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The screaming never got any easier.
Sometimes it came in short bursts, spread out just enough that one might think it was over until another came in. Other times it felt nearly constant, the kind of thing you could almost pretend was a lawnmower or chainsaw in an inconsiderate neighbor's garden. Other times still it was quiet, less screaming than whimpers or sobs, objectively less obtrusive but no less distressing. Once or twice, Shaun had managed to sleep through it entirely and convince himself that the night had passed without incident, only for Desmond's hoarse voice and tired eyes to prove him wrong the next morning.
Shaun would rather travel back in time and track down the Spaniard himself than admit just how familiar he was with Desmond's sleeping habits, but he was willing to concede that he had noticed a pattern. Typically, Desmond's first couple of hours in bed would be restless, as evidenced by the sounds of his creaking bed frame. After a time, the sounds would slow, then eventually stop as Desmond slipped into a welcome, if fitful, sleep. In his more optimistic moments, Shaun would tell himself that the quiet meant that Desmond's dreams had turned pleasant, or at least calm. In his more cynical ones, he tended to attribute it to Desmond being too exhausted to even cry out. Regardless of the reason, it never lasted. Sometimes after a few hours, sometimes after less, the relative peace of the safe house would be broken by a strangled cry as whatever terrors haunted Desmond's dreams made themselves known.
Tonight, though, sleep seemed to have come fairly quickly. Barely an hour had passed since he went to bed when Shaun realized that he hadn't heard signs of movement through his walls for a while. He'd taken it as a good sign. Maybe Desmond—all of them, really—might actually get a decent night's sleep for once, and be able to face the next day with, if not enthusiasm, then perhaps a slightly better attitude. Unfortunately, less than thirty minutes later Shaun's hopes were dashed by the sound of a pained shout from the next room over, a sound which would set the tone for for next few hours.
Desmond's nightmares seemed to have calmed for now, at least. Shaun was grateful for the respite, for all of their sakes. To say it had been a shit day would be an understatement. Rebecca had spent the better part of the morning fighting off tech problems, Desmond had gotten trapped in a desynchronization loop that they could only get him out of by jumping back to the start of the memory sequence and losing hours of progress, and to top it all off Shaun had received notice that yet another team had gone dark. By the time they'd thrown in the towel and called it a day, even Lucy had reached the end of her rope. They'd eaten dinner in relative silence, and gone to bed weary, worn, and discouraged.
Shaun rolled over onto his side. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't expected to sleep much to begin with, screaming or no screaming. His mind was racing too fast for that, running through the last several days' worth of memories over and over, trying to categorize and analyze every last thing he'd seen. Despite his repeated attempts to get his brain to turn the fuck off, it felt like every time he got close to calming down he'd remember something else and be off on another mental tangent. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and it wouldn't be the last, but that didn't make it any easier. Especially since he only ever seemed to get like this when he was already running on fumes.
Shaun rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and tried to take a steadying breath. This was fine. He was fine. Whatever connections his brain desperately wanted him to draw between points in Ezio's memories, he could draw them in the bloody morning. Think about calm things, Hastings. Sunsets. Smooth jazz. Falling asleep in the back of a lecture hall. He took a few more measured breaths, trying to make his body relax by sheer force of will. Incredibly, it seemed to be working. His mind was slowing, the tension in his muscles releasing, and he felt himself start to slip closer and closer towards sleep.
That is, until the screaming started again.
Shaun nearly jumped out of his skin as Desmond's cry ripped through the air. So much for falling asleep any time soon. Then came another, this one longer, more pained. It sounded almost like a whimper.
That was the last straw. Shaun didn't really know what made him do it, but before Desmond's groans had even finished echoing through the walls he was up, throwing the blankets to the side and walking towards the door. He flung it open and strode purposefully into the hall and headed for the adjacent room. Without so much as a thought, he reached out for the door handle and turned it.
When he opened the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting to see. Perhaps a trembling, sweat soaked Desmond, tangled in a blanket and twitching as he fought off whatever imagined demons plagued his dreams. That would have made sense. What made less sense was what Shaun did see: Desmond, very much awake, sitting at the edge of the bed with elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
Desmond raised his head at the sound of the door and looked over at Shaun with bleary eyes. "Hey," he said, voice rough. "Did I wake you up?"
Shaun shook his head. "No." That wasn't a lie, technically. He felt like he should say something else, but the words died in his throat. Why had he come in here, exactly? A few minutes ago his head had been full to the bursting with unwanted thoughts, and now he felt like he could hardly string a sentence together. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I… I wanted to see if you were alright."
"I'm fine." Desmond said, far too quickly. Shaun didn't even have time to raise his eyebrows at that before Desmond cut back in. "I mean, obviously I'm not, I'm doing pretty fucking awful, but I don't really know what else to say." He rubbed his hands over his face. "It could be worse, I guess."
That was generous, even by Desmond's standards. If this could be worse, Shaun didn't want to know what worse looked like. He fidgeted, rubbing his fingers together and glancing awkwardly off to the side. "Can I come in?"
Desmond blinked. "Uh… sure. If you want."
Shaun stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He walked carefully towards the bed. Desmond watched him approach, eyeing him with some mix of confusion of trepidation as Shaun tried very hard to suppress the distinct feeling of advancing on a startled animal.
He sat on the side of the bed. Desmond moved over a couple inches, though Shaun wasn't sure whether it was to give him space or put distance between the two of them. He swallowed. "Do you want to talk?" he asked, voice low.
Desmond laughed, sort of. It had the beginnings of a laugh, but came out more like a strangled puff of air. "I don't think you really want to hear about this, Shaun."
"Probably not, but we won't know until we try, will we?" Shaun said. "Maybe the contents of your mind are more interesting than you've led me to believe."
Desmond rolled his eyes, which was a good sign. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think this really counts as my mind."
"Ezio's, then?" It was a stupid question; What else could Desmond possibly be dreaming about? But Shaun pretended, like they all did. Pretended that he couldn't see what was happening. That he didn't hear the screams. That he didn't worry every day that they were one Animus session away from Desmond's mind disintegrating entirely.
"Yeah," Desmond said. "Altaïr, sometimes. But mostly Ezio. Mostly Italy."
Shaun nodded. That made sense. Altaïr might have been the first, but by now Desmond had spent far more time in Ezio's head than his. "Is it specific memories or sequences?"
Desmond furrowed his brow. "Kind of. Sometimes. It's not like being in the Animus and going through a single sequence in order. It's like any other dream, where things don't really make sense and you jump from place to place. One minute Ezio's seventeen and running away from guards in Florence, and the next he's in his twenties and—" He cut himself off mid sentence as he glanced over to Shaun. "Are you sure you want to hear this? I mean, I know you asked, but it's the middle of the night and this is kind of heavy."
The honest answer to that was complicated. Shaun would really rather not hear details of whatever had Desmond screaming in his sleep every night. But the idea that Desmond didn't think he could tell any of them about it, that he thought it was too big a burden to share, was much worse.
"Don't worry about it," Shaun said with a shrug that he hoped came off as casual. Before he had a chance to think too hard about it, he reached over and rested his hand on Desmond's knee. "There's nothing you've seen in Ezio's memories that I haven't, remember? Or did you forget that your adventures have an audience?"
Desmond shot him an unimpressed look. Shaun withdrew his hand, but not before giving Desmond's knee a gentle squeeze. Desmond continued. "It's like a collage, almost. Bits and pieces of different memories get stitched together. Florence, Monteriggioni, Venice." He winced. "But it's always the worst parts of them. I go from running for my life through the streets, to catching a dagger in my leg, to feeling my ribs crack as a guard kicks me."
Ezio. Ezio's leg. Ezio's ribs. Shaun heard the corrections in his mind but didn't say them aloud. Lucy reminded them nearly every day that it was important for Desmond to maintain separation between his memories and Ezio's. She was right to do so, if only to keep them all believing that it was possible. But Shaun couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. They might have been Ezio's memories, but they were Desmond's nightmares, and pain receptors didn't care about things like personal identity.
"Is it always the same?" he asked. "The memories."
"No. I kind of wish it was sometimes. At least then I'd know what was coming." Desmond buried his head back into his hands. "Instead it's a new nightmare every time," he muttered.
Shaun closed his eyes, grateful that Desmond wasn't looking. The last thing they needed was him feeling guilty over his own damn nightmares. Shaun took a second to pull himself together and opened his eyes. Desmond was still bent forward over his knees, head in his hands. Gently, Shaun reached out again and rested his hand in the small of his back.
"This okay?" he murmured. Desmond nodded. They sat there for a moment. It took more restraint than Shaun cared to admit to not run his hand up and down the length of Desmond's spine. Instead, he let his thumb trace a small, arcing path over Desmond's shirt, gentle enough to be ignored but familiar enough to be comforting, if Desmond wanted it.
Eventually, Desmond raised his head enough to speak. "It's getting worse, Shaun." Though he was clearly trying to keep his voice steady, there was an unmistakable tremor. "The nightmares are starting faster, the memories are getting longer, the pain feels more real. It's—fuck." His jaw clenched as his voice broke off.
Shaun wished he had something better to say. He wished he could tell Desmond that everything was going to be okay, or that they'd find a way to stop the bleeding effect, or at least that all of this would be over soon. But he couldn't. The best he could do was swallow down the rising lump in his throat and whisper, "I'm sorry, Desmond."
Desmond shook his head. "It's alright. It's not your fault, it's just how it is." Shaun wasn't sure he agreed with a single part of that statement, but now didn't seem like the time to argue. Desmond sat back up. "But thanks. For listening."
"Anytime," Shaun said, and found himself actually meaning it. He moved his hand from the small of Desmond's back to his shoulder. "You should try and get some rest, Des."
Desmond snorted. "Because that's been going so well."
That had occurred to Shaun before he even said anything. But still. Desmond needed sleep, real sleep, and if he wasn't going to get it on his own then Shaun needed to to do something to try and help him. "I could stay with you, if you want," he said quietly.
Desmond blinked, and eyed Shaun with something he couldn't quite place, somewhere in between apprehension and confusion. "You don't have to do that, Shaun."
"I know I don't. That's why I'm offering." Shaun rubbed Desmond's shoulder. "You need to sleep, and clearly laying in bed by yourself isn't working. If it doesn't help, I'll leave, alright?"
Desmond gave him a long, careful look. "Okay," he said after a moment. "I'll give it a try."
Shaun smiled, despite himself. "Good." He stood and walked around to the other side of the bed. As he climbed in, he pulled down the blanket to make room for the both of them. "This whole resting business works better if you lie down," he pointed out.
Desmond rolled his eyes and crawled towards the head of the bed. "If this is all a plot to get me to fuck you, I'm going to knee you in the dick."
"Unfortunately for you, my intentions are pure. Besides, last time I checked I didn't need plots to get you to fuck me." Shaun laid back against the pillows and stretched his arm out across the bed, palm up in what he thought was a clear invitation for Desmond to join him.
But Desmond didn't take it. Instead, his eyes flicked to the arm with a trepidatious look, like he was considering a vicious bed of spikes rather than a friend's open embrace. Then he swallowed, as if preparing himself for some deeply unpleasant task, and laid down. Just out of reach.
Shaun frowned. "Desmond." Again Desmond ignored him, pulling the blankets up around his middle. "Des."
Desmond still didn't respond, just settled further into the mattress and as he avoided Shaun's gaze. Shaun sighed. "I realize you're used to there being less clothing between us when I'm in your bed, but I assume you do know how to be close to me with your trousers on?"
Desmond fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "It's not—" He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "You really don't have to do this, Shaun. It's late, and I—"
"For the last time, Desmond, I want to," Shaun snapped. He grimaced at the harsh sound of his own words and tried to soften his tone a bit. "I don't make a habit out of climbing into bed with people if I don't want to be near them. Now, will you get over here and let me hold you?"
Desmond looked at Shaun. He bit at his scarred lip, just like he always did when he was thinking too hard about something. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, and scooted into Shaun's outstretched arms, pressing their bodies together and tucking his head against Shaun's collarbone.
Shaun wrapped his arms around Desmond and drew him in close. It was nice, this. Desmond always ran warm, like Shaun's own personal space heater when things got a bit drafty, a good fit for his nearly always chilly body. He fit perfectly into Shaun's embrace, too, their legs entwining easily with one another and their hands finding natural places to fall. What was nicest, though, was the effect it had on Desmond himself. Where he had been tense at first, bit by bit his muscles relaxed, his heartbeat slowed, and his breathing steadied as he settled into Shaun's arms.
"Better?" Shaun murmured after a few moments had passed.
"A little." Desmond extracted his face from the base of Shaun's neck. "I don't know if I can fall back asleep," he admitted. "Not after—not after that."
"Maybe not," Shaun said, his hand tucked once again into the small of Desmond's back. "But you should still try and rest. Or at least close your eyes for a bit."
Desmond shifted a bit. "Yeah. I know." He shook his head, seemingly more to himself than anyone else. "I'm not even sure if I want to be able to sleep. Sometimes I wonder if it's better to just be tired than have to deal with the nightmares."
Shaun felt a pit form in his stomach. He'd been wondering about that. Lately, it had seemed that whenever they fucked—always covertly, tucked away in a corner or long after Lucy and Rebecca had gone to bed—Desmond had wanted to stick around longer, to chat or go for another round. As much as Shaun complained that Desmond was keeping him awake, he didn't really mind. He enjoyed the company, and it was nice to see Desmond get to be normal, even if his "normal" was extremely irritating at times. But the last few times it had happened, Shaun had begun to suspect that there was something else going on. That Desmond wasn't hanging around just because he wanted to stay with Shaun, but because he was avoiding something. Now, it was obvious that that something was Desmond's own brain.
"Well, that's why I'm here, isn't it?" Shaun tried to keep his tone level as he spoke. He slid his hand up the back of Desmond's head and into his hair. "To help with the nightmares?"
Desmond wrinkled his nose at him. "What are you, a nightlight?"
Shaun shrugged. "I'm just saying that I've never noticed you having a nightmare when you're in bed with me. Maybe I'm a calming influence."
"Yeah, or maybe it's because you're usually either moaning in my ear or boring me half to death telling me how some cathedral got built," Desmond said, poking Shaun playfully in the ribs.
It was good to see Desmond smile, even if he was insulting Shaun while he did it. Still, Shaun feigned offense. "I'll have you know that Rebecca and Lucy find my anecdotes fascinating. Maybe you just don't appreciate history."
"Sure they do." Desmond went quiet for a moment, thinking. "You're right, though. I don't know why, but I think it helps to have someone around."
Shaun could think of a few reasons why—feeling safer with someone else's presence, the sensation of someone nearby subconsciously anchoring Desmond to reality, less tendency for his mind to wander if he'd been occupied shortly before falling asleep—but decided not to share them. Now wasn't the time for theories. "You want to actually try and get some sleep, then?"
Desmond smiled. "Sure." He tilted his head forward again, burrowing into the space between Shaun's neck and his pillow. He let out a soft hum as the tip of his nose brushed against the warm skin before him. Shaun smiled at the contact, his fingers tracing twisting, patternless paths along Desmond's scalp as both their bodies relaxed.
After a while, long after Shaun assumed he'd fallen asleep, Desmond stirred. He turned his head, grimacing, and opened his eyes a crack. "Shaun?" he murmured. "Can I ask you something?"
Unbidden, the pit in Shaun's stomach returned. "Sure," he said, swallowing down his rising dread.
Desmond dragged his head up to look him in the eyes. "Do you think we can do it?" he asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. "Do you think we can stop Abstergo?"
The words hung heavy in the air. It took every bit of self control Shaun had to keep his expression neutral. He was a pessimist by nature, which had served him well thus far in his current line of work, so he wasn't much inclined towards grand, hopeful statements. Motivational speeches weren't really his area of expertise. But even if they had been, the current situation didn't inspire a lot of confidence. They were making progress in Ezio's memories, yes, and Desmond's training was going well (so long as you ignored the night terrors), but they didn't seem to be anywhere near finding the Apple. Not a great sign. But Desmond knew all of that already, and besides, he'd asked for an opinion, not a recitation of facts.
In the end, Shaun settled on honesty. "I think we have to try," he said quietly. "I don't think we have any other choice."
Desmond pressed his lips together and glanced down, away from Shaun's gaze. "Yeah. We do." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck, I just don't know how much more of this I can take."
Shaun felt like he was going to be sick. "What if you took a break?" he asked, hoping Desmond couldn't hear his pounding heart. "Just for a day or two, enough time to let yourself recover."
"You know we can't do that," Desmond said, sounding defeated. "Lucy—"
"I'll talk to her," Shaun interrupted. "She'll listen. She can see what you're going through, and she doesn't want you taken out of commission." She doesn't want you to end up dead like the last one did, was what he was thinking, but he couldn't say that out loud. Not to Desmond's face. And maybe not even to himself.
Desmond looked up. His expression stayed mostly the same, but there was something glinting in his eyes. Something that looked frighteningly close to hope. "You think?"
"I do," Shaun said, and chose to believe it. "We've had a rough time of it lately. A break will be good for all of us."
Desmond breathed out, slow and purposeful. "Yeah. It will be." He moved in closer, close enough that his head was on Shaun's pillow. "Thank you," he murmured, his breath tickling Shaun's skin. "For… everything."
Something swelled in Shaun's throat, something he couldn't name. He swallowed. "Don't mention it," he whispered back, and let his forehead touch Desmond's. "Now sleep."