Author's Note: Pretty crack. Just something that popped into my head. Last warning. Don't read unless you've played through most, if not all of AC III. I had to get this down. I just had to.

This fic operates under the assumption that Connor didn't make it in time to save his village the second time Washington ordered it destroyed.

George Washington dismounted from his horse and strode up to a very disgruntled Connor, lips curled into a smirk as he poked his shoulder playfully. Currently, they stood among the charred remains of his village and his people, and judging from how tightly the assassin was gripping his tomahawk, Washington had only seconds to duck before he lobbed off his head.

"Hey Connor, do you know what's worse than letting your village be destroyed right in front of your face?"

Without preamble, Connor lunged forward and pinned Washington underneath him, blade held against his throat so tightly, blood trickled from the wound and seeped into the ground.

"No. What?" Connor asked, voice savage, and yet thick with sarcasm.

"Watching your village be destroyed right in front of your face twice by the same guy, whose life you just saved more times than Mario did Princess Peach."

Connor smiled, Washington smiled back, and the two of them had a good laugh, the sweet scent of decay permeating the air; screams of dying Connor/Washington shippers flooding their ears.

Then the assassin slit his throat with one smooth motion and left him lying in the grass, laughing merrily as he mounted the general's own warhorse and rode off dramatically into the night.

Well. He'd thought it was funny, at least.

"What? Too soon?"