Let Me Out of This Dream

[madimpossibledreamer]

...Because this volume wants to keep going with the dark themes, warning for past probable dubcon for Shaun and aftermath of mind control (again, brief/implications). Maybe I should’ve expected it could go here given that TSW is gritty dark urban fantasy, and it’s not like there aren’t the occasional AC sidequest touching on specific themes.
Also someone (Shaun maybe) tell this goofball he’s allowed to stop re-traumatizing himself. This one isn’t his fault, but he is absolutely being reckless. And can also stop victim-blaming when it comes to himself. He’s not listening to me.
Adult ravens don’t tend to gather shiny objects like younger ones do—they like them, yes, but they also tend to be warier.

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Shaun checks in on Desmond, who with some thought puts the pieces together.
Word Count: 2823
Rating: Teen
this chapter is definitely considered pre-slash

         He doesn’t pass out. He’s pretty sure he’s conscious the entire time, but it’s all he can do to concentrate on his own breathing, and he’s not seeing much, but that’s fine. It’ll stop, eventually. It always does. He’s just got to hold on.
         It’s a nudge at his hand that finally gets his awareness coming back. It happens again, and he opens his eyes to find he’s laying on the concrete, and Rukh is staring at him. The raven cocks his head on the side, clicks his beak a bit, and then pushes something into Desmond’s fingers again.
         “Desmond, would you mind answering why your raven is answering your calls?” It’s Shaun. He sounds sharp, which probably means he’s a little worried.
         It takes Desmond a moment to even process the question, but when he does, he can’t help but chuckle. “Guess he decided he’s my secretary, now.”
         Rukh lets out a self-satisfied noise and stalks over to Desmond’s bag, determinedly starting to pull down the zipper with his beak.
         “What’s wrong?” Okay, yeah, the way his voice gets a little gentler probably should have been a clue to how he feels, before Rebecca confirmed it, but Desmond really hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions without being sure. Shaun’s obviously noticed that no matter how cheery Desmond may try to make his voice, he’s still not feeling better, after that.
         “...Give me a moment.” Apparently he’d decided the safest thing to do was to crawl under the police car in the middle of the tunnel. He kinda gets what he was thinking. It’s not like it’s going to move again anytime soon, he didn’t really think he could climb anything, it’s unlikely anyone or anything would notice him here (well, maybe Beaumont; he doesn’t know what’s going on there), and, well.
         Back on the Farm, he used to climb, whenever he didn’t want to be found, but of course a bunch of Assassins could find him. What they didn’t do, when he was small enough he could manage, was check every little nook and cranny, so if he’d wedge himself in somewhere safe enough, he’d get a break, just for a little while.
         Bill, of course, being the asshole he was, decided that it was a great idea to add a warped version of hide and seek to the training, too.
         He’s got to climb back out, though, particularly before he talks to Shaun too much, because he really doesn’t want Shaun to know how bad he’s doing, even if he’ll get the gist. He avoids crowding Rukh, slumping with his back against the car—
         Is that a bracelet? He kind of recognizes it, too—did the white raven seriously steal that from somebody?
         His raven displays his tail feathers proudly and proceeds to try to stuff the bracelet into the outer pouch. There’s a small pile of shiny things piled next to his bag. It’s not exactly clear if this is Rukh’s little treasure stash he decided to move to Desmond’s bag if he’s following Desmond around all the time, or if it was some sort of gift attempt to cheer him up, but either way it makes him smile. He really is an Assassin bird. Except—
         “Not the glass, Rukh.” He’s going to cut his fingers on it.
         Rukh croaks and nudges the glass toward the bag defiantly.
         “I’ll get you something else. I don’t want to bleed all over your treasures.” The white raven eyes him, then makes a strange gurgling sound that honestly sounds like an attempt at a purr, pushing one wing into Desmond’s hand. Stroking the feathers is nice. For them both, it seems, because he leans into it briefly before starting to poke a wire in.
         “...Were you underneath that car?” Shaun doesn’t sound like he wants to know the answer, but he’s asking anyway and whoops, he was on a call, too. And—wait, did Rukh turn on a video call? He didn’t even know he had that. It’s not like he bought a fancy plan or anything. (Then again, hang on, maybe he didn’t, maybe he’s been unconsciously using the Calculations again, he has been noticing his phone isn’t exactly working as expected—)
         Keeping track of more than one thing at the same time is a little hard, at the moment.
         “I’m not—” How the hell does he put this? He doesn’t want Shaun to worry about him even if he’s probably gonna do it anyway. “I don’t...ever want to be mind controlled again.”
         His voice breaks a little, no matter how hard he tries to keep it steady. He feels a little cold, huddling further into the hoodie.
         “Five things you can see, Desmond.” Shaun sounds calm, so at least one of them is good at pretending, here.
         He smiles slightly. “Rukh.” The raven pauses his attempt at adding what might be a ruby to make yet another noise Desmond’s never heard before. He does seem like he’s trying to be quiet and stealthy, but then, all the ravens have been like that. The rest of the animals, too, with how few he’s seen. “The cars piled up in the tunnel. My bag. Rukh’s treasure pile.” There’s...he’s not thinking of another one, one that’s different, and it’s making him anxious, but Shaun makes some sort of soothing noise, and that reminds him, oh yeah. “You. My phone.”
         Shaun continues, gentle and patient. “You’re doing well. Four things you can feel.”
         He is feeling better, generally, and they don’t really have time for this, not with what’s going on. “Shaun, I—”
         Shaun, however, doesn’t seem to get that ancient potentially world-ending artifacts are a priority. Well...no. Actually, it’s just that he doesn’t seem to care. “What can you feel, Desmond?”
         “The fog. It...never stops here, you know? Never goes away. Um.” He closes his eyes. It helps. “The car, at my back. Concrete.” He feels a slight tug at his hair and his eyes fly open, only to see white feathers. He’s pretty sure Rukh’s trying to preen him, or whatever, only his hair’s not long enough for that to work, as the raven clucks in his ear in frustration. “My ridiculous bird.”
         Shaun’s actually smiling, but then, this is a video call, so he can actually see the raven’s antics. “Three things you can hear.”
         Rukh makes that gurgling noise again, then clacks his beak. “You heard that. And you, I guess. Um.” It’s...quiet and still. “Can I count him twice?”
         “I’ll allow it this once,” Shaun tells him. The sarcasm is familiar. Safe. “Smells, now.”
         “Blood.” It’s almost instant. It’s everywhere on this island. You can’t escape it. “Soap?” That’s a lot more faint, though. Damn, he probably needs another shower. He looks forward to that, though.
         “Nearly done. One thing you can taste.”
         The Assassin tries to think. He doesn’t remember what he ate last. He doesn’t taste it anyway, and doesn’t remember if he’d managed to keep everything down or not. “Bile, I guess?”
         Rukh has gone back to his treasures, and Desmond pulls down the zipper the rest of the way, just to make it easier for the little guy.
         Shaun doesn’t speak, which means it’s his turn, probably. He shivers. “I hate this.”
         “You’re not alone.” Desmond can’t exactly tell if that means that Shaun hates it, too, or if it’s just that Desmond doesn’t have to deal with this on his own. “Is there anything you need, Desmond?”
         “Is there some sort of spell you can teach me? Something to make sure this never happens again?” It’d been bad enough with Juno, but he’d been able to tell himself it wasn’t happening, at the time. And he hadn’t wanted it. Even now, the thought makes him feel a little sick.
         The hesitation makes his stomach drop. “I can’t promise it will never happen again.”  Shaun’s voice is low and solemn. “It is, however, rare. I can look into adapting the shielding spell I already provided you. I can also say, from experience, you do develop an immunity of sorts.” Shaun looks away and doesn’t meet his eyes, even as Desmond sits up, the anxiety back and running through his veins.
         “You were—” he swallows.
         “Fortunately, Rebecca saved me.” He pauses, then adds softly, “...there’s a reason why I have a significant anti-Illuminati bias. In your case, I’d probably recommend a team, or stick around with Rukh.” ...That’s right. He’s still got the claw-marks on his shoulder, it feels like. He should probably get around to healing that. At least it seems like he had, sometime, probably while he was under the car, instinctively cleansed the zombie-infection. Again.  Rukh probably had tried to break him out of it, and when that didn’t work fought off any zombies trying to eat him as he stumbled unthinkingly through the forest.
         “Thank you for trusting me.” It’s all Desmond’s got, but fortunately it seems like it’s enough. “...I think I figured out everything.”
         “That’s quick.” Shaun’s difficult to impress, so it’s nice to know he’s managed it.
         He takes a deep breath. On the one hand, he really doesn’t want to involve them in this, but from what he’s gathered this is a big part of what they do, and at least they’re both safe in London. And he’s not sure he can do this on his own. Better to have them give him a hand than have the world end because he was too stubborn. “Well, to start with, you were right.”
         “Ahh, well, lovely.” Shaun looks vaguely flustered, which is adorable, but Desmond will probably give something away if he keeps looking so instead he starts petting his ghost of a raven, who probably needs the encouragement. The bead just keeps rolling away from the poor guy. He’d try to help, but, well, befitting the fact that the raven vaguely reminded him of Altaïr, hence the Arabic, Rukh does have a sense of pride, and he might find the help a little humiliating. “Words I never grow tired of hearing. What about, exactly?”
         “Morninglight. They’re a doomsday cult. I think? Or maybe just this branch is, or whatever. Anything you can find on Beaumont or Cassie would be helpful.” Maybe Rukh turned on the video call to make one or both of them look like a fool. Or maybe he’s, like Rebecca, playing wingman (pun not entirely intended). Desmond wouldn’t put either one past him.
         “I will enjoy rubbing this in Rebecca’s face. Is there anything else you can tell me?” Shaun actually sounds a little hopeful, which is kind of funny.
         “You’re not going to believe this.” He’s not even sure he believes it, and he was there listening in on the guy. It’s easy to second-guess himself, to think that he’s wrong or exaggerating things because he wasn’t exactly all mentally present at the time, but he was there and this isn’t just a dream, or a nightmare.
         “Desmond, everything is true, aside from whatever hallucinations the Illuminati feel like airing in public this week.” Maybe Shaun’s trying to distract himself, too.
         “I think there’s a Third Age artifact here, in Solomon Island. I’m pretty sure Beaumont has it. ...I think it might be Exalibur.” He chances a glance up to see Shaun actually looking shocked, which is rare enough it’s kind of cool to see.
         “After I told you about it.” Shaun blinks some more, eyes wide behind his glasses, and then finally looks like he restarts his brain, thinking about the implications. “I assume given that you said you’d worked it all out, you’re guessing that’s why the undead and the fog struck the island.”
         “Not just guessing. A couple people confirmed it. The original sailor who grabbed it and brought it back and kept talking about it shining, and then Cassie said that Beaumont’s controlling the undead with it.” And as much as he wants a god-killing weapon, if it’s going to keep cursing anywhere it’s located, he might be better off trying to figure out how to ask the Calculations to make one.
         “It is occasionally referred to as the ‘sword of light’, but I’m not aware of any documentation about undead or fog…” Shaun mutters, already jotting down notes, and pausing when Desmond chuckles fondly. “Yes, hello, Desmond, I do believe we’ve met. I’m Shaun Hastings. I solve all my problems through research, tea, and sarcasm. Too much research? Better research solutions. Can’t sleep? Time for Lady Grey. Pissed off a bloke with my sparkling personality? Clearly wasn’t sarcastic enough.”
         “No, it’s...it’s useful. Though I hope you’re getting your beauty sleep. It’d be easy to miss something because you’re sleep deprived.” Too late, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t be teasing the guy under the circumstances, but it’s not like he can take it back, so he better just keep going and hope Shaun doesn’t think about it too much. It will help that he’ll be really busy, probably. “There’s a reason he’s here on this island, too. It’s a reverse sword in the stone situation; Beaumont is trying to find the right place to use the sword, which he called a ‘key’. He wants to ‘shake the world tree, turn the sun black, have the gods fall, and reboot the world’.”
         Shaun freezes, which is generally not a good sign. “That...sounds very much like Ragnarök. The Norse version of the apocalypse.”
         All roads, in this case, seem to be leading back to the Norse. “Joe Slater had been speaking Old Icelandic. He’d never learned the language. You mentioned Draug are Norse, and they had the siren song too, just like Beaumont.” He’s still not sure why the song suddenly stopped, but it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if Beaumont had just been somewhere else in the labyrinth, and Cassie had mentioned something about him putting the sword away or something, hadn’t she? Or was that just an innuendo?
         Shaun sighs. “Right, bloody hell, it’s been a while since we’ve had to prepare for the end of the world. Fortunately, this is exactly the sort of thing to get our fellow Templars up in arms, so don’t worry, I won’t be doing all of this myself. At least I can get Gladstone in on it, and he might be useful and not just keep drinking, given the subject matter.”
         Wait a minute, wasn’t Gladstone the Templar Librarian or something…? Maybe there’s some things about the Templar chain of command Desmond’s best off not knowing.
         “Circling back to Excalibur, I’m surprised you actually have any basis of understanding of the mythology. Watch the Disney film or something?”
         No, because there wasn’t really a point in wasting his money to get a TV for old movies when new ones weren’t coming out. But it’s not like he can just say that, either. “Hey, I read. Mostly what the local libraries had, but. I actually kind of enjoyed A Connecticut Yankee.”
         Shaun falters. “Twain? I’m impressed.” He sounds impressed, too, and this is probably also dangerous territory and he should stop but he’s just so tired.
         “I mean, I didn’t understand everything, but…” He yawns and shakes himself awake. He definitely shouldn’t sleep here and now, even if he kind of wants to, now that he finally actually feels safe.
         “We’ll make a bookworm of you yet.” The Brit sounds pleased and just kind of warm and comforting.
         “I read. When I could. The public library was free.” And he couldn’t really afford much in the category of ‘not-free’ hobbies; even the guitar was second-hand, from a fellow homeless guy. The closest thing, if you could even count it as a hobby, was getting tattoos, and the one-night stands were usually free unless he or his partner for the evening felt like springing for a hotel.
         He really has screwed up, because when he glances over there’s something soft and vulnerable in Shaun’s expression. “We’ll have to talk literature at some point,” the Templar promises, and it’s not clear if even he realizes he may or may not be extending an offer for a date. It seems like even he is a little uncomfortable with how close the conversation has gotten, because he quickly moves back to the topic of the sword, voice businesslike and almost certainly embarrassed. “It’s possible that it’s a curse; most of the blessed swords are said to cause calamity instead if not wielded by a pure warrior…do not voice that joke, Desmond.”
         “I wasn’t going to!” he protests.
         “Right.” Shaun pours every ounce of skepticism he has into that one word.
         He really wasn’t, mostly because he’s still feeling a little drained. Still, he gets to sit here and close his eyes and listen to Shaun mutter about his research until he realizes he should probably hang up, at which point Desmond’s feeling good enough to go try to figure out what happened to his recruits.