Title: Reality
Author: Potatocrumbs
Pairing: Desmond/Altair
Summary: Dying isn't like he imagines it to be.
Author's note: After 2 hours of Assassin's Creed I scribbled down this. I don't think Desmond would be that sentimental, but maybe deep, deep down he'd have some affection for the body he's "living" in when he's in Altaïr's memories?

Hmm.

Dying isn't like he imagines it to be.

While a memory isn't reality, it feels as real as anything when a solider sinks his sword into Desmond's, no Altaïr's, no- his stomach.
He can feel a rush of warmth seep into his tunic, white turning red and as the solider pulls his sword out, it feel like his stomach is on fire, the pain spreading though his body, hitting his knees so fast he falls to them and clutches the wound with shaking hands.
A wet gasp bubbles from his mouth, and the world spins and fades in and out again as a desperate attempt to keep him from falling-
And then he is falling.

Desmond's eyes fly open; he struggles to breathe, lungs gasping for air as he panics and believes he's dying for a moment.

"Relax."

Lucy is in his view and Desmond remembers- it hits him so fast the wave of relief feels like a blast of cool air and he can't help the way his eyes clouds with wetness and feels it mix with the sweat running down from his hairline.

They don't talk much about it. Dying.
And Desmond leaves it be.

But when he's entering a memory, feeling the heat of the Damascus sun, the itch of his tunic and stifling leather boots and the smell of warmth, people and sewer; he makes a promise.

A promise to Altaïr, to keep him safe.

Even if it isn't Desmond's reality. Even if it's just a memory of something that happened a long time ago- too long ago- It feels too real to not care about consequences and the steady beat of Altaïr's heart in his chest.