitude like she didn't just reveal herself to be some kind of guardian angel finally come to deliver them to paradise.

Altair grips his brothers tighter and, amid the swearing and cursing of the man they once knew as their father, pulls them out into the warm afternoon sun.

-ii-

The first three months of adjusting to their new life are so rocky and stressful that Altair sometimes catches himself wondering if he really did make the right choice. He constantly worries that maybe it's because he isn't good enough, that the judge was right and he's too young for this. How can he try and be a parent to his brothers when he can't even tell the difference between whole milk and two percent? He stresses over it like a dog with a bone, chewing and gnawing away until it feels like his teeth are seconds from breaking under the grinding pressure.

It wouldn't be so awful really if they weren't constantly fighting. They go at each other more now than they ever did before, punching and kicking and biting like wild animals hell bent on killing each other – and it drives Altair up the proverbial wall. He's never been much of one for yelling, but two weeks into their new arrangement and his throat is hoarse from how much he has screamed and shouted at all of them.

If it weren't for Malik, he knows they would all have ripped each other to shreds by now. Malik keeps them relatively grounded. His temper is a formidable opponent and his tongue like steel when he chooses to unleash it on the four of them. They all know to sit down and shut-up if Malik gives them the 'look'; a narrow-eyed, tight lipped scowl that can easily burst one's hair into flames if so desired. Altair loves him for it, for how he can step up and be a parent seemingly without any effort at all and for caring enough to do it in the first place.

They would be nothing without Malik.

He thinks as much even now, their third month winding down to a few more days, and only a handful of weeks left before school is scheduled to begin. Malik has gone out of his way to get his hands on supplies from work for the boys to use and even dipped into his savings to purchase them a couple of new outfits. He had given Altair a verbal whipping of epic proportions when he'd tried to stop him, and since that day Altair has learned to let Malik do as he pleases or risk a lashing so awful even his own father would cower in fear.

"I spoke with the school and set up a meeting with Desmond's teachers in the morning." Altair looks up from the sprawl of documents in front of him with a slight frown as Malik comes into the room. "They'll want to speak with you about the situation, give you a chance to see what they recommend."

Altair grunts and grabs a pamphlet from the mess of papers. "Recommend for what? He's going to be fine."

"Altair," He tries not to wince at the warning in Malik's tone and looks back up with feigned indifference. "Talk to them and hear what they say. If Desmond starts to have any kind of trouble, at least you will be better prepared."

"What about Connor and Ezio? Should I go gossiping to their teachers too?"

Malik quirks an eyebrow at him and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, am I wrong in assuming that you care if your brothers adjust well or not in a new school full of strange people they have never met in their life? Because, forgive me, I thought that would be somewhat important." He gives a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. "How silly of me to think you would want them to be comfortable. God forbid they settle in with understanding faculty members and actually make some friends."

"I just don't see the point of it," he snaps after a moment, bitter at the thought of having to ask for special treatment for either himself or his brothers. "They don't need people pitying them, Malik. We're doing fine like we are without anybody hugging us and kissing our cheeks every time we go around a corner."

"Is that what you think will happen?" Malik comes up and drops into the seat at his side, frowning thoughtfully as he pushes the pamphlet Altair isn't reading down onto the table. "Altair, is that what you think? That people will treat you like some kind of charity case if they happen to know a few details of what the four of you went through?"

He stares at his own hands and shrugs a tight shoulder. Malik sighs and drops his forehead against it. "You idiot, of course they aren't going to act that way. These teachers are distinguished, respectable people with only their student's best interests in mind." Altair feels him knock against his shoulder reproachfully. "They were once my colleagues, I trust them to handle the situation appropriately."

"Maybe you do," he mumbles. "I don't know them, I don't trust them."

"I won't ask you to." Malik straightens and uses the tips of his fingers to turn Altair's face toward him, slotting their noses together so easily it's like every dip and bend on their person was made only for the other. This close it's hard to see much of anything, but Altair can feel the slight curve of Malik's bottom lip turned up in a reassuring smile and it eases the tension between his shoulder blades. "I ask only that you trust me. Can you do that?"

"You know I do."

The smile presses against his own lips in a chaste kiss that still manages to send a thrill down his spine and has his mouth falling open for more. Malik rumbles a chuckle as he pulls away and begins straightening the legal documents spread haphazardly over the table. "Good. Then also trust me to help you organize this mess before it ends up in the trash."

"That was one time – "

"And the only time, seeing as how you were nearly arrested for carelessly losing the court's signature and your guardianship agreement! Now stop your bitching and help me before I staple each of these pages to your ridiculous face."

The judge had been right when she said it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, Altair's pretty sure this is going to be the most painful, hardest thing he will ever have to do in his entire life. He knows it will break him over and over, and that it will never stop hurting no matter how many times it happens. But he also knows he loves his brothers, that he loves Malik, and that even when things get hard they will still have someone to lean on. Things are going to change so much for them – but at least one thing will stay the same. They will always have each other.