AO3 works tagged 'Leon S. Kennedy'

Deepest Desires

2026-05-22T19:33:13+00:00

Chris could feel the heavy weight of eyes on him as he started his second set of deadlifts. He was pretty used to getting looked at as he worked out, it's not like he wasn’t aware of the way he looks in a tight t-shirt and admittedly short work out shorts despite nearing fifty. He doesn’t usually give much thought to the looks, so used to it as he is, but this time he couldn’t help the low heat forming deep in his gut as the weight of the gaze on him became deeply familiar. Looking up in the mirror to check his form, his eyes couldn’t help but wander over to meet the familiar blue ones watching him closely, the young man’s desire clearly written across his beautiful features.

He had to tear his gaze away before his own face started to mirror the desire that was growing stronger deep within him. It's one thing for random gym goers to see a young guy desiring an older man but it’s a whole other thing for a much older man to be seen so clearly lusting after a guy decades younger than him. The last thing he wanted was to be labeled a dirty old man and asked to leave, despite the fact that he was very much feeling like said dirty old man at the moment.

Finishing up his set, Chris decided that he’d worked out enough for the day, no longer able to fully devote his focus to it. His physique and stamina could survive a shorter workout once in a while even at his age. Picking up his sweatshirt and water, he slowly made his way through the gym and towards the locker room, feeling eyes tracking his every move before he found himself being quietly followed. He had just opened up his locker in the empty room when the sound of soft footsteps stopped right behind him, close enough the skin on his back tingled underneath his sweaty shirt.

“Ending your workout early today, I see.” Chris let out a breath at the sound of the sultry voice coming from the man behind him. He fought the urge to turn around and look into the pretty blue eyes he knew were burning into the back of his head.

“What, are you timing my workouts now?” He tried to sound annoyed but the words came out more amused than anything.

“Well, you did drive me here so unless you plan on leaving me behind…” The younger man’s deadpan voice trailed off, not feeling the need to finish his sentence.

Chris couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him. “Okay, you’ve got me there Leon.” He turned around to see a bright smile spread across Leon’s face. Chris loved that smile and he loved being the one to put it there almost as much. Leaning down, he pressed a chaste kiss to the smaller man's lips before pulling back slightly.

“You weren’t exactly making it easy to focus on my workout when you were looking at me like you wanted to be bent over the weight bench, baby.” His voice came out rough, low and right next to Leon’s ear. A shiver ran its way down the younger man’s spine at the feeling of Chris’s warm breath, desire filling him once again.

Needing to get the upper hand back, Leon turned to lean even closer to the larger man, making direct eye contact. “Why don’t you take me home and show me actually what you think I want, daddy.” He pressed a quick kiss to Chris’s lips before pulling away completely to grab his workout bag. Chris stared after him for a moment while his brain tried to focus on anything beyond fucking Leon right here against the lockers before he quickly grabbed his own gym gear. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before I do something that will definitely get us both banned.” The sound of laughter and Leon reaching out to grab his hand was the only response he got before he was dragged out of the locker room.

Chris could feel questioning and judgemental eyes following them as Leon dragged him through the gym. He knew what people must be thinking and he couldn’t blame them for it. He had fought his attraction to Leon for a while. He did his best to ignore how much he wanted Leon and how much the younger man made it clear he had wanted him. Chris knew Leon didn’t care about their age difference, that it was part of the reason he had been so into Chris in the first place, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like a creep. Leon was young enough to be his son for fuck’s sake.

Shaking his head as they climbed into his car, Chris put those thoughts out of his mind, no use dwelling on it at this point. He’s long accepted that part of being with a man much younger than himself was being on the receiving end of disappointed and disgusted glares. Being with Leon was more than worth it all, he would take whatever abuse people could throw at him as long as it meant he got to love Leon.

Before he knew it, they were pulling up in front of his home and the tension that had waned during the short drive came crashing back into them full force. Reaching over the center console, he grabbed the back of Leon’s neck and dragged him in for a frantic kiss. The smaller man responded instantly, opening his mouth to allow Chris’s tongue to push its way in, deepening the kiss. Leon’s hands came up to grip the front of the older man’s shirt, trying in vain to bring them even closer as Chris kept kissing him. Leon tasted like the stupid energy drinks he liked so much, Chris usually hated them but he couldn’t get enough of the fruity taste in his boy's mouth. He only pulled away when the need for air got to be too much to ignore, leaving barely an inch between their mouths as they took deep breaths in.

“Chris- daddy, please.” Leon needed Chris, he was so turned on from the kiss and the anticipation of what was to come that it was painful.

Chris let out a deep growl at the name, it was not something he had even considered being called by past partners but, with Leon, it got him going like little else. “Go inside, get naked and wait for me on the bed, baby. I’ll be right behind you.” He pulled Leon in for a quick kiss before pushing him towards the car door. “And, no touching yourself, Leon.”

He watched his boy practically run inside while he slowly took his time grabbing their gym bags and heading in. A trail of shoes and clothes started at the entry way and continued on towards Chris’s bedroom. Stopping to take off his shoes and drop their bags, Chris made sure to take his time doing it all slowly until the image of Leon impatiently waiting naked for him on his bed finally spurred him into action.

Leon laid waiting for Chris on the bed, his patience wearing thin as the seconds went by. Chris had said no touching but he was already so hard, the temptation growing as he thought about what the larger man would do if he disobeyed him. Slowly, he ran his hand down his abs and along to his waiting, hard, cock. Loosely gripping himself, he let his legs fall open wide and slowly stroked, letting a small moan slip out at the relief. After a few slow strokes, he heard footsteps making their way down the hall, the realization that he was about to be caught by Chris had his hand tightening and a loud moan leaving his lips.

The older man paused right outside the open door at the sound of Leon’s moan. Heat flared in his gut, he knew Leon must have disobeyed him, must be touching his pretty cock in there.

He opened the door slowly, quietly, wanting to catch Leon red handed but not catching on quite yet that that was exactly what the younger man wanted. Another loud moan reached his ears as he stepped through the door. Looking up, he found Leon already staring at him, smirk on his face and hand stroking his hard length. The heat in his gut grew even hotter at the sight, Leon looked like heaven and hell wrapped up in the prettiest package Chris has ever seen. All long limbs, sinewy muscles and a mouth that was pure sin with an attitude to match.

“I thought I told you not to touch yourself.” Chris pitched his voice low and commanding, his Captain Redfield voice as Leon liked to call it.

The smaller man didn’t even pretend to be sorry or caught out, he just gave himself another slow stroke and looked at Chris with that cocky smirk of his. “And? What are you going to do about it, daddy?”

Chris took a deep breath in at Leon’s words, his cock twitching at the possibilities of how he could punish his boy. Slowly, he walked over to the foot of the bed, only stopping when his knees touched it.

“Come here, Leon” he commanded.

He watched as the younger man got onto his hands and knees and crawled across the bed until he was right in front of Chris. Settling back on his ankles, he looked up through his bangs at the older man. “Turn around.” Leon slowly turned around to face the head of the bed, wisely keeping his mouth shut. “Hands and knees, baby.” Immediately his hands dropped to the bed and he pushed himself up into position. Chris reached out and gripped Leon’s hips tight, pulling him back until his knees were dangerously close to the edge of the bed and his ass was pressed against Chris’s still clothed length. He fought down a groan that threatened to leave his mouth at the press of Leon’s ass, not wanting to give the younger man any satisfaction.

He slowly ground his hard length against the smaller man's ass, knowing the rough drag of fabric would be equally pleasurable and irritating. He ground against him a few more times, enjoying the hitching of Leon’s breath at every thrust of his hips, before he slipped his hands down further and spread the younger man's perky cheeks to reveal his tight hole. He watched as he ground his clothed cock against Leon’s exposed hole, hard, and felt his length twitch at the loud gasp it incited and the way his pretty hole fluttered at the touch. It was a mockery of what they both really wanted but, damn, it sure was getting him off at the moment.

Slipping a hand around Leon’s hip, he felt the younger man’s cock, hard and leaking onto the bed below him. “You like this, baby? Should I get off just like this, then? Clothed, grinding against your pretty little hole?” He gave another hard thrust and felt more precome drip as Leon moaned at the dual sensations. Removing his hand, he placed it back on the smaller man’s hip, pulling him back to meet his next thrust. “Or should I fuck you like this? You, naked, and kneeling for me like a good little slut while I’m standing here fully dressed.” Chris couldn’t help but smirk when the man beneath him let out a moan and jerked his hips at his words.

Pulling a hand back, he brought it down on Leon’ ass with no warnng, the spank hard enough to sting and leave the sensitive skin an angry red. The younger man jerked, a surprised yelp leaving his lips. Chris watched him for a moment before pulling his hand back for a second spank, eliciting a moan from Leon this time. He immediately ran a soothing hand over the red and sensitive area before leaning down to pepper gentle kisses along his lower back in appeasement. “You still with me, baby?”

“Ye-yes, daddy. Pl-please.”

Chris ran a large hand along the length of Leon’s spine up to the back of his neck, letting it rest there, gentle but heavy. Placing one knee on the bed, he leaned over to pull the younger man into a deep kiss. Leon responded immediately, opening his mouth to allow Chris entrance. The hand on the back of the smaller man’s neck moved to cup his jaw, thumb slowly stroking the other's cheek as Leon moaned into his mouth. When they finally separated to catch their breaths, Chris leaned in close to Leon’s ear. “Don’t move, baby. If you’re a good boy, I’ll fuck you.” Pulling back, he got off the bed and started backing away. Only stopping to give Leon’s ass one last spank, much more gentle than the others but still eliciting a gasp, before walking into his ensuite.

Leon couldn’t help but squirm a little, something about being told not to move had every nerve in his body twitching. He hated being told what to do, forced military training and government service would do that to a person. And yet, when Chris uses his Captain Redfield voice on him, it makes him so fucking hard. Only for Chris would he be so willing to give up even more of his autonomy, and right now he’d be willing to do whatever the older man asked if it meant he’d be getting fucked by that big cock soon.

Chris could see Leon in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, twitchy but not moving. He hadn't actually had any real reason to go into the bathroom, he had simply wanted to see if Leon would disobey him again. Running the water in the sink, he paused to look at his own reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him is one he was still getting used to seeing. Happier and more relaxed than he’d been since he was 25, over two decades ago. Leon had come into his life, messed up all his plans to remain sad and alone until he died in the line of duty, and made him want to settle down and live beyond mission to mission. Glancing back at the reflection of his boy, he figured he made the both of them wait long enough. He turned off the water and made his way back to the pretty boy waiting so perfectly still for him.

He made sure to grab the half empty bottle of lube from his nightstand before stepping behind the smaller man, dropping it to the bed next to him. “You did so well staying still, baby. I think you deserve a reward.” Large hands ran along the smaller man's sides, settling on his hips as Chris leaned over to place gentle kisses along his back. Reaching a hand around, he teased his fingers along the length of the younger man’s neglected cock, a small smirk forming at the jerking of Leon’s hips from such a minimal touch.

Closing his fist around Leon’s length, he started a slow but firm rhythm, pumping his hand in time with the younger man’s thrusts as small moans and gasps filled his ears. Chris’ own still clothed length twitching at every pretty little sound.

All too soon for Leon’s liking, Chris was pulling his hand away, causing frustrated whines to leave his lips. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s still here, I’m going to take care of you.” He soothed his boy, rubbing his hand along Leon’s hip before nudging his legs wider with the back of his hand. “Daddy’s going to give you what you need, baby.”

Grabbing the lube, he poured some over his fingers, not bothering to let it warm up before bringing a finger down to circle Leon’s tight hole.

“Shit, Chris! Some warning next time!” Leon yelped at the sudden coldness, pulling away slightly and momentarily forgetting their game.

The older man couldn’t help the burst of laughter he let out at Leon’s outburst, letting his hand fall away. “That was the point, Leon, you’re still being punished for disobeying me.” Leon felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment, he hadn’t been able to curb his reaction, used to not having to hide anything from the older man. “I’m sorry, daddy. I promise I’ll be good again.” He tried to save the mood but even to his own ears his tone sounded forced. A small laugh escaped Chris again, it was too late to save their game, the mood for it already ruined, but that didn’t mean he was anywhere near done with the smaller man.

Strong hands grabbed Leon’s hips, manhandling him until he was no longer on his hands and knees but his back, looking up at Chris. He pushed himself up on one hand and waited to see what the larger man would do next. He watched as Chris pulled his shirt up and over his head, throwing it off to the side, followed by pulling off his shorts and boxers in one go. Leon watched the slight bob of Chris’ now freed cock, forgetting his embarrassment as his mouth watered at the sight.

Chris leaned over him, balancing his weight with one hand placed on the bed, and grabbing Leon’s face with his other to pull him into a hungry kiss. The younger man felt like he was being devoured by Chris, he could do little but accept every slide of Chris’ tongue and every whimper leaving his own mouth. He couldn’t help but let out a small whine when the older man eventually pulled away to catch his breath.

Next thing he knew, the hand holding his face moved down to grip him around the waist and he felt himself being hauled up the bed. The display of Chris’s strength had a moan leaving his lips and a thick bead of precome dripping onto his stomach. He was settled back against the pillows with another one being shoved beneath his hips before Chris sat back on his ankles to admire his handy work. Leon looked so good spread out for him with his hands tangled in the pillow above him, showing off the full length of his body.

Picking up the lube again, he poured some more back onto his fingers, the rest having been wiped off onto the bed. He made a show of warming it up between his fingers, laughing when Leon tried to kick him and told him not to be a jerk.

He brought his hand down slowly, smiling when Leon spread his legs wider with no prompting. He circled the tip of his pointer finger around the rim of the younger man’s hole, silently urging him to relax. Leaning down, he peppered kisses along Leon’s abdomen as he slowly started to press his finger in. A content sigh left the smaller man’s mouth as he felt Chris’ large finger push all the way in, it wasn’t nearly enough to get him off but just having any bit of Chris inside him always felt so damn good. The larger man pulled his finger almost all the way out before thrusting it back in, watching as Leon’s cock leaked at the sensation. He started up a steady rhythm, thrusting his finger while wishing it was his cock he was thrusting into Leon's tight hole.

“More, Chris, fuck!” Leon was whining now, he desperately needed more already.

Chris could rarely deny Leon anything when he sounded so needy. Pulling his finger out, he lined up his middle finger along his pointer and slowly pushed them both in, much to the pleasure of the younger man who let out a deep breath at the stretch. Once fully inside, he gently fanned his fingers apart, stretching Leon’s hole further. Chris knew Leon had little patience for this part, wanting it done as fast as possible so he could get fucked already. Sometimes Chris made him wait an agonizingly long time as he slowly prepared him, turning him into a begging mess. Luckily for Leon, Chris didn’t have that much patience today either.

He started a fast rhythm, alternating thrusting his fingers and stretching Leon’s hole, wanting to do a thorough but fast job prepping him. Curling his fingers deep inside Leon had the smaller man’s back arching as his feet scrambled for purchase on the comforter. “Fuck, Chris!” He tried to hide his face in the crook of his elbow but a strong hand reached up and gently pried it away. “Let me see you, sweetheart.” Leon opened his eyes and found Chris’ heavy gaze already on his face. The older man curled his fingers again, just right, and this time Leon managed to hold Chris’ gaze as his mouth opened in a deep moan. “Good boy, Leon.” The smaller man let out a whimper at the praise, he could never hide how much he loved it when Chris praised him.

With no warning, Chris quickly added a third finger without breaking his rhythm, pulling a garbled string of curses out of the younger man. He ran his unoccupied hand along Leon’s side, a gentle contrast to the brutal thrusting of his fingers.

Leon was losing himself in the feeling of Chris’ large fingers, hips chasing and bearing down on them at every thrust. He could feel himself getting closer and closer, the increasingly urgent need to come making it almost impossible to form any coherent thoughts. He had wanted to get fucked and come on Chris’ big cock but the part of his brain that had any control was rapidly being diminished by every hard thrust of Chris’ fingers and all thoughts completely left his mind when, suddenly, the older man curled his fingers so perfectly once again.

“Chris-oh god-Chris! I’m gonna come!”

Leon was going to come, he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop it. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he registered the sound of Chris’ laugh before a large hand quickly gripped the base of his weeping cock and squeezed none too gently as the fingers inside of him were pulled out.

“Fuck! Chris!” He couldn’t help the curses leaving his mouth, he had been so close! Frustrated tears formed in the corners of his eyes, too overwhelmed and annoyed at the denied orgasm to stop or bother hiding them.

“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t cry, I’ve got you, I’m here.” Chris tried soothing him. He knew how much it sucked to be so close then denied your release but he also knew Leon’s orgasm would be so much better from being fucked on Chris’ cock then his fingers. Leon knew this too despite his reaction. Leaning down, he pulled Leon into a kiss, ignoring the fact that the younger man was still very much cursing at him. He swallowed down each curse until the smaller man finally reciprocated the kiss, roughly biting down on Chris’ bottom lip and shoving his tongue deep inside. Strong thighs wrapped around his hips and tugged, bringing him down until their bodies were pressed together, Leon’s need for closeness overpowering his annoyance.

The closeness brought their hard lengths together, both men immediately moaning and thrusting against the other. The slickness of their combined precome making the slide easy and so damn good. Little gasps and groans of pleasure slipped out of their frantic kissing as Leon’s hands roamed the muscular planes of Chris’ back. The simmering desire Chris had been feeling from the start to be inside Leon suddenly become completely overwhelming, he had to be inside Leon right this fucking second.

“Leon, sweetheart, please I want to fuck you.” He was begging, he sounded so needy but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Chris-fuck, do it! Fuck me!” Leon sounded just as needy as Chris did, both needing the other so badly.

As much as it pained him in the moment, Chris pulled up and away from his lover. He didn’t want to but he needed to be able to grab the lube to slick himself up before he could even think about pushing into Leon. He let out a deep groan as his hand closed around his length, spreading the lube along his very generous size.

“Stop jerking off and get that thing inside me already!” Leon demanded.

Chris didn’t have to be told twice, leaning back over the smaller man he lined himself up and slowly pushed in, grunting as his tip was enveloped in the tight heat of Leon. The younger man felt like he had the wind knocked out of him at the slow press inside him, never quite used to Chris’ size no matter how often they got to do this. It certainly didn’t help that they frequently had to go weeks without due to their jobs. He let out a nearly whispered “Kiss me” that had Chris leaning closer and capturing his lips in a messy open mouthed kiss.

Chris slowly pressed in further as he continued to kiss Leon until the smaller man turned his head away. “I’m not fucking fragile, Chris.” was all the warning he got before the strong legs around his hips flexed and pulled him in completely until their hips were flush and Chris was buried to the hilt. Both men let out simultaneous gasps and froze, the two of them immediately dangerously close to the edge. After about thirty seconds but felt like a whole lot longer, Leon tightened his legs around the larger man a little harder before loosening his hold gradually. “You better start fucking me, Chris, before I find some other dirty old man to do it.” Chris huffed out a small laugh, the threat not so worrying when Leon sounded so breathy and strained already. “Ay ay, Captain!” He couldn’t help the goofy smile on his face or how it widened as Leon tried to push him away. Before the younger man could succeed, Chris quickly pulled out half way, sharply thrusting back in, hard.

“Chris!” Leon’s gasp turned into a moan as pleasure sparked inside him and he threw his arms around Chris to keep him close.

The older man started up a slow but firm pace, each slow drag of his cock out and harsh thrust in punching moan after moan from deep within Leon. Being inside Leon was easily one of the best things Chris has ever experienced, he was so tight and hot, insides forming to fit Chris so perfectly as though he was made specifically for him. Sometimes he can’t believe he went over 40 years without this but it was worth every second to get the privilege of having it now for as long as Leon wants him. He sure as hell won’t be giving this up for as long as he’s still alive.

“You feel so good, baby! Fuck-so tight!”

Leon let out a whimper at Chris’ words, he was always so weak for Chris’ praise and dirty talk. His hands scrambled for purchase against the harsh rhythm, nails digging into Chris’ muscular back.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, taking me so fucking well.”

He barely registered Leon’s nails clawing into him, too lost in the tight heat to pay it any mind.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room beyond the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin was an intoxicating mix of grunts, whimpers, and moans. Neither man felt the need to hold back or hide their sounds of pleasure, both wanting the other to know exactly how good they’re feeling. Every whimper leaving the younger man’s lips had Chris’ cock twitching deep inside him, the sound being one of the older man’s favorites.

Chris could feel himself getting close, the feeling of being surrounded so fully by Leon overwhelming his senses. He knew the younger man wasn’t fairing much better, his insides fluttering and bearing down on him at every thrust. Lifting himself up just a little, he changed the angle of his thrusts so that he could hit Leon’s prostate with every hard thrust making the smaller man see stars. Chris needed Leon to come first, he wouldn’t let himself fall over the edge until he ensured the younger man had a mind blowing orgasm.

Leon could hear himself getting louder and louder each time Chris hit his bundle of nerves so perfectly. He could’ve been yelling anything from Chris’ name to things he’d find embarrassing in other circumstances. “Chris!” “Need you!” “Fuck-Harder!” “Love you, Chris!” “Fuck-Chris, I love you!”

He was so close, his abdomen was twitching uncontrollably and his hole was tightening desperately on Chris’ big cock urging him to keep going, to go harder. His own untouched cock ached, leaking a mess between their connected bodies. He could feel Chris starting to lose his rhythm, thrusts getting sloppier as he too was getting closer and closer.

Reaching a hand between their bodies, Chris wrapped a firm hand around Leon’s neglected length, doing his best to pump in time with his thrusts.

“Come for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so well, let go for me.”

Leon was fighting it, he needed so badly to come but couldn’t just yet. Chris kept thrusting, hitting the bundle of nerves repeatedly, and pumping his hand just how he knew the younger man loved it.

“Leon, sweetheart, I’ve got you. Come for me, my love!”

One more thrust and Leon was pushed over the edge, coming between their bodies and in Chris’ hand. Nails digging harder into Chris’ back as he yelled his name. Each continued thrust of Chris inside him extended the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling.

Leon was unbelievably tight as he came, Chris couldn’t last more than another few seconds before he was grunting and filling the younger man up. Hips thrusting shallowly as he rode the wave of pleasure pumped more and more come into Leon, marking him as Chris’ from the inside. Arms giving out as his hips finally stilled, he collapsed on top of the smaller man. The two of them too spent to do anything more than just breathing together as they came back to themselves.

“Chris, you’re too damn heavy.” Leon tried to shove him once he could feel his arms again.

The larger man had the audacity to simply grunt and settle down further into Leon, refusing to budge even a little.

“Fucking jerk.” Chris laughed at the younger man’s mumbled insult. He wanted to lay like this for just a little bit longer, just until he had to get up and get them cleaned off.

Lifting a hand to Leon’s face, he ran his thumb across his flushed cheek. “So beautiful. How did I get so lucky, Leon?” He didn’t need an answer, knew there wasn’t one anyway. Leon just looked at him for a moment before pressing his lips to Chris’ for a slow and soft kiss. Chris sunk into the kiss, not feeling the need to deepen or quicken it, he just let himself enjoy the gentleness of the moment.

“If you don’t get off me, you won’t be getting lucky again any time soon.” Leon whispered into the kiss, effectively ruining it.

Laughing, Chris heaved himself up and off of the younger man. “Okay, fine, you win, Leon. Let me get us cleaned up.”

Walking into the bathroom, he let his mind wander. He was so unbelievably lucky to not only have Leon in his life but to love him and to have Leon love him in return. He thought of the ring box he had hidden away in his safe. Leon was very young and their lives were hectic and dangerous and settling down seemed like nothing more than a pipe dream and yet, when he looked at the younger man in the reflection of the mirror, he saw a future he desperately wanted.

The Cure - A Leon Kennedy x Victor Gideon fanfic

2026-05-22T19:28:07+00:00

Chapter Text

Leon woke up tied to a chair.

His hands bound behind it.

The investigator was not at all surprised, his job meant this wasn’t the first time he’d woken up restrained to a chair. Leon tried look at his surroundings, but there was a blindingly bright light ahead. He blinked trying to reduce the glare.

A shadow passed in front of the light, blotting it out.

“Leon….”

His eye’s slowly began to adjust, that shadow converging into something recognisable. A man, a very dangerous man. Victor Gideon, an insane scientist and the person he’d been searching for.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

Leon just glared.

“Is it for me?” He said pointing to himself.

But the investigator kept his mouth shut, not answering.

“The silent treatment…”

He came closer.

“My, my you are a difficult man."

Victor then walked past running his fingers through Leons hairs. It was a deeply unpleasant feeling, but he stayed still, refusing to give Gideon the satisfaction of a reaction.

The scientist circled behind him and stopped to the right of Leon. A large hand then rested on his shoulder.

“No matter…”

He extended two finger and touched the collar of Kennedy’s shirt.

“I already know the answer...”

He pushed the collar down revealing the black mark on the side of Leons neck.

“Oh yes, this is brewing under the skin quite...”

Victor’s knuckles pressed to the side of Leons neck and caressed the mark, making his skin crawl.

“...nicely….” He purred.

For years the mark on his neck hadn’t reacted to much, other than being sore when it rained. But when Victors knuckles grazed the infected area, it was like a bolt of lightening shot down his neck.

“AUGH.” He jolted away from that hand.

That’s when the rope bindings on Leons arms came loose. The moment he was free the investigator reacted on pure instinct. He jumped to his feet and slammed his elbow into Victors jaw. Causing the Scientist to stumble backwards.

"Geh!"

The glint of something metal got Leons attention. Close to him, on a medical table was a revolver. The investigator lunged for it, his hands clasping the weapon. He then spun around and let off a few shots at Victor. Intending to slow him down.

BLAMO!

But the bullets hit nothing but solid brick wall and the door to the room was now ajar. Victor Gideon nowhere in sight.

Aw hell.

He got away.

Leon lowered his weapon.

The scientist was right, he’d come to find a cure for the mark on his neck and believed Gideon knew something about it.

Leon reached up and touched his neck.

It tingling.

Sweet

2026-05-22T19:27:25+00:00

He knows it’s wrong to have a preference, but Leon wants a daughter more than anything. Since the moment he found out you were expecting, he’s been praying to some divine power for a daughter. For what feels like his whole life, he’s been preparing to be the best girl dad to his little girl.

But the universe has a funny way of doing things. The one thing Leon desires more than anything is the one thing he can’t obtain. It feels nearly impossible as he tries to get his third son to fall asleep.

“Boys! The baby needs to sleep, be quiet!” Leon yells, though his voice is not loud enough to overshadow the screaming boys. They’re probably beating each other up but Leon doesn’t even have the energy to stop that anymore. If anything the little shits might drag the baby into the fight as well.

Leon’s tired eyes look down at the teething baby who finds comfort in chewing on his tiny hand. The man bought an absurd amount of toy to help the baby’s sore gums, yet one of the little gremlins found them and is holding it for ramson. Oh, Leon wants a girl so bad but he’s completely finished. Leon’s bouncing him, trying to get the baby to go down for his nap, but it’s to no avail.

“For how long are you going to stay this adorable, James?” Leon asks as if the baby could answer. Leon knows it’s only a matter of time before James joins them. He’ll be completely overpowered by his three boys in no time. Oh Leon already feels that headache incoming– Worst part is that he still loves the little shits, even with all the chaos they cause.

“Hey! Stop that you two!” Leon hears the yelling, a subtle smile coming to Leon’s lips when he hears the noise from the boys stop. At least they fear you, that’s better than nothing. He can only picture you dragging them by their ears and scolding them. It’s the only way the boys listen nowadays.

“You better behave, James, or else your mommy will drag you by your ear too.” Leon hopes that instilling some fear in the baby will make sure that he’s a little less rowdy than his brothers, but he doubts it’ll work in his favor. The baby barely sleeps, Leon knows he’s in for a wild ride with this one too.

“He’s still not asleep?” You startle the man when you enter the living room. The baby’s eyes are wide open, and you’d laugh. If this wasn’t your third baby, you’d laugh. You sigh. “Make him a bottle.”

“Why don’t you just pull out a tit?” he asks as he hands you the baby. You glare at him, and he chuckles as he raises his hands defensively. He stands up to do what you’ve asked of him.

“I’ve pumped enough, he can take a bottle,” you answer before cooing at your baby. He’s drooling, making a mess all over his clothes. Poor little thing is probably so uncomfortable, lately he’s been so fussy.

“How do you get those two under control so fast?” your husband asks as he begins preparing his son’s bottle.

“A magician never reveals their secret,” you say with a half-smile. Before Leon can jokingly protest, your baby lets out a shrill cry. You pout, bouncing him before asking, “Are you hungry, my love? Daddy is making your bottle.”

“Mom, Matt took my game!” your eldest, Leo, yells from his room. You roll your eyes, knowing that you’ll have to mediate the situation between them yet again. As if a crying baby wasn’t enough.

“Matt, give Leo his game back! Don’t make me go up there!” you shout back as you rock James back and forth, hoping to soothe the cries even though there’s only one way to calm him down. “Leon, hurry up!”

“Doing the best I can, sweetheart,” he answers, rushing to prepare the perfect bottle. The thing with James is that if the bottle isn’t damn near perfect, he won’t even attempt to drink it. Either he drinks straight from the source or the bottle is just right. “Scratch him, maybe he’s itchy.”

“That’s not and I’m itchy cry, but I’ll try,” you say, trying to scratch the wailing baby. “Didn’t work! Hurry!”

“Mommmmm! Leo is trying to steal my games!”

“Wait a minute your brother is crying!” you yell back before shushing the baby. “I know love, daddy is almost done.”

“Here.” Leon hands you the bottle, and you immediately put it in the baby’s mouth. The crying subsides, replaced by yelling from the boys.

“Leon, go.” You motion with your head, and he sighs.

“Do I have to?” he asks, and when you glare at him, he turns around to do just what you expect him to do. “Boys! Stop it before mommy gets mad!”

– – –

“If I walk by and you two are awake, you’ll be in so much trouble,” Leon threatens as he tucks in his boys. Back in their toddlerhood days, they’d at least be tired at this hour– That doesn’t happen anymore. The boys’ eyes are wide open as they stare at their father. They share a mischievous look, and Leon catches it before they can even begin to plot. “Don’t even think about it.”

“We weren’t going to do anything,” Leo claims, and Leon pinches the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t make it any more obvious either.

“Keep it that way, or else mom is going to get really mad.” The threat always works, and Leon is not going to change that system. Leon kisses the top of their heads before walking out of the room.

Leon walks back to the bedroom, eyes landing on you as you put the baby in his bassinet. He smirks as he watches you. He sneakily walks up to you before hugging you from behind, and placing a kiss on your temple.

“Leon.” You put your hand over your heart as your husband surprises you. He lets out a low laugh at your reaction. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“How about we send James back to his nursery?” he suggests, whispering to not poke the sleeping bear that’s in the room.

“I don’t know how you still have the energy for sex,” you chuckle before carefully scooping up the baby and handing him to your husband. He walks as carefully as possible to not ruin his chances tonight. The man nearly tiptoes out of the room and to the nursery, watching his every step to not upset the ticking time bomb.

“We’ll come get you later,” Leon whispers when he finally puts the baby down in his crib. He exits the room as carefully as he entered.

Leon enters the room, immediately taking off his shirt as you sit on your side of the bed. He makes sure to lock the door, ensuring there are no interruptions tonight. You chuckle watching your husband rush to your side, making sure to seize the moment before someone gets the idea to ruin it.

Leon gets on top of you, lips engulfing yours in a hungry kiss. Your hands waste no time in roaming his body, feeling every inch of him as if you haven’t gotten that opportunity before. His tongue enters your mouth, pressing against your own while your hands get riskier.

His hands go under your shirt, burning up your body with every touch. Leon pulls away, lips kissing your neck while his hands go to your breasts. He squeezes your tits, and you let out a subtle moan before telling him, “Fuck, be careful. I might leak.”

He doesn’t stop playing with your tits, instead his head goes under your shirt, mouth wrapping around your nipple and sucking. You’re caught off-guard by his actions but you let him be as he sucks on your tits.

“Are you actually drinking–” you ask before a whimper leaves your lips. He hums against your nipple before he unlatches. You lift up the oversized shirt to watch as your husband kisses your tits.

This isn’t your typical foreplay, but for some reason you’re extremely turned on. Leon's lips wrap around your puffy nipple again. You softly moan his name, shutting your eyes as he greedily sucks on your tits.

“You’re so sweet,” he mutters when he unlatches. His hand goes between your legs, rubbing on your clothed cunt to incite some sort of reaction in you which he quickly gets. He begins to take off your pants, a task that he seems to struggle with as he grows desperate. “Fuck, help me, baby.”

You finally take off your pants, and he wastes no time in pushing your panties to the side. Two fingers run through your folded, gathering your slick before they focus on playing with your clit. Leon wastes no time in occupying his mouth, latching around the nipple that he hasn’t paid much attention to.

“Fuck, do you like it or what?” you ask as he drinks your milk. He hums against your nipple again while he slips one finger into your pussy.

He fills you with pleasure, building up your climax. He slips another finger in, curving them so they brush against your sweet spot. His mouth detaches for a second, kissing your breasts before indulging again. He won’t stop until he’s satiated.

You hold your breath as the feeling becomes too much. Your hands hold onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh for support. Your back arches, pleasure becoming overpowering and completely washing over you as you reach your climax.

He continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, finally taking them out when he finally unlatches. He looks up at you with dark eyes, completely filled with lust. He brings up the fingers that were just inside of you and puts them in his mouth, licking them clean.

“God, you taste so perfect,” he says as he pulls down his pants, revealing his hard cock. He spits on his hand, quickly stroking his cock before running the tip through your folds. He makes eye contact with you, teasing your entrance but not slipping it in.

“Put it in, Leon, I need you,” you tell him when he takes his sweet time to give you what you need.

“I need to knock you up, baby.” Leon slips inside of you, not giving you a second to protest before a moan escapes your lips. He gives you a second to adjust before giving slow gentle thrusts. “Fuck, I need to knock up your tight little pussy again.”

“Leon,” you moan, back arching as he hits the right spot. You shut your eyes, nearly seeing white at just how good he makes you feel. His words go ignored by your ears even though you can very clearly comprehend what he asks of you. Right now you’re too lost in the moment to care.

“Will you give me my baby girl, my love? Please,” he whispers into your ears, nibbling on your earlobe as his thrusts become harder. Your hand goes down to play with your oversensitive clit, heightening your pleasure.

You’re making a mess all over him, one that he’s more than happy to clean up. You’re chanting his name, trying to be as quiet as you can to not wake anyone up– The task feels nearly impossible but you persevere.

“Shit, I’m gonna come–” you moan. You’re squeezing around his cock, ready to milk him for all he’s got. “Fuck, Leon.”

“God, you’re so perfect for me, baby. I need to knock you up again.” His words go unheard by your fucked out brain, reaching your climax for the second time. “Please let me knock you up, baby, I need my baby girl.”

“That’s it, baby. This is it. This is our girl.” Leon bites down on your shoulder, suppressing any sound he makes as his cock twitches inside of you and fills you up with his seed. He gives a couple more gentle thrusts before leaving his softening cock buried inside of you. He’ll make sure not a single drop of his precious seed goes to waste– Not this time. This time he’s getting his girl.

He engulfs you in another kiss, this time more loving and soft compared to earlier. He pulls away, kissing the tip of your nose and telling you, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You peck his lips. He finally pulls out, laying down on his side of the bed as you get up to clean up.

“What are you going to do? Get into that weird position you get–”

“Leon, if I end up with another boy I will literally cut your balls off,” you cut him off and he chuckles. He can’t argue with it. You both love your sons more than anything, but you’ll lose your mind if you add another one into the mix.

It's Always Rainy in Philadelphia

2026-05-22T18:27:58+00:00

Chapter Text

A poetic person would describe you as a flâneuse. Someone who likes to meander around the city and explore all of the hidden cracks that go unnoticed with curious appreciation. The thought that you could be seen as some deeply artistic, deliberate philosopher was nice, but not true. You just liked exploring abandoned spaces. Not for any particularly thoughtful reason. Sure, it was humbling to wander through a decrepit community center and see the evidence that someone else had been here. A beer can, a blanket, a half-smoked blunt. It was proof that someone else had climbed the same dumpster to scramble through the sagging frame of a window. Proof that someone else calculated how far they would have to jump over the sinkhole in the middle of the floor, just like you did.

It makes you feel less lonely, but in a way that reminds you that you aren’t special. That’s comforting, too, because you dread being unusual.

But really, you just like exploring. You like bringing your camera with you and snapping pictures of old graffiti, and pools of water that shouldn’t be there, and vines overtaking previously clean, shiny buildings. Sometimes, when you have a couple of consecutive days off from work, you stay for a few nights in whatever place you end up. Which is completely stupid and unsafe, especially for a woman, but you do your best to come prepared. A handgun on your hip and a knife in your sock seem good enough.

If you couldn’t get away from an attacker with those two things, it was probably your time to go.

A year and a half ago, you stopped taking your meds. You moved from Rhode Island to San Francisco, then Portland, and somehow you landed here in Philadelphia. You missed the East Coast way of life. People mind their business and are rarely interested in getting to know you. Life moves faster over here. People walk faster, expect their coffee right away, and risk being run over when the crosswalk light is still blinking red. When people help you, it’s in a hurried and annoyed way, but genuine. No need to ask any unnecessary questions, no life story, no pity party. Just a silent understanding.

Silence is good, especially when the city is so loud.

The bars here are good, too. There’s one far enough from the universities that you rarely bump into frat guys. It mostly consists of middle-aged people who would rather sit at the counter with their heads in their hands, mulling over a recent divorce than talk. One time, you played darts with an older Italian man. It was your first time, you sucked, and he was really trying to give you tips on how to hit the board and not the wood-paneled walls. You took a deep breath, steeled your shoulders, and threw a dart. You thought for sure it would hit at least a single, but you didn’t see the dart land anywhere. Not the board and not even the wall. It had landed in the man’s head. He looked at you with unadulterated disappointment as he pulled the dart out of his balding head.

You avoided that bar for a month, but you had a hard day at work, it’s the closest one to your apartment, and nothing sounded better than a drink, so you slip inside. The bell above the door jingles and then slams behind you. You quickly scan the small room. Dart board guy isn’t here. You finally let out a breath, slump onto a stool, and order a rumple shot. Gross, but you need something to shock your system out of work mode.

Before you dropped out of college in your third year, you were studying chemistry with a minor in forensic science. Now, you answer phones at a dental clinic. Sometimes, you deliver food for the Chinese restaurant that you live above. They give you the extra white rice and egg drop soup after closing, so it’s hard to complain. The work at the clinic isn’t hard, more mind-numbing than anything, but your coworkers are difficult to deal with. Or, more likely, you’re difficult to deal with. They have established lives, a regular schedule, and it seems like all of them are on a heavy dose of SSRIs. They’re like zombies who go to yoga. You long to be able to run such a tight ship.

“Can I get another?” you call to the bartender. The shot burns just as badly as the first one. The worst part of being off your meds is that it takes more effort to get tipsy. Two shots used to do the job just fine, but now, it takes about four. Double the money for the same shit.

After the third one, you’re finally able to relax. The colorful Christmas lights strung across the ceiling are a little softer, clanking glasses a little quieter, and your breathing is steadier.

You cut yourself off. You have to be up early in the morning, you’re driving to Jersey to check out an abandoned power plant. Since this is your first time going, you’d rather not be hungover. Someone told you about the plant a couple of weeks ago in McGlinchey’s, and you’ve been waiting for the right weekend to escape the city. You couldn’t find many pictures of it online, just a few of the outside, and you’re dreadfully curious to see what hides behind those concrete walls.

You pay your tab and leave a pitiful tip with the crumpled-up cash in your pocket, and walk home. It’s only a five-minute walk, but it’s raining so hard that when you finally shut your apartment door, you’re dripping all over the place. You immediately peel your clothes off and drop them on the wood floor with a wet thud. Tomorrows problem. You’re exhausted.

You crumple onto the couch, set an alarm, and pull the tattered knit blanket over your head.

You think it’s your alarm waking you up, but it’s your phone ringing. You dig around in the couch cushions deliriously, find it, and groan when you see the caller ID.

“Hey, Mom,” you answer after a long moment of deliberation. Your voice is scratchy from sleep.

“Hi, sweetheart. It’s Sunday.”

You wish you hadn’t picked up. “Yes, it is.”

Her sigh comes through, heavy and disappointed. “I guess you’re not getting ready for church, then?”

You look around your tiny apartment. A coffee table next to you with a bowl of two-day-old rice, a disintegrating plant hanging above your window, and some photos you took taped to the wall in a vain attempt to make the place feel less like a storage unit.

“No,” you admit. Sometimes you lie, but you don’t have the willpower today.

“I know you’re in a dark place right now,” she insists, “But only God can pull you out. He’s knocking. You just have to let him in.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You used to argue with her about it, try to get her to see your side, but it was useless. Silence is the best way to handle it.

“Remember,” she says softly, like she’s trying to tug at your heartstrings. “He’ll always be waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Mom, I love you. Gotta go.” You end the call before she can get another word in. She would preach for hours if given the chance.

You toss your phone onto the coffee table and drag your hands over your face. You’re tired of the calls, of the texts she sends you with Bible verses attached, of the constant guilt tripping. If she weren’t your mother- and also going through a tumultuous divorce- you would have blocked her by now.

You pad to the kitchen and start the coffee pot. It sputters miserably, like trying to start a dead car, but it somehow dribbles out a full cup. Thank God. You take your time waking up, staring out the window at the rising sun starting to peek over the city. Philadelphia can be grimy, especially the part you live in, but it looks like a painting in the morning. Smears of orange reflect off the windows, birds fly low, and dew still sticks to the trees. It’s calm.

You start to pack for the trip. You don’t need a lot; you won’t be sleeping there, so just the necessities will do. A pair of work gloves, a full face respirator, a portable charger, a flashlight, your camera, a Geiger counter, and a few granola bars. You pull on thick construction pants (you learned your lesson after getting stuck with rusty rebar while wearing leggings) and a big hoodie. It’s October, and slowly starting to get colder, so you double up your socks before sliding into steel-toed boots. The knife gets tucked inside, and you strap on your hip holster.

The gun sits under an unfolded pile of panties in the top dresser drawer. You fiddle around until your fingers hit the cold metal of the TX22. It sits heavy in your hand as you stare down at it. A flood of memories hit you, as they always do when you hold a gun. Some nice, but mostly terrible.

You realize you’ve been looking at it for a full five minutes before you shake your head and shove it in the holster.

You double-check your backpack, grab your keys, and head out the door. You still haven’t gotten used to the new apartment. The hallways are dark, and smell of cigarettes, and the carpeted stairs are so old that a faded foot path has appeared from all the abuse. But it’s not awful. You have somewhere to rest your head at night, your landlord is sweet, and the AC works great. After the hostel you lived at in San Francisco, this feels like an all-inclusive resort.

You trek to your car parked down the street and haul your backpack into the passenger seat. You drive in silence, which is unusual. You fill most of your waking moments with music, or podcasts, or with the TV playing some reality show, because it’s easier that way. You don’t like to think too much, because you always spiral and end up with the same haunting thought: I really fucked up.

But the windows are rolled down, the cool breeze is rustling through your hair, and the weather is clear. That’s enough of a distraction, and paired with the thought that you’re going somewhere new, you’re happy.

It takes three hours before you’re meandering down a small gravel road deep in the woods. The trees are overgrown and scratch against your car as you do your best to weave around them, but it’s no use. Your car isn’t exactly in the best condition to begin with, so you barrel on. The path is sketchy, and you second-guess your map, but the trees slowly get sparser, and eventually you’re spit out in front of the power plant.

It’s a looming, grey building that’s surrounded by tall, barbed fencing. You hope your wire cutters are in the trunk, because from here you couldn’t spot any graffiti, and that’s a bad sign. No graffiti means not many people have been here. Maybe because of the location, but probably because there were enough cameras to scare anyone off.

You park in the grass, turning the car around so you face the road. If there were guards, you needed to make a quick escape. Can’t risk landing in jail again.

You’re not deterred by the lack of graffiti or the lack of holes in the fence. It gives you butterflies.

You unzip your backpack and grab the respirator. Best to put it on now if there were cameras. You throw your keys in the bag and open the door. Thankfully, you had left your wire cutters in the trunk, and that’s the last thing you grab before you march through the overgrown grass. The overgrown forest canopies the area with shade, and only sporadic streaks of light peek through the leaves.

As you stroll along the fence, keeping an eye out for a hole you could shimmy through before resorting to cutting one yourself, you realize how quiet it is. You needed this. You love the way a city can suck you up and keep you hidden in a sea of people. You love how small your thoughts get when everything around you is busy and overwhelming, but you didn’t realize how much you missed the real quiet. There’s nothing artificial about it.

You can’t find a hole, so you slide your work gloves on before you start cutting the fence. The metal snaps apart with satisfying, crunchy pops. It takes fifteen minutes, and you’re sweating through your hoodie by the end, but you’re proud of your work. Small enough not to be noticeable, but large enough for a quick escape.

You push your backpack through first, then crawl under the wire. It rubs against your back painfully, but it’s grounding. When you reach the other side, you allow yourself to sit in the soft grass and observe the power plant. It’s nondescript; there’s not even a logo slapped on the side. Three ventilation stacks rise so high that it makes you dizzy to look up. Ivy curls up the concrete like a disease, and black stains from years of rain droop down the sides. Despite the obvious lack of traffic this place gets, most of the windows had been shattered.

Interesting.

You stand up and shoulder your backpack, continuing to canvas the area. You like to have a vague idea of what you’re getting into, so you make mental notes of the doors and windows that could be accessible from the ground. There’s a surprising lack of cameras.

You find an emergency exit that’s been propped open slightly with a brick. Guess it’s a sign.

You switch the Geigar counter on, stuff it in your pocket, and grab the handle. The door squeals as you creep inside, and you’re faced with a winding, steel staircase. You go past it to the open door on the right and flick your flashlight on.

The hallways are long and mazelike, just empty white walls and doors to offices and meeting rooms. You look into a couple of unlocked ones, but they’re barren. The place has been completely gutted. The outside may be crumbling apart, but the inside is uncomfortably clean. Besides a lobby and a couple of bathrooms, the first floor offers nothing of interest, so you retrace your steps to the staircase. It rattles under your boots as you climb to the second story, which seems a lot more promising when you reach the top.

It’s equally empty, but the wooden doors are replaced with heavy steel ones. It would be pitch black if it weren’t for the glaring red alarm lights lining the ceiling. The excitement grows when you notice double doors with safety warnings plastered all across. The Geigar counter is still clicking steadily in your pocket, so you try the door.

It’s unlocked and swings open with ease. You’re in the control room, and you can’t help but smile under your mask. Jackpot.

The cold room hosts a long analog panel that sits before massive windows. You jog to the glass, eagerly pressing your forehead against it to get a look at the breathtaking sight below you. The sheer size of the turbine hall makes your breath hitch. Massive boilers and fat aluminum flue pipes that weave across the room like a snake. It was a twisted jungle of metal, and your head flies around to look for an access door. You need to get down there.

There’s one to the left, and by a stroke of pure luck, it’s unlocked. You grip the straps of the backpack until your knuckles turn white as you step onto the catwalk. The room is painfully silent, so uncanny when you imagine how loud it probably was when in operation. The only sound is your heavy boots echoing through the hall.

You walk slowly around the catwalk, reverently, like you’re in a place of worship. There’s a ladder at the end, and you don’t think twice before climbing down.

There’s a feeling that you’re always chasing, and it hits you like a shot of heroine when you drop onto the tile floor. It’s the feeling of insignificance. The machines soar above you, and you’re an ant in comparison. In this room of the most powerful mechanisms, you are nothing. They have been here long before you were born, and they will be here long after. They’re consistent, never changing, meticulously made. The metal innards that sit behind the steel curves of the boilers are flawless and calculated.

You’re broken from your awe when you hear the Geigar counter start to click faster. You only make it two steps back before a wretched groan pierces through the silence. You freeze in your tracks.

There’s someone here.

You don’t breathe, eyes frantically straining across the dark room to find the source. You don’t see anything, but you hear the sloppy footsteps and the agonized grunt. It echoes one hundred times over; it’s impossible to tell where they’re coming from.

The Geigar counter ticks furiously, and you’re forced to back against the wall. The ticks slow, only for a moment, before it’s blaring urgently again.

The footsteps turn into quick, fleshy slaps against the floor. Closer. Closer.

You drop the flashlight and yank your gun out and flick the safety off in one swift motion, holding it out in front of you with shaking arms. You know you should move. Run, hide, do anything, but you’re paralyzed.

And then you see the person lean out from behind a boiler, and they’re looking straight at you.

“I have a gun,” you warn loudly, and your voice comes out much more confident than you feel. “Who the fuck are you?”

A thick stillness settles. And then the person sprints straight for you.

Except, it’s not a person. You only see a quick flash, but there’s nothing human about it. You see shredded skin and oozing blood, and you shoot.

The gunshot ruptures around the room and renders you deaf, but you shoot again, and this one lands right in the thing’s skull. Chunks of flesh explode from its head and land on the boiler, sticking to it like you threw spaghetti at the wall.

You lower the gun, but your grip on it doesn’t let up. The thing, person, whatever the fuck it is, lies motionless. You’re breathing so hard that your throat burns, and your thoughts have been replaced with static adrenaline.

A resounding crack, bone scraping against bone, a moan. It's getting up.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” you gasp.

It barrels towards you like a feral animal, too quick for you to put the pieces together or come up with some sort of escape plan. It’s too late. You can feel bony hands around your neck and see the face of your perpetrator up close. Hollow, soulless eyes and the gaping mouth of a lion. Spit drips down its yellow teeth as its jaw stretches impossibly wider. Its neck wrenches back so far its eyes disappear, then snaps forward to your jugular.

It's gonna bite me. I’m gonna die. I’m going to fucking die here.

A gunshot reverberates in the air, and the thing slumps over again with a soggy thump.

But your gun is still pointed at the floor.

“Sir!”

You barely register the voice, too focused on your failing lungs struggling to suck in air. Your neck burns, and your throat constricts like a drying fish trying to get oxygen.

“Sir!” the voice shouts again.

I gotta get out.

Your survival instincts take over, and your body is running to the ladder, scrambling up so fast that your sweaty palms slip on the bars. You make it to the top and fall against the catwalk, half crawling, half running back to the control room.

You slam into something solid and fall onto your ass so hard your teeth vibrate. When you look up and see the man you ran right into, your gun instantly goes up and points at his face.

“Buddy, you need to get up right now,” the man hisses. “Put the gun away.”

The gun doesn’t budge. “There’s a,” you stammer. “There’s a fucking zombie! Are you one?” You begin to scoot back on your ass, gun quivering in your hands. “I’ll shoot you.”

“Do I look like a zombie?” he drawls, and before you can pull the trigger, you’re being yanked up by the arm, and your gun clatters against the floor. “I’m DSO,” he says, like that explains anything. “You need to stay behind me. I’ll get you out.”

For some reason, your legs follow him. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest with a DSO patch stuck to the back. He might be legit, and he’s the only one with a gun now, so this is your best chance at survival.

“Sherry,” he says. “There’s a civilian.”

You can hear a faint static voice from his earpiece, but it’s too quiet to understand.

“Right. Getting out now.” He glances back, like he’s making sure you’re still there. “Keep your eyes open, this may get sketchy.”

You don’t know how to speak, so you nod.

He leads you back into the control room, then out the steel doors, and as you're running through the hallway, his hand snaps up. Stop.

A figure hobbles out from behind a corner, and two gunshots go off.

He motions for you to keep moving.

And by God, you do, hot on his heels. You rush down the wobbly steps to the first floor, booking it out of the front door like you’re on fire. Even when your boots are thundering across the long grass, you don’t stop until you’ve shimmied under the fence and made it to your car. Your head flies back when there are three more gunshots. The man is right outside the exit, gun still pointed at the threshold as he steps backwards slowly.

You fumble for your keys in your backpack and unlock the car door, heaving. You’re quick to fall into your seat, slam the door, and start the engine, but then your door is being ripped back open.

The man stands there, looking down at you. He got here too fast. His gun has been put away, but you still raise your hands in surrender.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg, voice cracking.

He looks exasperated, sweat dripping down his weathered face. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he sighs, and he crouches down so he’s eye to eye with you. “Everything’s okay, but you need to come with me.”

“Fuck no,” you stammer.

“Not optional, sorry,” he says, but it sounds like he actually is sorry. He reaches a hand out for you to take. “I work for the government, I’m safe, just trying to get you out.”

“I can get out on my own if you get off my car,” you plead. Realistically, you could gun it and just run him over, but fear is holding you hostage.

He rubs his forehead like a migraine is coming on. “If you don’t comply, I’ll need to use force.”

You don’t know what to do. You’re on the verge of having a full-on breakdown.

He decides for you, reaching across your chest and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Are you gonna make me carry you? I’m getting too old for that.”

You step out of the car carefully. Your legs are wet noddles and it’s a miracle you don’t keel over right there.

He places a large hand on your shoulder, obviously thinking you’d bolt, and guides you to a car tucked a little farther into the woods, on a different path. He opens the door for you, and you get in the passenger seat.

When he starts the car and swerves down the road, you finally rip your respirator off, gasping. You double over into yourself as your throat constricts. Your eyes are wide, but you can’t see past the crushing panic. Thankfully, the man doesn’t say anything when you dry heave.

Those eyes. Those teeth. The exposed muscle under black skin.

You don’t know how long it’s been before your body gives up, replacing the adrenaline with shock. You sit back and stare at the man driving. You wish you could ask the hundred questions swirling in your head, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. So you just stare at him.

He’s older than you expected, probably in his forties. His hair is scattered with grey streaks, and there are deep bags under his eyes. His far too tight navy button-up hugs his biceps like it’s about to burst open.

“Sorry about calling you sir,” he says, trying to break the tension. He tosses a weak smile your way.

You don’t respond.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. “Listen, I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but the important thing is getting you to the office so you can get a medical assessment. They’ll be able to answer some of your questions.”

Your expression sours, and the frustration is the only thing that finally forces your voice to work. “You’re kidnapping me.”

He absently reaches into his breast pocket and presents the DSO badge. You still don’t know what the fuck DSO is. “What were you doing at the powerplant?”

You don’t answer that. “H-How far is this office? Are you gonna put me on a boat and ship me to Guatemala?”

He chuckles softly. “No. We’re not far.”

Your mind jolts back to the beast. Shredded, burnt flesh hanging off of it like a weeping willow. Soulless eyes, unnaturally thin arms, wide mouth. The frantic clicks from the Geigar counter. Would you get radiation poisoning? Was that thing radioactive?

If you weren’t in shock, it would almost be funny. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed to be a trend in your life. Only a curse could make someone so unlucky.

The rest of the drive is silent. The man doesn’t cough up any sort of explanation, and you’re too busy repeating the events over and over to ask questions. You don’t even realize the car has parked until the man taps the dashboard to get your attention. You must be losing time.

“We’re at the office,” he says. “I’m going to take you inside, and the medical team will pull you away for a moment to make sure you’re okay.”

You nod vacantly. Brain matter splattering onto the boiler.

“Then we’ll have a meeting, and you can tell them what you were doing at the plant.”

“Will you be there?” you ask without thinking.

“I’ll be there,” he nodded. “I know you’re scared. You’ll be okay, kid.”

“...Okay.”

You follow him out of the car, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walk into the blank building. Just like the power plant- no logo. And in the middle of nowhere.

As soon as you step inside, you’re surrounded by lab coats and falsely comforting voices. You’re whisked away to a small medical room and ordered to sit on the cold examination table. You don’t realize how bad you’re shaking until one of the doctors tries to draw your blood. She has to hold your arm down to slip the needle in.

A blood pressure cuff is pulled tight around your bicep, and an oxygen monitor is clamped to your finger.

“Tacky at 120,” a man says, and another needle jabs you.

A blanket is thrown across your shoulders, and you close your eyes. You stop shaking. Whatever they just injected you with is making you delirious. You hear vague snippets of medical jargon that you can’t understand before you lie back on the table and slip away.

Biohazard

2026-05-22T17:57:40+00:00

Chapter Text

September 25th, 1998. Time: 8:00 P.M.

Tonight was the night where everything in your life changed, but you didn’t know that yet. To you, it was like any other Friday night at the Hospital. The hospital was abuzz with different noises; the murmur of words, the shouts of pain, the beeping of heart monitors, the pitter patter of feet, and the sounds of other medical instruments.

You were on the way to your next patient, speed walking down the white hallway as you went over the next patient’s file on your clipboard one of the nurses had handed to you. You can’t remember how long you’ve been here, ten hours at best. It’s stressful, especially having to work in the ER. The bright lights of the hospital blinded you, making you squint slightly as your eyes strained to read the words on the clipboard even through your glasses.

The moonlight knocked at the hospital windows, peering in through the glass and welcoming itself inside and danced across the white tiles covering the floors. The wind drifted from place to place, occasionally wandering inside of the building and rubbing against the residents.

Nurses and other doctors alike filled the hallway, either moving a patient or checking on a patient. Certain medical instruments were being moved around, some lining the walls of the hallway as a woman in labor cried out in pain from somewhere behind one of the many closed doors in the hallway.

“How’s our burn patient holding up?” Your voice cut through the noise, firm and clear, as you stopped in front of one of the treatment rooms. A man had come into the ER a few hours prior with 3rd degree burns all over his right arm that caused the skin there to melt and redden and cause boils as big as an avocado seeds; creating a sharp contrast to his left arm that was relatively normal. When you examined him, he had bruising around his ankles and wrists, along with burn marks on his left shoulder that had faded, but definitely scarred. There was more markings on him, and you knew that there’s most likely some internal damage there too.

It was like the man had been tortured, or maybe he was being abused. But right now you can’t determine that, as you’re more focused on his health and safety more than the what-ifs that this job always seems to bring you; focusing on two things at once could mean making a mistake during his treatment here, and you definitely did not want that.

“He’s doing better now. He’s not expressing any pain in his right arm, not yet at least. Other than that his throat is sore, experiencing a migraine, his chest hurts, and he has a fever. The images of his x-ray should be on his chart now.” A nurse spoke up as you entered the room, looking up at you with a neutral expression on her face aside from the small smile playing on her lips with a small bit of her crows feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes, the silvers of gray that mixed with her red hair shimmered slightly in the bright lights of the hospital.

Nurse Barbra was one of the older workers here at the hospital with a mothering kind of nature. You’ve always kind of looked up to her. She was there at the beginning of your residency here, and she’s helped you out a lot ever since then.

A smile twitched at your lips, your shoulders slightly relaxing at the mere sight of her, but you remembered to focus on what you’re doing first. You’ll be able to talk to her during break.

“Thanks for letting me know, Barbra. I appreciate it. Did he wake up at all after the x-ray?” You shut the door behind you with a quiet click before moving over to the bed where the sleeping man was, your eyes roaming over the patient and silently checking him over before you leaned over and pulled the clipboard out of the slot at the end of the bed to read it over.

“Only once, other than that he’s mostly been sleeping.” Barbra hummed, going back to adjusting the patient’s bed to make sure he was comfortable in it and everything was in its proper place. She’s always been a very diligent woman, even outside of work. Maybe that’s just her years of experience working as a nurse, or maybe she’s always had a stride towards being efficient in every aspect of her life.

Checking over the man’s charts, you could see he was a fairly athletic man. Name: David Ranger. From what you could see from his I.D. he’s a black male in his early twenties, short black hair with waves in it, brown eyes, and boyish features. He looks like he’s still in college, if he is in college. You still don’t know much about this guy, which isn’t really your job. You had his medical records here, and his treatment is all that really matters right now than playing twenty questions.

You flip over the paper and begin to examine the x-ray; Nothing was out of the ordinary besides an old broken bone on his shoulder, but other than that the guy was perfectly fit. Well, besides the fact that he has a very bad burn on his arm. The police already came by to check on him and the detectives came to see if he was awake. He was involved in a house fire a few streets down from here. Apparently some maniac broke into the house while he was trying to have a romantic dinner with his fiancee and some of the candles tipped over and caught fire to the table cloth they were on. You don’t have the full story, but got the gist of it. His fiancee was in another room being taken care of right now. You weren’t assigned to her, but based on the talk you heard from your fellow employees, she was in worse condition than David.

“The hospital feels pretty busy tonight.” You mumbled, still scanning through the documents but couldn’t help but glance at Barbra from the corners of your eyes. She had finished making up the patient’s bed, and was now looking at you.

“Yes, it really has been busy.” She nodded her head slowly in agreement, glancing back at the young man in the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the hospital be this populated before.” She sighed, shaking her head as she walked over to your side. It was rare to have moments of peace like this where you could let your mind stop running and pick itself up and just talk and let everything slow down.

“Hm. Yeah, me neither.” You purse your lips. It really did feel busier than normal. Hospitals have always been an active place to begin with, like a police department. People come in and out, some stay for a while, and some visit the ones inside of the place. It was either really populated, or just quiet but still busy. But today? It seemed like the whole city was ending up in the hospital, either due to car accidents, or some random maniac attacking other people.

“The world just keeps getting more and more violent.” You frowned, glancing over at Barbra to watch her reaction. The older woman’s face held sympathetic understanding, her eyes softening as she slowly nodded her head.

“I understand. My niece is a mortician, and she was just telling me about how a girl she had to work on was raped and murdered. She was just fourteen.” The older woman’s face fell and all you could do was nod in silent understanding.

You’ve seen your fair share of horror stories, and at this point, it’s hard not to become desensitized to it. They come rolling in and out of the hospital, sporting the wounds of their crimes or of the things they survived, and you tend to them no matter what their history is. That’s the job after all. And most are able to walk out, but some don’t get to leave. It was hard at first. Seeing people get rolled down to the morgue in the basement, listening to what happened for them to come here. Not everyone’s story is so messy, but that doesn’t mean that they’re mostly clean ones. It feels like bearing the weight of this job has become easier than when you first started. And it has. But whenever you feel yourself begin to not even blink at what happened to people, you force yourself to stop and take a break.

It was easier to become desensitized to everything. Rape? Abuse? It can become just something you can only blink your eyes to before you move onto the next conversation because of just how much it happens. And seeing and hearing about it everyday makes it even easier to become desensitized to it. But what good is a doctor that isn’t empathetic? Doesn’t sympathize with both the family and the victim? What good is a doctor that only feels numb to others’ pain? Those are the questions you ask yourself everyday because if you feel numb in a job that gives you meaning, then what meaning does it really have?

You sigh and rub your face, squeezing your eyes shut as you pinched the bridge of your nose before you shake your head to clear your thoughts. You did not need to start spiraling right now.

“Well, everything seems alright here.” You nod your head, flashing a small smile towards Barbra as you set the clipboard back into the little slot at the end of the bed.

“It seems like you already got everything handled. Let me know when he wakes up, yeah?” Barbra nods her head and smiles back at you, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be the first to know.”

You smile.

“Thank you, Barbra. I’ll see you later.” Barbra’s hand falls away from your shoulder as you turn and leave the room. There wasn’t much to do in Mr. Ranger’s room really. He was still sleeping, and any sort of check in besides physical things you could do like check his temperature wouldn’t work much. For you to prescribe anything, communication with him is important. You could only do so much based on physical data that you can gather. Besides, he’s in good hands with Barbra.

His body had worked up a lot of adrenaline, and now it was crashing. You can only imagine what his fiancee is going through right now while he’s passed out from exhaustion. That thought terrified you. What if something bad happened to one of your family members and they couldn’t reach you because you were asleep? Or you couldn’t wake up and can’t do anything to stop it?

You sigh once more and rub a hand down your face. You needed to get a grip; and staying up most of the day and then coming into work is not helping you out right now. “Night shift is so tiring.” You mumbled underneath your breath, shaking your head to try and clear your head again. It didn’t work much.

You go back to work, making your way around the hospital and checking on your other patients and the residents as time slowly along. The clocks quietly ticked away on the walls, overlooking the hospital as they counted down to the time your nightmare would begin. But is it really a nightmare if it was real life?

“Dr. Spencer!” A panicked voice called out, the sounds of a heart monitor flat lining catching your attention from your paperwork more than the panicked voice of the intern calling out your name in a hurry. Your body acted on instinct, pushing itself out of your chair and darting towards the room.

“She’s not breathing! S-She’s having a seizure!” The intern’s, Amber, panic had grown louder as she glanced around the room in a hurry, like she didn’t know what to do now. You understand why. It’s not everyday that someone begins to flat line in front of you. You have enough experience to approach the situation in a mannerly fashion, but Amber? It would be her first time dealing with something like this. She’s only been working here a few days, a college student trying to become a nurse: just like her mom. She’s Barbra’s kid. And although she’s been training on how to deal with these kinds of things, it’s just different when it’s a practice dummy and a physical person before you.

“We can’t panic, we have to act first. Panicking will only waste time that we don’t have.” You grab her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze before brushing past her to get to the patient as other nearby nurses rush into the room. The heart monitor continued to sound out in the background, overlapping the background noise of the ER, the quiet ticking of the clock in the room fading out in the background.

The woman in the bed shook violently, her body jerking around as the covers on top of her body were pulled off by the nearby nurses. It was like many of the other seizures you’ve seen before, but you noticed the little differences. Her eyes were rolled back like the red veins visible as her mouth hung open like she was desperately trying to gasp for air but no noticeable sound came out but those things weren’t the odd parts. A strange, translucent liquid with a white hue to it began to dribble out of the corner of her mouth, starting to foam as it came into contact with the cool air of the ER. She was unnaturally pale with a slight green hue, her veins visible and looking darker than what you considered normal. Her fingernails looked ghastly with small black splotches. Her body twisted in unnatural ways, her legs kicking desperately as her hands clawed at the bed underneath her.

“She’s tonic!” You shout out to the nurses who have rushed over.

“Roll her over onto her side!” You and the nurses roll her over, one of them making sure she doesn’t knock her head into the frame of the bed as her body shudders violently. You quickly moved up to her neck, pressing it into the soft patch of skin next to the front of her next to feel for a pulse: You could barely feel a pulse.

“She barely has a pulse! Someone get me an oxygen mask!” Your voice cuts through the loud flat sound of the heart monitor nearby. Amber was frozen in place, her eyes wide as everything around her just seemed to stop before she pushed herself out of her trance. She moves forward, grabbing the oxygen mask and handing it over to you with shaky hands. You immediately take the mask from her without hesitation, your brows pinched together in concentration as you pressed the mask over her mouth.

“C’mon now, breathe, breathe.” You murmured quietly, your eyes focusing on her face to watch for any sort of reaction, any telltale sign to see if your efforts would work. A strange liquid, darker than what mucus would be, started to seep out of her nose. It made you pause for a moment. The area around her eyes seemed darker, like she hasn’t gotten a week worth of sleep, almost purple, as sweat trickled down her forehead and caused the brown strands to stick to her skin. This was something you’ve never seen before and it confused you a great deal. You never heard of these kinds of symptoms in a seizure before. What the hell was happening? Only some things were familiar to you, but the rest were so alien to you.

You watch as the woman’s chest heaves, signaling that she was indeed breathing, or at least trying to. Her body continues to jerk, her eyes continuing to roll back into her head uncontrollably, and then it all just suddenly stops. Her body goes completely still, her eyes staying wide open as she goes limp. The heart monitor continued to flat line in the background as you reached out to check her pulse: Nothing. You pull the oxygen mask off of her, letting her roll back onto her back as brown bile escapes the corner of her lips. What the actual fuck?

You turn to look at the other nurses; they all share the same look of shock and awe on their faces. You’ve heard about these strange symptoms from your colleagues, and initially you brushed it off at first, but now seeing it for yourself? There was definitely something going on here.

You pull away from the patient, a swirl of frustration and guilt churning in your stomach as you lay her back on her back: you couldn’t save her. There wasn’t much you could do. The woman had a DNR (Do-Not-Resuscitate) order. But still, any loss is still a loss.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, needing to let out your frustration in some way as you glance at the clock. “Time of death: 8:29 P.M.” You breathed out as you glanced at one of the nurses, signaling her to write it down as another nurse unhooked the monitor. You grab a tissue from off of the patient’s bedside, dabbing away at the bile around the corner of her mouth and cleaning her up a bit before she would be sent to the morgue. No one would want to be left looking like that; plus, you were curious about these strange new symptoms spreading around the hospital. All you needed was a sample, something to study when you were on your downtime. What was causing this? What was forcing the body to create such a strange liquid that made it turn as brown as fecal matter? It was something you’ve never seen before.

The splotch on the once white tissue was now a tainted brown, with hints of black and mucky green swirling around as it grayed around the edges of the splotch. A foul order emitted from it, making your nose scrunch up and your lips curl in distaste It was something you’ve never smelt before. It smelt like puke, but mixed with the scent of copper, something sour, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. You turn to thank the nurses in the room for their help before letting your eyes land on Amber; her eyes were red, those blue eyes shining with tears as they streamed silently down her round cheeks. She was clearly distraught, never having witnessed such a violent end to someone before now. You knew she must feel some sort of guilt on her part. She was there when the woman started seizing, and yet she panicked, and now the woman was dead; you know how it feels.

You sigh and walk over to Amber, giving her an apologetic look. You opened your mouth, wanting to find a way to reassure her or comfort her, but the look on her face made you pause and think. Would right now be the best time to comfort her? Would it make it worse? You chew on the inside of your cheek before deciding your next move.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. It was bound to happen at some point, but I just wish it wasn’t during your internship.” You frowned gently.

“But death never waits for a living. I wish I could say it gets easier with time, but it doesn’t. If you need to take a break, I’d understand.” Amber didn’t say much but just slowly nodded her head, letting out a shaky breath as she reached up to wipe the tears falling down her cheeks.

“N-No.” She mumbled after a moment.

“The place is packed, and we’re short staffed. What kind of nurse would I be if I stopped when everything got hard?” You couldn’t help but smile at that. She really was Barbra’s daughter: full of determination and a heart so full of love to give.

“I understand.” You nod.

“But if things get worse, take a break, alright? You wouldn’t be of any help if you’re distracted.” You said kindly, your words holding some truth to it. Being distracted in this line of work can lead to so many mishaps that range from small little things to large things. Amber nods her head in silent understanding. She didn’t seem like she wants to talk about it any further. You’ll have to tell Barbra what happened today.

“Normally, I let the interns take the bodies down to the morgue, but this is a special case. I’m pretty sure I can handle this one.” You gesture towards the hall that leads down to the elevator. Now that may seem a tad bit morbid, but the morgue is in the basement, and the basement was the oldest part of the building. It was used as a body reserve for the fallen soldiers during the Civil War. The electricity would cut off randomly throughout the day, and the basement was the coldest part of the hospital, no matter how many times the HVAC would mess with the heating system. It’s safe to say that the basement in general is just not a place anyone would feel comfortable in. So, to get the newcomers used to the basement, you would send them down there for any basement related reason. But after what Amber just saw? You weren’t so convinced that was a good idea.

“No, no, I can do it.” Amber shakes her head, obviously not wanting to be viewed as weak by you.

“Amber—”

“No, I can do it. I don’t want any special treatment, alright?” She gives you a pleading look to which you just sigh in response. She had a point there. If someone saw you letting your friend’s daughter off the hook, then it would like like favoritism, or maybe just nepotism. You know she wants to do this the right way.

“Fine, but I want you off the floor immediately after, you hear me? You can return to work after I check in on you in the break room.” You said firmly. You didn’t want her to do it in the first place, but at least this way she gets to process what just happened afterwards.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods her head before she walks past you, already preparing the woman to be transported down to the morgue. You tried not to say anything as you walked out of the room, forcing your focus to shift from Amber to the tissue you were still holding. Although you wanted to worry about Amber and comfort her, she wasn’t a child. If she wanted your help she would ask for it. Plus, this new substance coming out of your patient was really worrying.

You make your way down the hallway, chewing on your bottom lip as you hold it in front of you to examine it. You were glad to be wearing gloves, as the mucky green and the cloudy black substance inside of the brown bile had started to spread out from its home, making its way across the once white tissue paper. It was like it was alive as it slunk across the darkening tissue paper, tainting it with its presence.

It both frightened you, and intrigued you. What in the world could this thing be? What can be causing this substance to form inside of the patient? Just as you were making your way to the examination room to check the cells of this new medical anomaly, the news broadcasting on the TV drew your attention as everything in the hospital seemed to just go stagnant as everyone currently on the floor looked at the big monitor in the main room.

A woman stood on the screen, the blonde locks reflecting the bright lights of the studio she was inside of. She was a pretty woman with a perfectly manufactured smile to please both the male and female audience, her makeup light and natural with her lips painted the perfect red for any beautiful white blonde model you would see on TV. Her dress matched the red of her lips, something formal but still casual enough to reveal the faintest hint of her cleavage to keep the attention of some watcher who were more interested in her than her words.

You can tell that she seemed worried despite the smile that is glued to her mouth. It wasn’t her face that gave her away, well, maybe a little, but it was her eyes that gave her away the most with that smile wavering slightly. Her blue eyes sparkled, seemed slightly even moist at best. Her eyebrows, although barely even slightly, were knitted together, revealing the bit of worry that seemed to simmer there. You must’ve missed the introduction, as the woman on the screen was already talking.

“—reports of people being violently attacked outside of their homes and on the streets. Police have advised citizens to stay inside and keep all the exits and entries to their homes locked and secured, and to stay away from windows. As of tomorrow, there will be a curfew placed on the city—” She gets cut off by a loud bang in the studio and the sounds of people screaming off camera. You watch as she blinks, her tan face paling underneath the bright studio lights as something bright red splatters across her and the staging. You can recognize it instantly: blood.

More screams echo from the speakers of the TV, the hospital watching in stunned silence as the camera being used to broadcast the event gets knocked over, causing the film to crack and a sheen of red coat the side. Blood decorated the floor of the studio, multiple pairs of feet darting across the screen and sending the red liquid to splatter across the lens of the camera.

You stood there frozen with the other staff, various gasps escaping them as you all watched with wide eyes as the woman from before slips on the blood. Her screams pierced your ears as you watched gnarled hands dig into her dress, tearing at it as their blunt nails tear open the skin of her stomach, making your own feel queasy. Hands dive into the abdomen, the squelching of their hands pulling out the intestines and blood getting mixed around blended in with her choked sobs and the sounds of smacking lips.

The screen goes to black and white, leaving you and the other staff staring slacked jawed at the screen as the sound of static filled your ears.

“What… the fuck.” A nurse spoke up next to you, her voice strained and sounding like she was moments away from crying or puking, maybe both. Before anyone of you knew it, the lights of the hospital changed from the sterile pale lights to a flashing red light as the alarm bounced off the walls. The static, and flashing lights, the blaring alarm, and the scene that happened before your eyes made you stand still in complete shock. Your ears were ringing from the overwhelming sounds filling your ears, and it felt like everything around you had faded as the white-nose of the static filled your mind; leaving you feeling completely blank as everything zones out for you.

Message

2026-05-22T17:57:44+00:00

Chapter Text

Amidst the darkness, Leon lost hope.

Grace was beside him, maybe rethinking every great moment of her life. Maybe the one with her mother, or her time at the FBI Academy.

There was no way, not even a slight chance with a weird move, that could get both of them out. Leon could not even believe that this would be his deathbed, the place where it all started. He thought it was not entirely bad considering that he now gets to die alongside the people of Racoon City, the people he thought he could not do enough for decades ago.

He was about to lay down and embrace the end of Leon Kennedy when the brightest light splashed onto them. Five agents lower themselves down, one of them asking his name before communicating to someone that Leon and Grace are safe. Leon frowned, he was pretty certain he heard the word alpha, and he prayed to every god he knew for that alpha to be another alpha from any other squad in the world.

It was the first Greek letter, surely every squad has an alpha right? Right?

He did not even pray to stay alive when no escape was in sight.

But he did pray for that alpha to not be the alpha.

“Mr. Kennedy... I have a message from Captain Redfield.”

FUCK!

That was the only word he could think of. Leon hasn’t seen that man in ages and pray he won’t have to ever again. Of course, it’s got to be the Hound Wolf Squad that gets him out of here. Of course it has to be Captain Redfield.

It would be so weird to say but if going up that rope would have Chris Redfield standing, waiting for him at his moment of freedom, dying down here doesn’t sound so bad right now.

They say humans will rerun the best memories of their life when they die.

Do humans also rerun the worst memories of their life when they escape death, then?

Because for Leon, he is doing that right now. All he could think of was the conversation he had with Chris the night after they successfully got out of Alcatraz.

Jill, Claire, and Rebecca went to get the rest they deserved. At the bar, there was only Chris and him. Back then, both of them had gone through too much. They have both lost too many people before their eyes. They have seen things that were basically a killing machine. They just went through another one of their never-ending series of fighting off zombies.

The more they talked, the more they realized that at least they have each other.

And because having each other was so uncertain, one of them could be devoured by the new zombies somewhere on earth tomorrow, they devour each other out with hunger, spending the passionate night together in San Francisco. It might be those whiskies but Leon was sure that their conversation flow was so good they both did not even finish their first drink.

They both didn’t plan that far ahead of what’s going to happen later.

Then dawn arrived, all adrenaline from surviving the death island was completely gone.

That was when reality hit and Leon realized he just slept with someone who he considered his friend. And that was a really really bad thing.

The only thing Leon could think back then was that he would rather have no conversation than Chris ending their friendship to his face.

He left.

To everyone, Chris and Leon are still in contact, just did not get to hang out because they are busy with their job. If anybody asked Leon about Chris, he would just say that he would run into Chris at some point. When in fact, Leon blocks Chris in every way and he guesses Chris did not tell anyone at all because even Claire seems to believe Leon’s excuse. He just keeps doing more and more jobs everyday, taking as many missions as possible, just to escape the memory of that night.

Until now, where his grand runaway scheme doesn’t work any more.

“Captain said to bring you both to BSAA. Miss Ashcroft, we will perform primary care here and you will be properly assessed by the medical professional at the headquarter-" Umber Eyes said to both of them before turning to Leon.“-and to Mister Kennedy, he said we need to talk.”

Leon got sudden goosebumps all over his body. Even Grace turned to look at him with so many questions. He swallowed, feeling like thousands of needles are flowing through his throat.

“Just...just get Grace out first. She’s injured,” Leon said without looking at Umber Eyes. Leon was certain that someone was watching the footage from the camera on Umber Eyes’s head and it made him feel like that someone is staring into his soul right now.

Leon let out a huge relief when he realized that Chris Redfield wasn’t waiting for him up on the ground. However, that didn’t mean Leon survived. The Hound Wolf always looked in his direction. For god’s sake, did they get an order from their captain to make sure that Mr. Kennedy didn't run away.

Grace got some primary care, enough for her to be able to sit on the plane. She was sitting still, beside Leon.

“You’re good?” Grace asked.

Leon scoffed. “Ask yourself,” he said jokingly.

“No, I mean- how do I put this. Do you have a conflict with BSAA?” The takeaway Grace got from the conversation was that Leon might not want to talk to BSAA.

“No, I guess,” Leon said. He wasn’t sure if whatever was going on within himself could satisfy Grace’s definition of conflict with BSAA.

“You guess?”

“Don’t worry about it, BSAA is not a bad guy.”

Grace glanced at the man beside her. She could sense that Leon is nervous. He played with the ring on his hand, the one Grace thought was a wedding ring but turns out to be the ring shared among some survivors of Raccoon City.

The plane landed on the runway in Virginia, exclusively used for BSAA. Leon looked out of the window, amazed by how much the place had changed. He hasn’t been here in so long and he did not go on a mission expecting to end up here.

Leon helped Grace walk out of the plane. There are a few BSAA staff waiting for them.

Grace sat in the golf cart and Leon asked her to make sure that she wouldn’t hurt more on the way to the main building. Leon was about to sit next to her when one of the Hound Wolf Squad stopped him.

“This one will bring Miss Ashcroft to the med area, mister Kennedy. She will be properly examined and we’ll make sure she’s okay. Your cart is over there,” that agent said.

Leon looked at Grace who seemed to be worried about him.

“Grace, I'll be fine. We’ll catch up later. They got the best doc here, go get your wound patch,” Leon said to Grace before glancing toward the Hound Wolf Squad. One of them is already on the driver seat of the golf cart. Another one was beside him. “Captain is waiting, mister Kennedy,” he said, and Leon couldn’t help himself rolling his eyes. What a great squad that man has gathered.

It did not take so long for Leon to arrive at the part of the building that was the home of all the elite task force. Leon took a deep breath before he followed the Hound Wolf Squad in.

Despite being the middle of the night, many people are still working around the clock. Leon walked past many of them still communicating with their squad who were still in Raccoon City. The agent who led him in stopped at one door, scanned his pass and walked in. That was when Leon knew he had arrived at the cave of the Hound Wolves.

Leon followed that agent to another door. Even though all the binder were closed, Leon knew damn well who was inside. The agent who brought him here nodded to him once and walked away.

“Not going in to introduce me? What hospitality,” Leon said sarcastically.

“I believe you require no introduction, mister Kennedy,” he said and walked away.

Leon stood still in front of the room. He felt like he couldn’t breathe right now.

Ten years, or maybe more.

Ten years later Leon has run away from the consequences of his own actions.

He wasn’t ready to face it now either but he had no choice. It wasn’t like he could just run out of this place right now. Leon placed his hand on the door knob, taking a few more seconds and another deep breath before opening the door.

A guy in front was focused on his work laying around on the desk. It took a while for him to lift his face to meet Leon's eyes. Not that he would complain though. It give him the opportunity to grace his eyesight on the face in front of him.

Chris is surely getting older (of course, it's been ten years), somehow also getting bigger than the last time Leon saw him, and definitely looks more tired than ever before despite being in his fifties now.

All those things aside, it was still the same Chris Redfield.

The room was filled with silence for god knows how long. Leon could only hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, almost bounce out of his own body and crawl to Chris, until the face lifted up and their eyes met.

The maze he has started to solve is now ruined, Leon is lost again, in those pairs of eyes.

Decade has passed and Leon is still at the same place where he left off.

He still loves Chris, with his whole heart.

Yes, he’s in love with Chris. Don't know when. Don't know why. Don't even want to know why.

That was why he left. That was why he couldn’t bear seeing Chris after that night.

The scariest thing in his life wasn’t those things he just fought off, it was Chris. More specifically, Chris, to his face, pushing Leon out of life.

But it has been ten years. Surely Chris wouldn’t bring that night up anymore. He definitely wanted to talk to Leon about work.

Right?

Leon thought to himself as he walked toward the desk in the middle of Chris’s office.

Chris stands up, sending Leon a soft smile. However, all Leon could receive from that smile was a chill down his own spine.

La Duda

2026-05-22T16:58:08+00:00

Yeah, I know what you might think, "Oh, he's a jester, just some fool to make fun of," and, maybe you're right, he is being made fun of quite often. But hey, he earned that place!

He was just fifteen when the cabin he and his grandfather were living in burned to the ground. It was a horrible night, he could've sworn he stepped outside just for a second, but when he returned, the tongues of flame has already wrapped themselves around the cabin, dancing and crackling happily as they devoured the wood with his ill grandrather still inside. And so he was left alone, alone in the whole world. His mother died during his own birth, he never saw her, and his father was god knows where, he could've died on the street from the hunger, nobody would care. But it seemed that his luck hasn't completely run out as one day the kind himself, no less, was driving on his horse-drawn carriage past him. The king was just talking to the people in the little city he was living in and he, a dirty, homeless boy was able to make his majesty laugh by asking something silly about the bread.

...But that was almost thirteen years ago, he's no longer a little starving boy, he has a place to live and clothes to wear. He learned a lot since then, learned how to dance and play guitar, knew a lot of songs, puzzles, funny stories and whatnot, anything to keep the king entertained. Speaking of, the king that took him in had died a long time ago, too. Now it's his son who rules the country, and, oh.. What a man he was. The boy waas just a year younger than himself, and it's no wonder that every woman at court were wiling to do anything to be the king's favourite. And it was quite understandable. Not only they wanted him because he's a king, but because the boy wasn't deprived of beauty, not at all. Tall and strong, just like his father, knew how to fight and ride a horse exellently. His skin was as pale as a fine and expensive porcelain could be with a soft, pink blush that appeared on his cheeks quite often. And his hair, oh, his hair, his short, blonde locks looked so soft, especially under a soft, morning sunlight, that he found himself thinking about running his hand through his majesty hair quite often, for what he felt guilty after. Every time they locked eyes, it felt as if his blue iris were looking right in the depths of his very soul, turning it inside out. He was even more handsome, how much more, you ask? when his face wasn't weighed down by this frown of his. Oh. He just had to be so perfect, didn't he?

But he, as a jester, was close to the king, intimately so, and knew him on a more personal level, beyond just his looks. He always follows him, almost like a lost puppy, wherever it’s a meeting with all kinds of important people, a banquet, a theater visits, a royal ball he was there, to entertain the guest, and most importantly, the king. He almost slept with him in the same bed, and even though it was just a figure of speech, he really wished he did. But that was a thought for another day. The king wasn’t really talkative, only talked when necessary and preferred short and informative conversation. Always such a nice and kind kid, he wanted to help others, and now, as an adult, that hasn’t changed a one bit. The thing is, he wasn’t really successful in this. He didn’t have much friends beyond the close circle of people that included him.

But enough of this rumbling, fast forward to the present day. Today is a big day, the king is getting married.

The whole place was going crazy. Every few second someone would ran past him in each and every direction to do their job. Through the window he saw some big and bulky man, who was handling all the horses the palace had, talking with a girl, who, he believed, was his sister. Suddenly, a girl ran past him, nearly knocking him down. He only had time to recover and turn his head to the direction she just run to to say a couple of warm words but all he managed to do was to see her blonde hair before the girl disappeared around the corner. With a snort he walked on.

He couldn’t find the king anywhere, so he spent at least the last thirty minutes to ask everyone he met along his way about his majesty’s whereabouts, and finally, he stumbled upon the same young girl, who almost swept him off his feet. She looked no older than, maybe, 21 years old, with blonde hair and beautiful green eyes, her face was cute and round and she still had some baby fat on her cheeks. She looked familiar so he assume the girl was a maid of honor of some kind. With a little stuttering she apologized for before and told him that the king was currently taking a bath. Well, he could’ve figured. The half of the task was done, now, he just had to find where exactly he was taking a bath.

After a little while of walking through the big and beautiful halls he found the room he needed. He gently knocked on the door and after hearing the long-awaited response, he opened the door and entered the room, quietly closing it behind himself. The room where he was taking a bath was just his majesty’s private chambers with a bath in the middle of the room that was enclosed by a few folding screens.

It was a common knowledge that the king had little to no privacy, so seeing no servants or guards in the room had him a little confused. Not that he complained, though, he rarely had a chance to speak to Leon privately, so he jumped at the chance without even thinking.

He quickly circled around and finally saw the king in all of his glorious nudity. Well, almost. “You’re all alone, my majesty?” He said with one of his most charming grin.

But it seems the other man wasn’t very impressed by his charming smiles “Yes. And I wanted to keep it that way.”

“Always so serious.. Just wanted to keep you company. You must be nervous before your wedding, ain’t you, my lord?”

There was a little pause before his answer, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “Not really. But I’m a little bored right now, so.. Perform for me.” He ordered, his tone was stern and his eyes were practically burning holes in him. He liked it though. He loved having all his majesty’s attention just for him and him alone, even if that was.. whatever it is now.

He quickly disposed of these thoughts, bowed to him and straightened out with the same wide grin. “Yes, my lord. What do you want me to do? Oh,” He gasped and then started to talk in a conspiratorial voice. “I know a trick with cards. Do you want to see?” He asked, but a deck of cards already appeared in his hands.

Leon’s face stayed the same, but a curious gleam arose in his eyes. “Go on.”

“Alright..” He started to shuffle the cards, concentrating all Leon’s attentions on said cards. He quickly shuffled the cards, and showed the king that they were in a complete random order, and while doing so, he swiftly managed to take a look and remember the last card in the deck then fanned out the cards in front of him. “Please, pick a card.”

It amused him how Leon looked up at him all skeptically through his long eyelashes, but he took the card nonetheless. “Now remember it and put it back.” He pointedly looked away to make it obvious that he was in no way snooping. Finally, Leon put the card in the back of the deck and then Luis proceeded to cut the cards by splitting the deck into two parts to ensure the king that the cards were random, and now he also knew the card he remembered and the card Leon chose were somewhere in the middle. A piece of cake. Then he fanned out the cards again with their faces up.

He made a show of choosing the card, even though he already found it, just to amuse his majesty.

“Well, I believe it’s a.. King!” He held a card between his index and middle finger. “Am I right?”

A genuine smile appeared on Leon’s face and he looked up at him. Their eyes locked and he felt something lit in his chest. “How did you do that, huh? You cheated. You must have.”

“Not at all. I would never do that, my lord.”

He put the deck back to keep cards up his sleeve, no pun intended, some jester kept their requisite literally in their sleeves or under a big, motley cap to have a quick access to it.

He proceeded to entertain his majesty by telling funny stories and playing on a guitar. He was kinda focused on his instrument to pay attention to his surroundings so when he heard a soft splash and a slight sound of effort from behind, he went stiff. His back was turned to the man at the moment as he was leaning against the edge of the bath, and suddenly he found himself very nervous to turn around. He gulped down so loudly that he feared Leon could have heard it. He hesitantly turned his head to the side, still playing some song on the guitar and what he saw had his heartbeat race incredibly fast.

His eyes were closed, thankfully, so he didn’t see Luis snooping around. He took the opportunity to look at the way his reddened and flushed from the hot water skin was glistening under the sunlight. The heavy breaths he took every now and then were making his guts feel jittery, but what made his heart beat practically in his throat was the fact that Leon’s legs were slightly apart and his hand was currently between his thighs and it was making steady movements up and down. He immediately turned away and with a shaky exhale asked.

“I’m sorry, what.. what are you doing there, my lord?” He said awkwardly, still preferring to stay turned away.

He hummed softly before answering. “I’m sure you know exactly what I’m doing.”

His quiet voice was driving him mad and the fact that indeed knew what Leon was doing, just at an arm’s length away from him, was making him feel fuzzy all over. He only now realised that he stopped playing his guitar so he put that aside and slowly turned his head towards his majesty yet again. Only now his eyes were open and already looking at him when he turned his head, once again burning holes in him.

“I.. You, um..” He stuttered hard. It took him a good minute to find his word before blabbering them in a hushed voice, even though it was just two of them. “You should not do it here. Or anywhere for that matter! Anyone could walk in and.. and see me and you.. What would they think?”

“What would they think? They would definitely think I went crazy, defiling myself.” He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back “But I can’t help myself.. only if you knew how hard it is to keep control over myself when you’re near to me, oh, only if you knew..” He was mesmerised by the very sight of Leon, specifically by his hand that was still going up and down in steady, but more faster rhythm than a few minutes prior. His cock was flushed and a little pink, and he guessed it wasn’t just because of the hot water he was still in. And oh, he wished it was his hand instead.

Still, he had to answer and not just standing there like a deer in the headlights. “But my lord, you’re getting married and.. and we’re both men..” He covered his face with his hands and continued in a quiet voice. “It’s so wrong, oh, it’s so wrong..”

It was unbearable. He both wanted to jump in that bath to be as close to Leon as possible and leave the room this instant at the same time, and it was driving him up the wall.

In the end he decided to leave, because listening to these words that he himself thought of in the middle of the night and then spent a lot of time beating himself up about and those noises of his that was making his belly and below feel warm was something he wasn’t ready for.

It was now almost midnight and the celebration was in full swing. The bride, some princess from another country, arrived here a few hours prior with a lot of gifts and souvenirs from her country. It was the first time the bride and the groom saw each other in person. They will be officially married in a couple of days or so, so they could get to know each other. He knew it was just a political deal, but still, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else being as close to the king as he is.

He was standing in the corner of the big room the party was, feeling a bit defeated. He knew he should go and entertain the guests and the newlywed but he couldn’t force himself to move. While looking at nothing in particular he unintentionally caught Leon’s look, it seemed he was looking at him for a while, but the moment they locked eyes he quickly averted his stare. He felt his heart sinks, but what could he do about that? He couldn’t make his feeling for Leon go away nor he couldn’t reconstruct the society that believed that two men or women could not love each other.

So, with a heavy heart, he pushed off the wall, and went to occupy the guests with songs and stories till the end of the party.

Still Warm

2026-05-22T15:34:53+00:00

Chapter Text

Ethan wakes up the same way he always does now without transition.

There is no drifting up through sleep, no heaviness in his limbs, no breath catching as consciousness returns. One moment there is nothing, and the next there is him, assembled out of quiet and habit in a body that remembers how to be a person even when it technically isn’t one anymore.

The ceiling above him is familiar. That is how he knows he is still here.

Ethan lies still for a moment longer than he needs to, staring at the faint seam in the plaster where two panels don’t quite meet. He used to think about fixing it. Now he just counts it as one of the things that proves the house is real.

His fingers twitch once.

There’s a faint crackle under the skin when he does it.

He doesn’t look.

Instead, he sits up.

The movement is smooth. Too smooth, sometimes. Like a puppet remembering there is supposed to be resistance in joints.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares down at his hands.

They are intact today.

That is good.

That is always good.

Ethan flexes them once, twice, and watches the faint, dark lattice beneath the skin settle as if it had never been there at all.

“Okay,” he says quietly, because saying things out loud helps anchor them. “Normal day.”

His voice sounds like his voice. That is also important.

He stands.

The kitchen smells like coffee and something vaguely burnt.

Mia is already awake.

Of course she is.

She stands at the counter with her back to him, stirring something she is not really paying attention to. The spoon taps the side of the mug in a steady rhythm that is almost, but not quite, too precise.

“Morning,” Ethan says.

“Morning,” Mia replies.

There is a pause. Not an uncomfortable one. Just a practiced one.

Ethan moves to the cabinet without needing to think about it. Cereal. Bowl. Spoon. The sequence is automatic, stored somewhere deeper than memory. His body performs it like it is trying to convince itself it still belongs in a routine.

Behind him, Mia watches.

She always does.

“You sleep?” she asks casually.

“Yes,” Ethan says immediately.

It is not a lie.

It is just not the truth in any meaningful way.

Mia hums softly and turns back to the stove. “Rose’s school project is due Friday.”

“I’ll help her,” Ethan says.

“I know you will.”

That is the end of the conversation.

It always ends like that now.

Rose is already at the table when he turns around.

Small hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice. A half-finished plate of toast sits in front of her, carefully arranged in a way that suggests she had been trying to make it look like something other than just toast.

“Dad!” she says brightly. “I think I figured out my science thing.”

Ethan’s chest does something it used to do when he still had a heartbeat.

It isn’t pain.

It’s recognition.

“That so?” he asks, sliding into the chair across from her.

“Yeah!” Rose leans forward, eyes bright. “If plants can grow toward sunlight, do you think they can grow toward people too?”

“That sounds like you’re trying to make plants emotionally attached to us,” Mia says from the stove without looking up.

Rose ignores her. “I think they can.”

Ethan smiles.

It takes a second to form properly.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I think you’d have to be pretty interesting for a plant to bother.”

Rose gasps like this is a challenge. “I’m interesting!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Ethan says quickly.

Mia glances over her shoulder. Something soft flickers across her face for half a second before she looks away again.

Ethan watches Rose talk with her hands, spilling half her juice in excitement, and automatically reaches out to steady the glass before it tips too far.

His fingers brush hers.

Warm.

Alive.

Real.

For a fraction of a second, something beneath Ethan’s skin reacts—an instinctive ripple, a response too fast for thought. The faintest dark thread of something like shadow crawls under his knuckles.

He stills immediately.

Rose doesn’t notice.

Mia does.

But she says nothing.

Ethan withdraws his hand slowly.

“Careful,” he says lightly. “We’re trying to avoid sticky floors today.”

Rose giggles.

Ethan keeps smiling.

After breakfast, the house settles into its normal quiet.

Mia leaves for work.

Rose goes upstairs to get ready.

And Ethan remains in the kitchen, washing dishes that are already clean.

The water runs cold over his hands.

He watches it.

There are moments like this—small, empty spaces where the world expects him to be idle, and his body doesn’t quite know what to do with itself.

He flexes his fingers again.

A faint crack forms along the edge of his knuckle.

Ethan pauses.

Looks down.

The crack seals itself slowly, like something reconsidering whether it was ever supposed to exist.

He turns the tap off.

Drying his hands carefully.

Methodically.

Like precision alone can keep things from slipping.

Rose calls for him ten minutes later.

“Dad! Can you help me with this?”

He goes upstairs immediately.

Her room is bright in a way the rest of the house isn’t. Posters on the walls. Papers spread across the desk. A half-assembled model of something that might be a plant cell or might just be creative chaos.

She is sitting on the floor, looking frustrated.

“It keeps falling apart,” she says.

Ethan kneels beside her.

“What’s falling apart?”

“This!” she says, holding up the model. “It’s supposed to stay together but it won’t stick.”

Ethan studies it.

Glue. Paper. Tape. Carefully arranged pieces that refuse to obey intention.

He understands that.

“Maybe,” he says gently, “it’s not broken. Maybe it just needs a different way to hold itself together.”

Rose considers that.

“That sounds like something Mom would say,” she decides.

Ethan laughs once.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They sit together for a while.

Fixing things.

Not talking much.

It is one of the easiest parts of the day.

The first problem happens at 3:17 PM.

Ethan knows the time exactly because he hears the clock click when it happens.

He is standing in the hallway when it starts.

A sensation—not pain, not quite—but a wrongness, like his body briefly forgets how it is supposed to exist.

His left arm twitches.

Once.

Twice.

He stops walking.

The skin along his forearm darkens in thin branching lines that disappear almost as quickly as they appear.

Ethan stares at it.

Slowly, he pulls his sleeve down.

“Not now,” he mutters.

The sensation fades.

Like it was never there.

He exhales once.

Continues walking.

That evening, the sky outside the window is the color of bruised glass.

Rose is watching something on TV.

Mia is upstairs.

The house is quiet in the way that makes every small sound feel louder than it should be.

Ethan stands in the hallway mirror.

He doesn’t mean to.

He just ends up there.

He looks at himself for a long time.

Same face.

Same posture.

Same carefully constructed imitation of a man who used to exist.

He lifts a hand and touches the edge of his glasses.

There is a faint pressure behind his left eye.

He removes the glasses slowly.

For a moment, his reflection doesn’t quite match him.

The left eye is wrong.

Clouded.

Darkened at the edges, like something inside it is remembering a different shape.

Something flickers beneath the surface—patterning, movement, depth that doesn’t belong to human anatomy.

Ethan’s expression doesn’t change.

He puts the glasses back on.

Carefully.

Deliberately.

From upstairs, Mia’s footsteps shift.

Rose laughs at something on TV.

The house continues.

Ethan exhales.

“Okay,” he says softly to himself.

A pause.

Then, quieter:

“Still fine.”

The noise outside comes just after midnight.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just wrong.

Ethan is already awake when it happens.

Of course he is.

He stands in the kitchen without turning on the light. The dark is familiar to him now in ways it shouldn’t be.

Another sound.

Closer this time.

Something scraping lightly against the outer wall of the house.

Ethan tilts his head slightly.

Listens.

There are patterns to things like this. There are always patterns.

Behind him, the hallway is silent.

Rose is asleep upstairs.

Mia is breathing slowly in their room.

Ethan exhales once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

s once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

s once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

s once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

s once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

s once.

Slowly removes his glasses.

The faint wrongness in his eye spreads outward like ink dropped in water.

“I was hoping,” he says softly, almost amused, “we’d get one normal week.”

The scraping stops.

Something outside shifts.

Ethan rolls his shoulders once.

And adds, almost politely:

“Of course it’s today.”

Leon Kennedy, I'll always love you

2026-05-22T15:28:07+00:00

Chapter Text

“Forever?” the dirty blond-haired boy said beside you. You turned your head toward him.

The last of the evening sunlight stretched across the open field in long bands of gold and orange, turning everything softer than it really was. The grass around the truck looked almost amber where the light hit it. Dust still clung to the faded paint along the sides of your father’s pickup from the drive out here, and the metal beneath you held onto the warmth of the day.

The sunset caught Leon’s face in a way that almost didn’t seem fair.

His hair looked lighter in the glow, strands of dirty blond shifting whenever the breeze moved through them. The edges of his features softened under the orange sky. His blue eyes reflected the fading light, and for a second, he didn’t look like someone who had spent all of senior year pretending he had everything figured out.

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. A small smile pulled at your mouth. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Forever.”

The word hung between you. You knew how ridiculous it sounded. Forever. People always said it so easily in movies. Like forever was something simple. Something you just decided one day and then it happened. But real life didn’t work like that.

You both knew that. You’d graduated only a couple weeks ago. Eighteen. Technically adults, but not really.

Still living under your parents’ roofs. Still lying about where you were going. Still feeling nervous when you held hands in public because someone’s mom might see. Still talking about jobs and colleges and futures like any of you actually understood what came after summer.

You were eighteen and stupid. At least that’s what adults would call it. Maybe they’d laugh if they heard you now.

Two kids sitting in the bed of a borrowed truck in the middle of nowhere talking about forever like they’d invented the concept.

But right then… it didn’t feel stupid.

Right then, with the warm air brushing against your skin and the sound of distant crickets beginning to wake up and the sky melting into shades of orange and pink. It felt real.

You shifted slightly where you sat.

Your father definitely did not know you’d taken the truck to see Leon. If he did, you’d probably be grounded despite technically being an adult now. You had told him you were sleeping over at your friend’s house. You’d even packed an overnight bag to make it believable.

Instead, you ended up here. A random field a little outside town. No plans or destination.

Just driving until the roads got emptier and emptier and Leon pointed at an opening in the grass and said, “Pull in here.”

Now the truck was parked crooked in the field with the engine long since shut off.

One of your father’s old blankets was spread beneath you both because the metal bed got uncomfortable after twenty minutes.

Leon sat close enough that your shoulders touched every now and then whenever one of you moved. Neither of you mentioned it. Neither of you moved away. The field stretched forever in front of you. Just tall grass moving in waves and the enormous sky overhead.

You wondered briefly if this would become one of those memories people talked about years later. One of those weird moments that shouldn’t matter but somehow does.

That random summer evening. That random field. That stupid conversation. Your thoughts drifted before they were interrupted by the sound of Leon sighing.

You turned your head back toward him.

“What’s up?” you asked, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

Leon looked over at you. For a second, he didn’t answer. That alone felt strange.

Leon usually had something to say. Even when he was quiet, it never felt hesitant. But now his hands were busy with nothing, fingers picking at a loose thread in the old blanket beneath him, shoulders drawn just a little tighter than before.

The breeze moved through his hair and he looked back out at the field instead of at you.Then he said your name. Your chest did that stupid thing it always did.

You’d heard him say your name a thousand times over the last three years. Called across school hallways. Mumbled half-asleep during late phone calls. Whispered while sitting in parking lots with the windows down.

But somehow it never stopped sounding good. It felt more important coming from him. You hated admitting that to yourself.

“I was thinking…” he started.

His voice was careful, not casual. You immediately felt your stomach dip. Leon rubbed the back of his neck and let out a short breath.

“Y’know I’ve always wanted to join the police force.”

You nodded automatically.

Of course you knew. Leon never changed his answer. Police. He talked about helping people. Doing something that mattered. Being someone.

You remembered sitting in the school parking lot after junior year finals while he explained academy requirements to you for almost an hour.

You hadn’t understood half of it. You listened anyway.

“You… also know that there’s no police academy here.”

Your chest tightened before you even knew why. Your fingers curled slightly against the blanket.

“Yeah?” you said.

You tried to make it sound normal. Like your heart didn’t suddenly feel louder.

Leon swallowed. His eyes stayed forward.

“I found a good one.”

The words landed softly. Too softly.

“Not super far away.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Only like a four-hour drive.”

He said the last part quieter. Like saying the number out loud made it real. Four hours. Not across the country. Not impossible. Definitely not impossible. But not close enough either. Not close enough for after-school drives. Not close enough for spontaneous visits. Not close enough to pretend nothing would change.

Leon finally looked at you. His expression shifted into something vulnerable you didn’t see often. Not fear exactly. Hope. He was like a puppy sometimes. His jaw tightened slightly.

“I like you.”

Your breath caught. His ears and cheeks turned faintly pink immediately after saying it. Then he corrected himself.

“No, I really like you.” His eyes searched your face.

“I want you to come with me.”

The field suddenly felt quieter. You stared at him. Part of you wanted to laugh. Like? You’d been together three years.

Three years of movie nights and football games and sneaking out and arguments and making up and sharing fries and sitting too close and saying goodbye at your front door every single night.

Three years.

At eighteen, that felt ancient.

Forever, practically.

And for one awful second, you imagined it. A tiny apartment. Boxes everywhere. Leon in academy training. You working somewhere nearby. Learning how to grocery shop. Late-night drives. The picture formed instantly. And then broke just as quick as it came.

Your father. You thought of him sitting at the kitchen table. The silence in the house lately. Your mother’s side of the closet empty. His eyes looking older. The way he’d started asking if you’d be home for dinner. The way he lingered in doorways. The way he tried to act normal.

Your throat tightened. You looked down. “Um… Leon…”

Immediately, something in his face shifted like he was bracing for something.

You swallowed. “I’d really like that…” And you meant it. God, you meant it. You could see it. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be the girl who said yes.

But, you couldn’t.

“…you know the situation with my dad.” Your voice came out smaller than you intended.

“I- I can’t just leave. It’s.. it’s too soon,” You looked away.

A clump formed in your throat. You hated how weak it sounded. You hated how quickly your eyes started burning. You hated that the answer wasn’t simple. You hated that life didn’t care that you loved someone.

For a moment, Leon didn’t say anything. The field stretched endlessly in front of you. Then beside you, Leon nodded once.

You saw it happen in real time.

Something in his expression cracked. The hopeful look in his eyes dimmed just enough for your chest to ache. His shoulders sank a little. His gaze dropped toward his hands again.

“Oh,” he said softly.

That was all. Just one word. But somehow it sounded worse than if he’d yelled. You fucking hated it so much. You wanted to take it back, tell him you loved him and you wanted to go with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

The wind moved through the field again, bending the tall grass in slow waves around the truck. Somewhere far off, you could hear the faint chirp of crickets growing louder as the sun dipped lower.

Neither of you spoke.

You hated this silence.

Leon rubbed his palms together once before resting his elbows on his knees. He stared out at the horizon like he was trying very hard not to look at you.

“I know your dad needs you,” he said after a while.

His voice sounded thinner now.

You swallowed hard. “Leon-”

“No, it’s okay.” He nodded quickly, though it obviously wasn’t okay. “I get it.”

But he didn’t sound like he got it. He sounded heartbroken. You watched his jaw tighten. For the first time all evening, he looked tired. Like he’d spent days building this moment up in his head only to watch it fall apart in under a minute.

“I shouldn’t’ve asked like that,” he muttered. “That was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said immediately.

“It kinda was.”

He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. It sounded rough. Forced even. His eyes stayed fixed ahead.

“I think I just…” He paused, swallowing. “I think I just wanted us to stay us.”

That nearly broke you. Because you wanted that too. God, you wanted that too.

You reached toward him instinctively, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket. He looked down at your hand for a second before looking away again.

The sunset had started fading now, the bright orange melting into darker shades of blue and purple overhead. The warmth from earlier was disappearing with it.

Leon inhaled slowly through his nose. Then he finally said the part he’d been avoiding.

“I leave in two days.”

Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost hurt.

You turned toward him fully. “What?”

He finally looked at you again. His eyes were glossy under the fading light.

“Friday morning,” he said quietly. “I already signed everything.”

Two days. Two. Your brain couldn’t even process it properly.

“No, I thought you were talking about like… later this summer or something-” you said, a faint panic in your voice. Your eyes stung.

“I was gonna tell you sooner.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he looked away immediately after. “I just kept putting it off because every time I tried, I freaked out.”

Your chest tightened painfully. Two days. In two days, he’d be gone. The boy sitting beside you. The one who had spent three years becoming part of your life so naturally you stopped noticing where he ended and you began.

Gone.

Four hours away suddenly sounded impossibly far. Leon dragged a hand over his face before leaning back against the cab of the truck.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I think maybe I just thought if I asked you to come, this wouldn’t feel so shitty.”

The honesty in his voice hurt. You could hear how hard he was trying not to fall apart.

“I don’t wanna do this without you,” he admitted quietly.

That did it.

Your eyes burned even more now. Leon noticed and looked away fast, like he couldn’t stand seeing you cry right now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And somehow that made it worse. He sounded like he regretted telling you at all. The air between you felt heavy now. Leon stared out across the darkening field for another long moment before speaking again.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I just wanna go home now.”

And you did. You took him home. No words were exchanged besides a quiet ‘thank you’ when he got out of the car.

He didn’t stop by before he left. At first, you waited.

Not really intentionally. You just… kept expecting it.

Friday morning came and you found yourself glancing out the front window while making coffee for you and your dad. Listening for tires in the driveway. Thinking every pair of headlights outside was familiar.

You checked your phone more than once. Nothing. And somewhere around noon, you realized he wasn’t coming. You sat with that for a while. Then eventually you decided it was probably for the best.

Because what would either of you even say?

You already knew. You knew he was leaving. He knew you weren’t going. Anything after that would’ve just made it harder. You imagined him standing at your door with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. You imagined yourself opening it. Seeing the bag in his truck.

Knowing that after he drove away, things wouldn’t go back to normal.

You imagined trying to act okay. Imagined hugging him. Imagined not wanting to let go. Maybe he knew that too. Maybe that’s why he didn’t come.

So instead, he left. No goodbye. That hurt in an entirely different way.

—

The house stayed exactly the same afterward. Which almost made it worse. Your dad still sat in the kitchen every morning with his coffee. You still did laundry. Still washed dishes. Still watched TV at night.

Still answered people when they asked how summer was going.

Life kept moving. Which felt rude. Because something had changed. And nobody seemed to notice. Sometimes something funny would happen and your immediate thought would be, Leon would laugh at this, or say one of his stupidly corny jokes

Then you’d remember. Four hours away. Police academy. Busy.

You wondered if he thought about you. You wondered if he regretted asking. You wondered if he was mad. You wondered if maybe he was happier now. You wondered if he already found another woman.

You tried not to think about those things too much. Three years is a long time when you’re eighteen. Long enough to make someone part of your routine. Long enough that losing them doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels quiet. It was like reaching for something that should be there and realizing it isn’t.

—

Then about three months later, there was a letter. Your dad handed it to you absentmindedly after checking the mailbox.

“Got mail.”

You almost didn’t look. Then you saw your name. And the handwriting. Your stomach dropped. You knew his handwriting instantly. A little slanted. Messy, but so uniquely beautiful. Like he always wrote too fast.

Your fingers froze around the envelope. You took it to your room. Closed the door. Sat on your bed and just looked at it for a minute. Three months. Three months and suddenly he was there again. Not really. But enough. You opened it carefully.

Inside was a folded sheet of notebook paper.

He started casually. Like he didn’t know how to begin either. Said training was harder than he expected. Said he passed. Said he finished the academy. You reread that sentence twice.

Finished.

He actually did it.

Then farther down, he wrote that they assigned him to the Raccoon City Police Department. RPD for short, he’d written in parentheses. Like you wouldn’t know.

Like he was explaining it to make you smile. You could practically hear his voice saying it. You imagined him writing that line. Leaning over some desk. Thinking you’d laugh at him clarifying abbreviations. The letter wasn’t super long.

Mostly updates like little things.

Things he thought you’d want to know. No dramatic declarations. No asking if you changed your mind.

Near the end, he wrote that he hoped things were okay at home. That he hoped your dad was doing better and he hoped you were doing okay too. That line hurt the most. Because he remembered. Even after three months, he remembered.

You folded the letter back up. Then unfolded it. Then read it again. And again.

And again.

Eventually you put it in your nightstand. Then took it back out later that night. You told yourself it was because you forgot something. You hadn’t. You just wanted to read it one more time. You missed him like hell. And maybe that was the worst part.

Not that you missed him.

But that after three months, you still expected to hear his voice sometimes.

Then, later that same month, something happened in Raccoon City.

At first, it was just background noise.

A news clip playing quietly in your dad’s kitchen while he flipped through channels without really watching anything. Something about a quarantine. Restricted access. The kind of headlines that sounded like they belonged to another world entirely.

You didn’t pay much attention at first. Not until you heard the name. It was Raccoon City. Your head lifted before you even fully processed why. You moved closer to the TV without realizing it. Something in your chest tightened in a way you didn’t like.

Raccoon City.

Leon.

Your brain tried to connect it immediately, even before you allowed yourself to think it properly. It didn’t feel real at first. Because he had just gotten there. He had just told you.

RPD.

New life. New start.

Now, the news was saying Raccoon City like it was something breaking, something unfolding, something so wrong.

Your dad muttered something under his breath you didn’t quite hear and changed the channel, like it was just one of many things that didn’t matter enough to keep watching. You stayed standing there, staring at the screen even after it switched to something else entirely.

Your brain was loud. Like everything had gone slightly underwater except your thoughts. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Cities had incidents all the time.

He was fine. Leon was fine. He had to be fine. Because he had just started. Because he had worked too hard to get there. Because he had written to you just weeks ago like everything was normal. But the word quarantine kept looping in your head anyway.

You went to your room after that and sat on your bed without turning on the light and just sat there.

Days passed and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t know anything. You didn’t know if he was safe, or if he was even okay at all.

~Desperate, I will Crawl...Waiting for So Long...No Love, there is No Love...Die for Anyone, what have I Become...?!~

2026-05-22T15:28:00+00:00

…If something is worth fighting for, nothing will stand in your way.

“Hmm?” Chris noticed the unknown call coming in. He narrowed his eyes, hesitating for only a minute before pressing down on his earpiece. “Carlos?”

“Sorry to bother you, handsome, but I got some news I think you’ll be interested in.” Carlos Oliveira’s voice was smooth as butter, and never failed to make Chris’s heart race. He heard shuffling in the background—Carlos was at his safehouse, no doubt, gathering information from the shadows.

The man was a man of many talents.

“What have you heard?” Chris asked, rising from his desk and exiting the room. Luckily, he didn’t draw eyes, finding a quiet, secluded area. He reached into his pocket and thumbed the cigarette box he purchased just this morning. The itch to burn his miseries away stung the back of his throat, but he was working on quitting for his health’s sake.

And to avoid the twin scolding of a century from his baby sister and his steady boyfriend.

“DARKCOM’s California Interception Team B was dispatched to the Mojave Desert after abnormal demonic energy was detected there,” Chris could hear Carlos furiously typing, and imagined his unkempt, medium-length dark waves falling into his usually inviting, mocha-brown eyes. “This doesn’t match any of the trace energy sources marked in their main database—its level can’t be surmised.”

“Meaning we’re dealing with more than a lowly grunt.”

“You bet, because this team is debuting the Super Demon Killer 950 cartridge.”

“Super Demon Killer 950…?” Chris echoed, a vein throbbing in his right temple. He pressed his free hand against the wall behind him to steady himself. “Carlos, what is that?”

Carlos was quiet for a few minutes, as if choosing his next words carefully. “According to my sources,” he began, exhaling slowly through his mouth, “the Super Demon Killer 950 cartridge is a specialized nerve agent—once it enters the bloodstream, it immediately attacks the brain stem to cause permanent total paralysis.”

“Makes apprehending their target easier. But there’s more to this, Carlos. Isn’t there?” Chris gently pressed, not wanting to force any words out of his boyfriend’s mouth.

He heard Carlos take in a sharp breath. “Carlos?”

“The Super Demon Killer 950 was created…using Dante’s DNA as a base. This nerve agent was specifically created to affect those related to Dante.”

Chris’s chest tightened painfully. He almost collapsed against the wall, if not for crushing the cigarette box in his other hand.

“That specialized nerve agent…it’s specifically designed to render Vergil defenseless,” Chris whispered, his voice wavering.

Carlos let out a disgruntled scoff in agreement. “DARKCOM wouldn’t be rolling this innovation out if they weren’t certain they could use it. That means Vergil is returning to Earth.”

“We have to warn Leon, Claire, and Jill.”

“I’ll warn the girls, you think you can warn Leon?” Chris asked, already pulling out his phone and dialing Claire’s number.

“Should we convince him to come to the safehouse?” Carlos demanded as he pulled up Leon’s number and dialed. His knee bounced as he waited, his ears ringing. “I know he’s still recovering from Spain—this could be too much for him so soon. Plus, we’ve yet to receive confirmation that DARKCOM even captured Vergil to begin with.”

“They won’t capture him, sweetheart. You and I both know that,” Chris pointed out, frowning as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know Leon won’t go for the safehouse. It’s been months since he’s seen Vergil; I’m sure he has some inkling of Vergil being on Earth already. Nothing gets past Leon.”

“How do you know for sure? Yeah, Vergil is a powerful half-demon, but even his abilities are tempered here on Earth, right? And it’s not like he and Leon share some psychic connection or something…right?”

“No, nothing like that. Still, I just have this feeling.” Chris straightened his back, forcing himself to vanish into his steely soldier resolve again. “Carlos, Leon isn’t picking up, is he?”

“No. It goes to voicemail after a few rings. He put in his report on Las Plagas about two weeks ago—he’s got a clean bill of health, but he’s off missions for a bit. So why isn’t he answering?” Carlos mused out loud, once again hanging up and trying again.

Chris Redfield was on the move, his gaze faraway as his body moved on autopilot. “Let’s hope it’s only because the dumbass is away from his phone.” He grumbled, his pulse thudding frantically in his neck.

Whoosh!Thwack!Whoosh!Whoosh!Whoosh!CRACK!

The long, thick punching bag swung heavily to and fro, one of the seams torn and oozing stuffing onto the floor.

Leon S. Kennedy wiped sweat off his left brow. His soft, sandy blonde hair was damp, clinging to his temples, forehead, and the back of his neck. The front of his form-fitting, black tank top was wet, a heavy trail leading down his toned stomach. As he stood up from his crouch, perspiration hanging from his chin, Leon’s eyelids fluttered.

A pair of wide, glassy, ice-blue eyes stared back at him from the pool of sweat at his feet. Nasty, purple bags highlighted his flushed cheeks and neck—Leon’s dull nails dug into the thick, black rubber floor, his upper back muscles tense.

“¡Te voy a matar!”

“¡Detrás de ti, imbécil!”

“¡Puedes correr, pero no te puedes esconder!”

Leon tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He sidestepped, every nerve in his body on high alert.

He heard the hiss of a machete inches from his ear; Leon ducked and roundhouse kicked a male villager with rotting, reddish skin, bulbous, red-rimmed eyes, and greasy, black hair. When he felt one of the female villagers grab his arm, about to stab him in the throat with a kitchen knife, he threw his head back—his skull collided with thin air, but the momentary black dots dancing in the corners of his eyes were all too real.

“¡No dejes que se escape!”

Leon swallowed a harsh gasp as a male villager grabbed him by the neck. Large, slimy fingers squeezed hard on Leon’s Adam’s apple, grazed his pulse point, and tried to force those large, slimy fingers down his throat.

The government agent snarled and threw his knee up high; the male villager groaned and clutched his stomach, a small stream of saliva and blood dripping down his chin.

“Hands off!” Leon shouted before he blasted a hole through the male villager’s head with the shotgun he found in one of the dilapidated houses.

The male villager choked on his own insides, a sickening, wet gurgling erupting from his exposed larynx. He reached blindly for Leon—one of his arms lacked a hand, in its place was a mess of fleshy, spasming tendrils.

Leon scowled. He swapped his shotgun for his combat knife. He sidestepped when the male villager lunged at him and, with a flourish, decapitated the once-conscious, seemingly harmless, and hardworking man. Leon cleaned the ruby-red blood off his knife, avoiding looking at the severed head now stuck in the mud. He didn’t have time to lament, as he heard various battle cries closing in—the sound of a chainsaw revving to life made Leon’s blood go cold, but his smile was precise, cutting.

“It’s my lucky day.”

When Leon came to, the punching bag was on the thick, black rubber floor. It was limp, with more stuffing in chunks scattered everywhere. The chain that once sustained it in mid-air was in pieces, a few of the links stretched taut as if from a taffy puller.

“...” Leon breathed in through his teeth, on his knees, and his hands folded against the back of his neck. His pupils were pin-needles, and all traces of his vigorous workout were gone from his face. He was pale, his stomach was roiling, and his chest felt too, too tight.

“Breathe,” Leon whispered, his voice hoarse. His throat hurt, as did his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall forward, the thick, black rubber surprisingly cool. “B-Breathe in, then out. In through your nose, out through your mouth—breathe slowly.”

It took a few minutes, but soon the world ceased spinning. Leon had feeling in his legs again, and he was able to stand up. He approached the punching bag like a fallen comrade, crouching down and running his fingers along one of the threadbare seams.

The pretty blonde sighed and shook his head. He stood up again and, with little trouble, lifted the pulverized punching bag. He slung it over his shoulder, its weight superficial, and walked over to the training room supply closet. It was usually unlocked, and tonight was no exception. He opened the large, metal door and turned on the lights.

It was small compared to the training room itself: weights, replacement punching bags, boxing gloves, and extra mats were meticulously arranged behind a long, rectangular metal desk. The desk lacked any personalization, so this closet really was just for extra equipment that needed to be out of sight, out of mind. Not that Leon could see someone comfortably calling this room their office; maybe it’s his PTSD talking, but small, metal rooms with no windows, hence no natural lighting or any connection to the outside world, don’t make for an ideal working environment. Then again, to each their own.

Leon found a stack of sticky notes and a black ballpoint pen. He set the ruined punching bag onto the desk, almost covering it with shredded, once pristine, genuine leather. The government agent was quick, putting together a half-hearted apology before sticking the sticky note onto the desk. Leon returned the pen to where he found it, left the sticky notes in a haphazard tower, and exited the supply closet. The door didn’t make a sound as it slid shut behind Leon’s heels—the training room lights flickered to life again, momentarily blinding Leon.

On autopilot, Leon walked over to one of the long, metal benches. He unzipped his dark blue duffel bag, taking out a few things: his combat knife, a change of clothes, his cellphone, a dark blue hoodie, an unopened pregnancy test, and a small, leather-bound book. For a moment, Leon thought about charging his phone; he’s been in here for hours, and no doubt he’s missed a few calls. His fingers flexed instinctively, only to pick up the small, leather-bound book instead.

This was a gift from Vergil. It was nearly identical to a small, leather-bound book Vergil kept on his person; it sat in the palm of Leon’s hand, had a simple yet elegant blue leather skin with a thin, black spine, and a blue ribbon bookmark. The main difference was the calligraphic letter on the spine: on Vergil’s, it was an L, but on Leon’s, it was a V.

Leon stroked the spine with slightly trembling hands, taking time to trace the calligraphic V from end to end. This was one of many gifts from Vergil over the years, and while Leon treasured everything from his lover, this book was near and dear to him. It was the only way he could communicate with Vergil, with the rift, both socially and literally, between their worlds.

Pop!Pop!Pop!Pop!Pop!

Leon looked out of one of the training room’s massive, bulletproof glass windows. A quarter across the city, fireworks were going off. Outside a tall, cream-colored building, crowds of people holding up signs shouted, chanted, and begged with their whole chests. Signs depicting President Hopper with devil horns, red eyes; others with his face scratched out, with the words YOU ARE THE MONSTER! written in large, red letters. As the protestors shouted at the heavy security stationed outside the building, some were kinder than the hooligans throwing empty soda cans, a grand party was in full swing inside. Champagne in fancy glasses, women in long, carefully tailored dresses, and men in pressed, collared suits, tablecloth as expensive as gas prices these days, and, at the center of it all, President Hopper himself.

The short, overweight man in his trademark, ridiculous cowboy hat, chortling like a pig, holding a glass that looked comically small in his thick, beefy hand. He was chatting up random faces, forcing a smile when a joke fell flat, or when asked a particularly intense question.

‘If you’re there, then Baines is too. This is your big campaign party, right? Your ass is halfway out the door, so you gotta make sure you spread the word on your successor. The next slimy, pathetic, selfish, arrogant hothead to take your place as leader of the free world.’ Leon thought, a cynical smile toying with his lovely, fair lips.

President Hopper…how Leon loathed working under him. All the atrocities he’s allowed, the misinformation and outright lies he’s spread, not to mention how he’s handled both the Demon-Human War and the war against bioterrorism. He knew what Umbrella was up to and what high-ranking, influential members of the community, like former Chief Irons, supplied Umbrella with. And it wasn’t just a crisp, clean PR image.

Baines was no different. He was the brains behind the operations, but he was just as heartless. His harsh, long face, how he rarely flinched when interrogated by the media, and how he commanded a room with a mere glance.

Leon had to sit down, a wave of nausea turning him green. He sat down next to his duffel bag, the protestors shouting and classical music playing at the party somehow audible even as he dug his nails into his ears.

Baines. Every time Leon is in a room with him, he feels…scared. Leon feels scared, unnerved, uneven. He’s only exchanged a handful of words with the Vice President since he became a government agent, yet…he despises him. Leon despises Vice President Baines; his hatred for the man eclipses his hatred for Hopper, which sounds ludicrous, but it’s the truth. Both men are horrible. Both President Hopper and Vice President Baines are deranged, violent-prone, heinous men, wearing skin suits to placate both their followers and opposers. They were evil, and it’s great that their tenure in office is running out, but the damage has been done.

Both innocent human and non-human lives have been lost to this six-year-long carnage. Everyone has lost someone because of this, and Leon…was forced to comply.

‘The last broadcast coverage of their assault on Mundus’s stronghold…so much blood, so many soldiers torn to shreds.’ Leon tasted bile in the back of his throat. ‘And the lesser demons caught in the crossfire, shot and exploded to pieces…Vergil, please be careful.’

Vergil, Leon’s Vergil, was involved in this, too. He was Mundus’s most trusted confidant, his son in more ways than one. Vergil was out there, fighting alongside his brethren to protect his home, their home. So many soldiers…so many faces Vergil came to know, lost to the bloodshed. So many faces, deemed ugly and thus evil, maimed under the facade of “Protecting the Innocent”.

Who gets to decide who’s innocent? President Hopper? Vice President Baines?

Then there’s Arius…

It’s not fair!

‘Mundus…is he really the one who set Vergil free?’ Leon hated, hated, when his mind wandered, but he had questions. Vergil described Mundus as a savior, as the one who freed him from his pain. Vergil was, but a child when Mundus found him, a terrified child who witnessed his home burn down, and his mother abandon him to the flames and vicious invaders that later claimed her life. Vergil’s mother, Eva, rescued only Dante, Vergil’s twin brother, from the monsters that attacked their home. She grabbed Dante and attempted to flee, ignoring her other son.

Eva was a traitor.

‘No loving mother would do what she did to him.’ Leon shuddered as fire spiked in his veins, igniting them from the inside out. He held the small, leather-bound book close to his chest, his ice-blue gaze now on the unopened pregnancy test. ‘She had two sons, and only went back for one. She left Vergil to die, even when he called for her. Vergil killed those who killed his mother; he protected her honor even when she abandoned him.’

Mundus found Vergil at his weakest and took him in. He raised Vergil in Makai and helped him grow stronger. Mundus helped Vergil tap into his potential; Vergil was able to wield the Yamato, one of his father’s swords, and not crumble under its sheer might. He was to Vergil what Sparda failed to be: a father.

But…would a loving father allow his one and only son to participate in this war? Vergil was powerful, more so than any other of Mundus’s soldiers. If Vice President Baines got his hands on him, it would spell the end for both Earth and Makai.

‘Like how they have Dante…’

Dante. Vergil’s twin brother.

Leon knew him. He knew what was on file and what Vergil had confided in him over the years. If Vergil was the calm, Dante was the storm. He was loud, brash, arrogant, and…Eva’s favorite. He was the son she went back for, the son she cradled against her bosom and consoled as their home came down around them. Dante wielded Rebellion, another one of Sparda’s blades, and was powerful. Leon has seen the footage and has played it back several times. Dante was incredible, a force of nature like Vergil. It was scary how similar they were…

‘I should hate you.’ Leon tilted his head back, picking up his water bottle. He uncapped the plastic bottle and splashed water on his face, gasping as if resurfacing from a deep, dark pool. ‘I should hate you. Like I hate her…you were an innocent child, you didn’t deserve what happened. You didn’t deserve to see any of that, live any of that.’

Leon lived through his parents’ deaths. He experienced it, in flesh and blood, at only sixteen. He was older than Dante and Vergil when they lost their mother, but the pain is universal. The ache that never goes away, that beats like blood behind a wound. You’ve learned to live with it, even when it’s drowning you alive.

Dante didn’t deserve that, Vergil didn’t deserve that. But if Eva had tried to save both, would things be different? Would Mundus have found Vergil?

‘...Vergil, I want to believe you’re doing what’s right. I want to believe that you’ll come back, and this war will end. I want to believe that both sides are wrong and both need to change. I want to believe you…but something isn’t right!’

Leon crushed his water bottle in his book-free hand. Water plopped down to the floor between his tense knuckles, trickling along the veins under his skin before going Splat! His skin felt paper-thin and was white as milk. He tossed the empty plastic bottle aside, wiping his hand on his gray compression pants. He gulped in air and flipped the small, leather-bound book open to a random page, his eyes burning.

To the untrained eye, the book was blank. It was blank, lacking a story—it started to shimmer and glow, however, when Leon pressed his lips to it. He pressed his lips to the page for a few minutes, parting his lips as small bursts of blue electricity danced across his skin. Instead of pain, the small bursts brought comfort; they warmed him up, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, like a fire. One burst exploded against Leon’s mouth, and the cut across his cheek was healed. Another danced over Leon’s head, before casting a vibrant blue glow into the room.

Unique, loopy characters appeared on the page. They looked random: harsh lines, delicate curves, bent slashes, coming together to form words and sentences. To the untrained eye, it was gibberish. It was a gibberish language, something a kid would create to talk to his friends when it’s way past his bedtime.

But Leon understood them. He understood every word, having read them every night without fail for the past six years. Once upon a time, it was only a page. Now, it’s an entire book dedicated to him from Vergil.

“...’ The skies seem angrier today. Everyone is on edge as we finalize our next steps. It’s disheartening, beloved. It’s disheartening to see how exhausted, lost, and frustrated everyone is. Mundus is doing all that he can; we are doing all that we can, but the President’s army is relentless.’”

“...’ But I hope you’re well. I’ve been gone for months, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I wish I could be there for you, Leon. What you’ve shared with me about Spain, what you and that young girl went through…I’d take revenge on Saddler and Krauser myself if I could.’”

“...’ I admire you, Leon. You are the greatest reason why I continue to fight this fight. I dream of a world free from human tyranny. I dream of Makai under brighter, clearer skies. I dream of a time when I can be bound to you, and you alone. I miss you, my dear light. Never forget that you are my greatest treasure.’”

“...’ We met under dire circumstances. I wasn’t expecting to find love when I found you in Raccoon City. Whatever compelled me to stay and fight by your side, I give thanks. I am in debt to that higher power, that higher force that guided me to you. I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long. But this I vow: when I return, it will be for you. When I return, it will be to make an honest man of you. When I return, I will take your hand and give myself to you for the rest of our days. When I return…I will be the man you deserve.’”

Leon pressed his lips together. His voice paled in comparison to Vergil’s. His beautiful handwriting was mistreated under Leon’s teary smolder, his lovely words sounding hollow when echoed by someone else.

It wasn’t the same as seeing Vergil write these messages to Leon, or hearing him read them out loud to make sure they were just right. This book didn’t replace Vergil’s voice, his mannerisms, his presence in Leon’s life, but it was what they could do in their situation. Anyone would have gone mad waiting and given up. But Leon wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Vergil has been abandoned by loved ones too many times…he’s been alone for too long, even with Mundus.

Leon refused to be another person who failed Vergil. He refused to leave the other man behind. The man who fought alongside his brethren with the ferocity of a caged animal was the same man who held Leon through his recurring nightmares. Vergil was the same man who’d hold Leon until he ran out of tears, didn’t let go even when Leon begged him to leave. Vergil was the same man who helped Leon put down the bottle and get help. Vergil was the same man who, when he smiled, lit up Leon’s entire day.

Vergil was the man Leon loved. He’s loved him since that night in Raccoon City, and through it all, they’ve managed to stay together.

“It’s okay, Leon. It’s okay…”

Vergil’s voice was soft, silky smooth, and wrapped Leon in a warm, weighted blanket. The blonde man was shaking like a leaf in winter, his arms limp at his sides. His eyes were wide as dinner plates, leaving wet spots on Vergil’s royal blue nightshirt.

Vergil carefully carded his fingers through Leon’s hair. When Leon didn’t flinch, the white-haired man drew him against his chest, leaning back against the toilet. Leon followed him, his gaze everywhere but on the warm, sticky feeling going down his right arm. The metallic smell was too much, so Leon turned his head and buried his face in Vergil’s neck, inhaling deeply. Vergil tore a piece from his nightshirt and wrapped it around Leon’s wrist, applying careful pressure with such dexterity, with long, steady fingers.

Vergil whispered something in Leon’s ear, something that at the time he didn’t understand because he wasn’t a fluent speaker. It came out growly, and Vergil had to clear his throat after saying it because of the strain it put on his voice. Leon didn’t understand it then, but…he did now.

“...’ Wherever you go, I go. Always.’”

…?

“What is this?” Leon said out loud, furrowing his dark eyebrows.

The bookmark was glowing. It let out a frosty blue glow, which spilled onto the floor like sunshine. ‘Vergil wrote me a new message?’ Leon pressed his lips into a thin line, flipping to the next, supposedly blank page. He propped the book against his knees, his thumb skimming across the words forming.

‘...What?’

“...’ Leon, please take care. Be careful with who approaches you and what next move you make. There are traitors and liars on both sides. Please, please be cautious.’”

‘Vergil…? Vergil, what’s going on? What do you mean by this? Vergil-!’

“We need to talk.”

Leon snapped his head back. Mary Ann Arkham, DARKCOM’s Golden Gal, stood there. She was dressed down in a black tank top and matching leggings, wearing black fingerless gloves. Her dual-colored eyes lingered on Leon’s face, an expression of pure dread marring her thin, porcelain-looking face.

She was beautiful as she was dangerous; her eyes told different stories, one of blinding fury, the other of begrudging serenity. The way she held herself commanded authority, passion, and control. Her normally hard face, however, looked off with a distant look in her eyes and the strict, guilty frown on her lips.

Leon stared at her, Mary white as a ghost, as the bookmark stopped glowing.

“There’s nothing we need to discuss,” Leon replied coolly, getting to his feet. He snapped the small, leather-bound book shut, shoving it unceremoniously into his duffel bag. He quickly packed the rest of his things, slinging one bag strap over his shoulder.

Leon failed to notice Mary’s shocked, and slightly petrified, stare when she spotted the unopened pregnancy test. “You want the room? It’s all yours. I’m done for the day.” Leon added, stepping over the large puddle on the floor. He stalked past Mary, avoiding brushing shoulders with her, making a beeline for the heavy, metal door that led into the hallway.

“Wait! Please…” Mary begged, spinning around on her heels. She thought about grabbing Leon’s wrist, then reconsidered. She remembered the combat knife in his duffel bag. “I know you want nothing to do with me, and I understand. Believe me, I do.”

“Do you? Then why think this was a good idea?” Leon spat, his back to Mary still. He didn’t slow down.

Mary gritted her teeth. Sweat was building against her temple, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Because I want to make things right!” She exclaimed, balling her hands into fists. She swallowed another plea, sighing. “I want to make things right. I’ve spent six years trying to justify to myself everything I let slide, every bad decision I made. What I was dealing with personally, what battle I was fighting inside me…it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault, and yet I made you pay the price for my cowardice.”

Leon slowed his hurried pace. His Adam’s apple bobbled up and down as a chill went down his spine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And you’ve never thought about why that is?” Mary pressed, taking a step forward. Leon tensed up, but didn’t look over his shoulder at her. “Huge chunks of your memory, just gone. You don’t remember much before Raccoon City. You remember your parents weren’t good people. You remember being alone most of your life, apart from one person who suddenly disappeared without a trace. You remember pain, you remember a cold, dark room, and feeling needles prick your skin-”

“STOP.” Leon snarled, glaring hotly at Mary. His jaw was set, squared sharply, while his pupils were sickle-shaped. Mary flinched.

“I’m sorry. But I know you want answers, and I can give them to you. “

Vergil’s out-of-the-blue warning now made sense.

“You don’t gain anything from telling me the truth. You say you wanted to make things right, but it took you six years to grow a conscience? While you took orders from DARKCOM, followed Baines’s instructions to a T, and as far as I know, you’re not a step closer to retiring. You’re in the midst of a promotion, aren’t you?”

“How did you…?”

“My friends and I are forced to rub shoulders with you DARKCOM creeps all the fucking time.” Leon spat, his lips pulling back over his teeth. He pressed a fist against the wall behind him. “They like to talk a lot, and news travels fast when you work for the President.”

Mary lowered her gaze. “Commander Arkham, isn’t it? Congratulations.”

“It’s Lady,” Mary stressed, running her fingers through her hair.

Leon’s eyes widened an inch, but he stayed quiet. “I’m Lady, Leon. That’s who I am now, who I’ve been for the past six years. You don’t trust me. I know you hate me. I hate myself, ha. I’m not going to beg or force you to change your mind, but…you needed to know before it’s public knowledge.”

“...?”

Mary swallowed hard. “They’re setting him free, Leon.” She said, her voice sounding louder than normal even if she didn’t raise her tone.

Leon’s muscles locked up in place. His carefully crafted mask splintered down the middle, as his eyes went a pale blue and his breath caught in his chest. He almost went limp, if not for his fist against the wall.

“...They’re…freeing him?”

“They’re sending him after Vergil. He’s here on Earth, Leon. He’s here on Earth, and he’s killed dozens of DARKCOM’s own already. He’s here on Earth, so they’re releasing Dante from cryo-sleep to deal with him.”

“Vergil…is here on Earth?” Leon echoed as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “Vergil is here…oh no, he’s here under Mundus’s orders.”

“What are you talking about? W-what do you know?”

“I knew something was wrong. Mundus wouldn’t do this unless his hands were tied. Something isn’t right.” Leon whispered, his lips going numb with cold. He turned away from Mary, his thoughts going to Carlos.

He needs to contact Carlos ASAP.

“You two need a ride over there?” Both Mary and Leon drew their weapons: Leon his combat knife, and Mary one of her concealed handguns.

In the open doorway stood a man dressed in black tactical gear, complete with a heavy vest, combat boots, and gloves. His face was obscured by a thick, black gas mask complete with round, soulless red eyes. He stood there, holding a set of car keys. He twirled the loop around his left pointer finger, leaning against the doorframe.

“Grim?!” Mary gasped, lowering her firearm.

Leon stared at her, puzzled. “The hell?” He said, shaking his head before looking back at the newcomer. “HUNK…what are you doing here?”

“HUNK?? The hell?!”

The masked man chuckled, thumbing the grip of his Lightning Hawk. “Haven’t been called Grim in years, Lady. You have to evolve with the times, you know?” He said, shrugging his shoulders. He pushed off the doorframe, stepping fully into the room. “Listen, we’re on a tight schedule, so are we going or not?”

“Going where?” Leon asked, though it wasn’t really an inquiry.

“Going to see Dante rejoin the living, obviously, Bella,” HUNK purred, relishing the sight of Leon wincing at the nickname. “I got a bone to pick with that popsicle, too, so why not give you and Lady a ride? It’ll be a discreet one, I promise.”

Mary and Leon didn’t look convinced. HUNK huffed, rolling his eyes even though they couldn’t see it. “Come on, for old time’s sake, too. We all have questions that need answering, and Dante is going to give them to us.” HUNK looked at Leon and, for a split second, his voice was soft. It was softer and velvety smooth. “It’s time he did things right by you, Bella. He broke the promise he made me, so I’m here to collect. Let’s go, before we miss the fireworks.”

…-UROBOROS DETENTION FACILITY…

It was another day. Everything felt average, mundane—a fellow operative received clearance to enter the facility, and he wasn’t alone today. He was charged with detaining more of the supposed “good demons”, the ones that weren’t involved in spraying human blood everywhere.

Yeah, right. Just because someone doesn’t automatically grab a kitchen knife doesn’t mean they can’t turn around and impale you when your back is turned. There’s no such thing as a good demon. These lowly peasants were cleverer than they were given credit for. That’s why it’s important to keep them locked up. One demon is trouble already, but in numbers? That’s why this facility was a necessity. When you want to protect the innocent, you need to lock the sinful away. DARKCOM was doing God’s work.

They were doing what He was too terrified to do himself.

As the loaded military tank passed through one of the main, fortified gates, several heads turned to witness its arrival. Some heads were bandaged, hiding horrific burn scars, wide gaping holes, or still bleeding gashes in their necks and faces. They were all shackled with nooses around their necks, standing in a straight line, too afraid to gawk for too long. Some of these “good demons” have been standing still for hours and have been denied any kind of sustenance. Whenever they asked, they were either mocked or ignored.

It’s hard to tell which response is better.

The loaded military tank’s stop was the Imprisonment Area, Sector B-22. An operative with an illuminated wand guided the tank to a smooth, clean halt. This operative was youngish, cocky, with dark eyes and hair. He had his walkie strapped to his chest, off to the right. He approached the back of the tank, lazily hanging his illuminated wand off his belt.

‘Alright, time to see what we’re dealing with today. Joy,’ the man thought, rolling his eyes. He undid the heavy latch and yanked the doors back.

Only to blink owlishly.

The back of the tank was…empty. There wasn’t a sight of horns, glowing eyes, or long, sharp talons for claws. There was nothing but a cold, heavy room back here.

‘What the…?’ The man narrowed his eyes, irritated. He let go of his walkie, twirled his illuminated wand like a baton, and walked over to the driver’s side. “Hey, buddy,” he began tersely, his jaw set, “this is supposed to be a full load.” He placed one heavy boot on the small step outside the driver’s door, scowling. “All right, where’s the Hellspawn? If this is a joke, it’s a real…bad one.” The man with dark hair and eyes trailed off, resembling a gaping fish. “Huh?”

The tank didn’t have a driver. There was no passenger in the passenger’s seat either. Just like the back, the front of the heavy military tank was empty.

“What the…?” The man with dark eyes and hair swallowed hard, his confidence snapped in the blink of an eye. He shakily reached up to his walkie, his thumb slippery over one of the buttons. “These aren’t self-driving. That kind of tech is too risky to bring all the way out here. So where are the-?”

“Here.”

The man only had a second. And he wasted it on turning around, raising his illuminated wand like a broadsword. His breath caught in his throat, and he screamed.

He let out a shrill shriek before the Yamato went through his chest—blood splattered onto the front of the tank; the man was dead before his body hit the ground, eyes frozen wide and skin cold as ice.

A pair of smoldering, hooded amber eyes stared at the fresh corpse on the ground, sparing it only a dismal minute before resuming walking. The man with dark hair and eyes was a necessary casualty, but the real prize remains inside the facility.

…-WASHINGTON D.C., DARKCOM HQ…

The ride to DARKCOM Headquarters was a quiet, tense one. Grim, or HUNK as he’s now known as, was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, while the other rested relaxed in his lap. Leon and Lady were in the backseat because neither wanted to sit beside HUNK. Well, more like Leon was more than willing to, but Lady, with one look, made it clear she wanted him close by.

So in the end, they were seated shoulder-to-shoulder, hearing the familiar hum of everyday traffic zip past them.

HUNK was mute. He didn’t even glance at Leon and Lady through the rearview mirror. The tension in the car was at its peak, and he refused to break it. It’s more fun to watch the chaos unwind than initiate it, after all.

“...Tell me, what are you thinking?” Lady asked Leon, whose gaze was out the window. Her dual-colored eyes were slightly wider than normal, her lips in a thin line. “I’m afraid I can’t read you as well as I used to. So I need you to tell me, Leon. You said earlier that things were off. What was it?”

“I don’t know,” Leon replied, half-shrugging. “I can’t explain it, but Vergil returning to Earth feels strange. Something happened on Makai, something that’s upset Mundus enough to send Vergil here.”

Lady tensed for a minute—was Leon, unknowingly, referring to the Arcana Chalice that Lady herself managed to retrieve from Makai, as millions of American footsoldiers played Russian Roulette with some of Mundus’s greatest, most violent assets?

Leon doesn’t know, right? There’s no way. And Lady highly doubted Vergil would confide in Leon about this, no matter how strong their bond was. So…

“You always had a sixth sense for trouble, even before Raccoon City,” Lady said under her breath, wincing when Leon’s frown deepened.

“Is it true? What you told me…about Baines?” Leon asked, short and going for the jugular.

Lady swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said, after a few dragging minutes. “Baines arranged for you to be sent to Raccoon City. He made contact with Chief Irons and had an interview set up for you as soon as you graduated from the police academy.” Lady picked at a hangnail, her teeth chattering despite the car running cozy and warm. “Baines was afraid you’d somehow ruin his plans again; Raccoon City was on its last legs, and Baines was sure you’d die once the place was nuked off the map.”

Leon’s expression remained unfathomable. He blinked slowly, his ice-blue eyes foggy.

“And you say Baines is also responsible for my missing memories?” He pressed further, reclining in his seat.

“It was to ensure that once you were released from DARKCOM’s custody, you wouldn’t try to expose the truth about the White Rabbit…you were subjected to torture for weeks, a-and they administered a powerful serum at the same time every day, upping the dosage.”

Lady squeezed her eyes shut—Leon’s screams were ancient history, yet she could still hear them as if it were yesterday. “...At first, you were resistant to it. They’d up the dosage, apply more pressure to get you to snap. Then one day, y-you didn’t remember a thing.”

“You paid the price for a war you didn’t even cause with your past life, Leon,” both Leon and Lady startled in their seats when HUNK finally spoke up. He didn’t glance at the blonde man via the rearview mirror, his voice deeper, closer to a snarl. “They kept you in there longer than me, though I suspect it was because Baines is a twisted son of a bitch who really enjoyed making you, in particular, squirm.”

“You were there too, HUNK?” Leon asked, his throat tight. He looked from the back of HUNK’s head to Lady, demanding a further explanation.

Lady pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s why I called him Grim earlier, Leon. It’s who he was to us. I met HUNK as Grim, as your right-hand man…as your best friend.”

“I got involved in this demon crap because I wanted to protect you.” HUNK purred, letting out a faint chuckle. “You were hellbent on being a hero, and you didn’t want to abandon Dante. No matter what I said or did…you were by his side until the very end.”

“You’re saying…I had a relationship with Dante? Once upon a time, six years ago,” Leon said, scoffing. He glared down at his hands, shaking his head. “That’s impossible. I only know Dante through what Vergil’s told me. I’ve never met Dante before; today is the first time, something I didn’t think would ever happen.”

“I know it’s a lot to process, but-” Lady began, only for Leon to cut her off with a heated glare.

“I’ve never met Dante before,” he stressed, running his hand through his hair. Leon crossed his legs, his skin stretched taut over his knuckles. “I only know about the White Rabbit, the Force Edge, and the legend of the Demon Knight Sparda because Vergil told me. Vergil is how I know Dante, and quite frankly, if this weren’t necessary, I’d avoid being within five feet of that bastard.”

“Why?” Lady asked, baffled.

She remembered the way Leon looked at Dante: warm, dazzling blue eyes, an adorable crooked smile that showed off a hint of straight, white teeth, how Leon would hold on to Dante’s arm or kiss his cheek, and turn pink whenever the white-haired man in red would bump noses with him.

Even if Leon doesn’t remember his time with Dante, what has Vergil told him that could make Leon despise Dante as he does? This wasn’t natural; it wasn’t born out of Leon’s own experiences, thoughts, and feelings on Dante. No…Leon has been told many things about Dante from Vergil, and clearly, most of it is bullshit.

“...I want to leave with you, Honey. You and me, we’ll keep Redgrave City safe...”

“...Jackpot…”

…

“...if we have that going for us, can anything stop us?”

“...I love you too, Leon…”

It’s bizarre how this is the same man who once said he’d go away with Dante after what happened with the White Rabbit. Leon used to be bubbly, inviting, seemingly always able to find a way to smile.

Lady knows he’s been through hell, physically and mentally, since Raccoon City, but this was something else. And she knew Vergil was behind it.

HUNK, for the first time since the drive to DARKCOM Headquarters started, peered at Leon from the rearview mirror, his gloved hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Leon…”

“What Eva did…that speaks volumes,” Leon muttered, turning his head away. Lady furrowed her brows. “Dante was a child then; he’s innocent to a point. I…I can’t say I hate someone I don’t know. I don’t know him, but Eva choosing him over Vergil is why I don’t want to see him.” Leon snapped his head to look at Lady again, faint tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.

Lady went deadly still. “You don’t choose between two innocent lives. You do everything possible to save them…! You don’t choose, Lady. You shouldn’t choose.”

“We’re here,” HUNK butted in, feeling the conversation, if it hasn’t already, going downhill. As they neared the main gate, he turned around in his seat. “Lady, there’s no way we’re getting in without your clearance. Get your ass in gear, please.”

“They won’t let you in, looking like you’re ready to torch the place.”

“Relax, I know what to do,” HUNK said smoothly, giving Lady a firm nod. “This conversation is on hold, for now.”

Leon rolled his eyes, but complied. “Once we’re given clearance, it’s time to say hi to the past. Be ready.”

“His heartbeat’s starting back up.”

“You’re going too fast! We still need him incapacitated.”

“Tsk, always the criticism. Freezing them’s easy. Thawing them out takes a while. It’ll be hours before this guy is anywhere close to conscious.”

Two DARKCOM operatives standing on guard looked at each other as the scientists, a young, pale-faced man with light blonde hair, and a woman, older, with short, brown hair, thick red glasses, and red lipstick, argued over the defrosting process. They blinked, shrugged, and remained silent.

You know better than to get involved in arguments like this.

A yellowish remedy was administered into Dante’s tank, which was now mostly liquid inside. His snow-white hair floated above his ears, obscuring most of his face. He was still restrained and muzzled, but as some color returned to his cheeks and his heartbeat grew stronger, his mind began to wake up.

Lady, Leon, and HUNK entered the room quietly. One of the DARKCOM operatives standing guard looked over at them; when Lady nodded, he nodded back and stayed put. He was, however, unnerved by the man dressed all in black, with a black cloth mask pulled over his mouth and nose. He couldn’t see his eyes either, hidden under dark red shades. As the remedy continued to spread, more and more bubbles formed. Leon narrowed his eyes. He approached the cryo tank slowly, making sure Lady had him in her sights. The scientists were too engrossed in their back-and-forth to notice the man with sandy blonde hair and hard, ice-blue eyes; Leon looked up, his lips in a thin, tight line.

Dante and Vergil shared similarities. They had the same snow-white hair, alabaster skin; it was hard to tell from here, but Dante looked broad-shouldered, tall like Vergil. He was young, no doubt from being frozen for six years, which further stalled his aging. Demons, full and half, age much slower than humans—it’s remarkable, really, how a half-demon and a human could bear such striking, superficial resemblance, yet be built differently.

“...” Leon exhaled, his sigh coming out as misty, white vapor. When he glanced at the bickering scientists, he instinctively reached up to touch his neck. His skin crawled, and the walls felt like they were closing in. Cold sweat blossomed across his forehead; Leon sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, trying to keep the sudden wave of nausea at bay.

“...I can’t. Dante has to face the White Rabbit alone. This is his fight, not yours.”

“I’ve just about had it! I’m sick and tired of people making decisions for me! Dante and I, this is our fight!”

…

“...I told you. If we’re lonely, we’ll be lonely together.”

“Leon?!” HUNK hissed shrilly as he saw Leon grip his head with both hands. He wasn’t groaning in pain, but he was grinding his teeth into fine powder. He was hunched over, as if trying to keep his brain from exploding—sweat slid down his temples, his eyes a lighter blue.

Lady gasped and, like HUNK, tried approaching Leon, only to be frozen in place when lightning strikes came from the ceiling, from all sides of the room, seeming to collide with and come from the cryo tank. “Leon?!”

“What’s going on?!” Lady demanded, stomping over to the scientists and taking a look at the console. The readings were off the charts, changing drastically with each tick of the clock. The lightning strikes grew stronger, more frequent, and reddish in hue.

Lady’s dual-colored eyes took up most of her face. The lightning, she remembers seeing it before when…when Dante faced off against the White Rabbit. She shoved both scientists aside, sending them to the floor like ragdolls, and began furiously pressing buttons. “We need to stabilize this thing, now!” She roared, only to scream when red lightning struck her straight in the chest.

“Lady!” HUNK shoved his way past the useless DARKCOM operatives, catching the woman with dual-colored eyes before she collapsed to the floor. His eyes flashed gray behind his red shades as the lightning shrieked like a banshee, smoke filling the room. “Leon!”

The pretty blonde was on his knees, clutching his head. “Leon!-!”

“AAGGHH!”

HUNK backed away from the main console, Lady semi-conscious in his embrace. He folded her tight against his chest and ran towards Leon. He yelled, holding a hand out to the government agent; another red lightning strike came down, hard, this time splintering the cryo tank cleanly down the middle. Golden-tinted freezing water seeped rapidly through the cracks, making the glass groan.

“LEON!!”

“…Heehee…hahaha….HAHAHAHAHA! Ah, so it begins! The sons of Sparda are both awake! Dante is rising from the ashes, Vergil is on Earth, and…Kennedy is there. Those two will slaughter each other, hahaha! Swords will clash, spirits will whine, and these twin souls will be shredded to PIECES. Their undoing was foreseen, yet neither is prepared for what’s to come. That stupid, pathetic human will deliver their bitter demise, hahaha! HAHAHAHAHA!”

And then…Mundus’s true, greatest adversary won’t come to be. That prophecy is useless now. It won’t come to pass.

Everything will fall into place…

‘...I’m sorry. I’m sorry…I’m sorry!’

Dante’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. The air was punched out of his lungs—his eyes, a vibrant, inhumanly beautiful blue, were wide as he was surrounded by hungry, snarling flames.

A fire…the fire…his home…it’s on fire!

The majestic mansion, complete with elegantly stained-glass windows, a well-kept lawn, and rooms upon rooms filled with secrets, was in shambles. The fire was as tall as the mansion itself, shattering the windows with crackling fists and forcing too hot air into every crevice, every corner.

Dante’s heart leapt into his throat. Every nerve in his body begged him to run. The fire was spreading, reducing everything green, lively, and free to ashes. “No.” Dante choked on his tongue, his knees wobbling under him. “No, don’t do this again…!” The white-haired man started to back away, the world around him exploding in a fine mist of red.

“Please…please, not this again!” A woman’s scream made Dante slam his hands over his ears. It was no use—he could still hear her, a broken mess on the luxurious carpet in the main room, blood erupting from her chest as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Eva!

‘MOM!’ Dante bit his lower lip and took another step back.

Snap!

“W-what..?!”

Skulls. Millions upon millions of skulls; their empty eyes mocked Dante as they laughed at him. They laughed at him, even the one whose jaw was severed after Dante’s boot dug too deep. A mountain of gray, laughing skulls stared at Dante, tracking his every move. “No, no, no! N-no, please!” Dante patted himself down, searching for his handguns or Rebellion.

He was defenseless against whatever created this graveyard!

“You ran away…” One of the skulls croaked, its eyes glowing red for a split second. Dante screamed and tripped backwards, barely catching himself. Another skull giggled, sounding like a small child, before hopping off several other skulls and sinking its teeth into Dante’s arm.

“Ngh! G-get off me!”

“You didn’t do anything, hahaha! You just sat there and watched!” The skull chomping on Dante’s arm insisted, as blood oozed from its empty sockets.

The skull graveyard began to groan. Several toppled off each other like dominoes, snickering on the way down. As Dante finally dislodged the cackling skull from his arm, an oppressive shadow swallowed him.

Dante’s heart skipped a beat. He threw his head back, slowly sinking into the skeletal wasteland.

“No…! No! NO!”

“It was Lord Mundus who had our family murdered.”

Dante was staring into the gouged, round eyes…of his child self. It was him, it was Dante as a child. His hair was shorter, his features less sharp, babyish, and while he was a child, this version of himself was a colossus. Thousands of gray, cackling skulls rolled off his back, his shoulders, and his arms as he emerged from the sea of death, a twisted smile on his gray face.

“But you abandoned your brother.” Child Dante’s empty eye sockets began to glow, resembling the harsh, soulless eyes of…of a demon.

Dante screamed again. Child Dante raised his hand and brought it down on the ground—skulls flew everywhere, and a ring of fire took center stage. Dante coughed, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

“NO!”

Vergil. He was a child again, lying in the heart of the fire. He was small, too small; he was lying facedown in the dirt, his pale blue pajamas in tatters. Blood stained his alabaster skin, while a severe burn mark surrounded his right, closed eye. He was still, barely breathing, as his lungs were swollen with smoke.

“Vergil! V…VERGIL!” Dante was losing control. A part of him was shouting, telling him to stop, to run. This was all in his head! It wasn’t real, this isn’t real!

But Child Vergil’s pained whimpers, how he struggled to breathe…!

“You promised Mom you’d always protect Vergil.” Child Dante sneered, his wicked smile wider. He was hunched over like a gargoyle, blood oozing between his teeth. He slammed both hands down, caging Dante in with his tiny, white fingers. “But you put yourself first!” Child Dante roared and started to peel the skin off his face. Rivers of blood came down, several laughing skulls opening their jaws wide to feast.

Dante’s stomach turned to ash. For a split second, he saw his twin brother’s face, youthful and flawless. Child Vergil was gazing up at the sky, watching as the clouds lazily drifted by and changed from their picturesque white to swirling mists of pink and orange. He was wearing his favorite sweater vest, his blue eyes dancing. Then, as if hearing someone call his name, he glanced over his shoulder with a small, yet unguarded smile.

Vergil…Vergil!

“Vergil, I-I’m sorry!” Dante shouted, unable to keep his tears at bay. The jeering, cackling skulls were moving. They were bouncing, twisting in place, and some latched onto Dante like leeches. They were a symphony that made Dante’s eardrums burst, dragging him down to a bottomless pit.

Child Vergil, unscathed and curious, furrowed his eyebrows. Tiny, adorable wrinkles carved into his forehead; the white-haired child tried to approach, frowning. “I was scared!” Dante went on, gasping as several skulls tore into his red coat. He whimpered and flung his arms out, reaching out for Child Vergil.

The skulls were relentless, though. They moaned and melted into each other; bony hands erupted from deep below, one wrapping around Dante’s neck.

“Gah! No, no, no! Vergil, please!”

Child Vergil giggled, shaking his head as if Dante was telling him a stupid joke. He let his arm fall to his side, stepping back and waving. “Please! C-come back! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!”

The tight, narrow corridors ran red.

DARKCOM operatives swarmed outside the prison cells, raising their firearms to aim, only to go numb a second later. A flash of blue-white light, and they were finished. The demonic knight Nelo Angelo stepped over a human skull, sliced in half, a wide, pale-blue eye staring up at him. He kicked aside a severed torso with the toe of his heavy boot. As one foolish man attempted to shoot Nelo Angelo in the face, the demonic knight unsheathed his katana.

“AAGH-!” The man couldn’t finish his blood-curdling plea, collapsing in a heap of flesh and bone at Nelo Angelo’s feet.

Terrified yet curious prisoners watched as a tall, hulking figure waltzed down the hallway. DARKCOM sounded the alarm—it flashed a blinding red siren in every cell, making its prisoners hiss and huddle closer together. But as more DARKCOM soldiers arrived on the scene, the corridor ran redder.

It was a river of blood, a sea of carnage. One of the prisoners yelped when the tall, hulking figure seemingly went through five DARKCOM operatives in the blink of an eye. He left massive, gaping holes in their chests, their insides pooling onto the hard, metal floors.

Nelo Angelo rose slowly. He sheathed his katana and overrode each cell block’s personalized security. The bullet, fire, and claws-proof glass doors slid open; the prisoners, wrapped in dirty cloaks and soiled bandages, took small, tentative steps out into the hallway. They gazed upon the corpses with a mixture of shock and morbid glee, while their rescuer wiped the blood off his armor.

“Our king Mundus grants you your freedom.” Nelo Angelo declared, his gray skin peeling in places. He towered over the prisoners. “Show him gratitude,” he continued, as his reddish-purple horns snapped into pieces and littered the floor. “It was Mundus who freed me from my own bondage.”

The bright blue glow in his chest spread to the rest of his body. Nelo Angelo’s eyes flashed a stark blue, and a whirlwind of lightning surrounded him.

The prisoners groaned, the intensity hurting their eyes. They didn’t pull away, as the demonic knight revealed his true face: alabaster skin and snow-white hair, dressed in royal blue with yellow accents, and dancing blue flames for eyes.

“The sapiens send their armies, unaware of the storm they ride into. I am that storm.” Vergil swore, exhaling as he felt something blossoming in his chest.

Power. Raw, mindless, vicious power.

‘Dante, you have awoken. It’s time, brother. It’s time…to settle things once and for all.’

“One minute, he’s bringing hellfire into the building, the next he’s out like a light. Who gets these fucking things?” HUNK glowered, leaning against the nearest wall.

He and Leon were in a sterile, white room in the extensive medical wing. Lady was being treated in the next room; apart from the lightning strike to the chest, she was okay. DARKCOM’s elite, expensive doctors wanted to keep a close eye on her vitals, however. She was in charge of their military division, after all. Her loss would be a crushing blow.

HUNK felt bad for her. This wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t betrayed them, but…part of him believed she truly regretted her past choices. Lady wanted to make things right. What she didn’t realize, though, was that atoning for her sins required her to suffer what Hunk suffered, what Leon suffered, and what Dante suffered.

The highway to Hell is paved with good intentions.

“He couldn’t control it,” Leon whispered, sitting down in a hard, metal chair. He was by Dante’s bedside, his eyes on the steadily beating away heart monitor. The white-haired man was asleep; he was in a paper gown, with an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and various tubes and wires sticking out of his arms. Dante’s eyes darted to and fro under his eyelids, but he didn’t stir.

“Tsk, lack of control is an understatement. Everyone in that room was hit with something.” Hunk said, his arms folded tightly over his chest. He hung his head, burning holes into the floor. “He could have killed us.”

“...” Leon didn’t respond, his eyes now on Dante’s blank face. He leaned forward a little, his hands folded over his lap, squinting his eyes as if solving a difficult math problem.

Hunk pushed off the wall, moving to stand beside Leon.

“What are you thinking, Bella?”

“...He was scared.” Leon’s voice quaked a little, the corners of his mouth pinched.

“And that’s important, why…?”

“He was seeing things, HUNK.” Leon hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes burning. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “He was reliving something terrible, something that felt too real. For a moment, he was stuck there. Whatever he was seeing, he was reliving it.”

“...Are you talking about…?”

“Yes, that night. Dante was reliving that night.” Leon nodded, folding his hands against his stomach now. “Vergil’s relived it, too. The fire, the howls, the…the smoke, all of it, Dante saw it just like Vergil did.”

HUNK swallowed hard. He let his gaze drift, tasting bile in the back of his throat. “So it’s true. You and Vergil…I can’t believe it.”

“...”

“...I’m going to check on Lady,” HUNK said finally, failing to keep the disgust out of his voice. He turned around and walked through the door, only taking a moment to linger. “Leon.”

“...”

“...” HUNK sighed, reconsidering. He left the room, the heavy metal door sliding shut behind him.

Leon looked over his shoulder, then returned his focus to Dante. The man was breathing, still as a gravestone. His hair spilled across the pillow like ink, the warmth of his skin palpable. He was like a furnace, and Leon felt ill, but it comforted him.

‘...You two couldn’t look more different if you tried,’ Leon thought, somewhat relieved. He stood up, leaning forward. His blue eyes traced the lines, bends, and curves that made up Dante’s face.

It was longish, as was his snow-white hair. It looked softer, sleeker compared to Vergil’s spiky updo. Dante’s skin wasn’t as pale as Vergil’s, a faint peach; he was as tall and physically imposing as Vergil, and his color scheme, from what Leon saw on file, was the polar opposite of Vergil’s.

Fire and ice.

Passion and melancholy.

Day and night. Two sides of the same coin, and one can’t exist without the other. That’s what Dante and Vergil were.

‘...So why did Eva only save you?’

Leon hastily wiped a tear running down his cheek. He sighed, running his hand down his face. He was exhausted. He should have contacted Carlos when he had the chance or gotten in touch with Chris, Jill, and Claire. This was so much at once—Leon was almost positive Vergil was keeping something from him, despite that warning letter he wrote him. HUNK was apparently a childhood friend. Lady felt remorseful, and…Leon once loved Dante.

That’s the worst of it. Leon apparently knew Dante once, as intimately as one could know another person. Leon once trusted Dante, cared about him… and wanted to be with him. Six years ago, Leon S. Kennedy would have run away with Dante, starting fresh in Redgrave City. Leon faced the White Rabbit and lived, and wanted nothing more than to start a life with his lover.

His one and only lover…it hadn’t been Vergil all this time.

‘But I can’t remember anything!’ Leon’s thoughts stung, like glass shards digging into every wrinkle in his brain. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. ‘I h-heard voices, when you were awakening. I heard myself talking to someone. I heard someone’s voice, and it was Vergil’s, but it was all wrong. It was him, and he wanted me to…t-to…’

Leon’s shoulders shook. He pressed a hand over his mouth, feeling like he was going to throw up. ‘He wanted me to let you face the White Rabbit alone. He insisted it wasn’t my fight, but I…if I loved you, then it was my fight. It was you and me, against whatever the fuck wanted us dead. Vergil wanted me to abandon you.’

Vergil was hurt. He was abandoned first by both his mother and twin brother. He was left to rot, to die at the hands of those foul, vile creatures that night. He has every right to feel this rage, this pain—Leon has seen Vergil break down, something that sounds ridiculous with how calm, collected, and composed he was by nature. But Leon’s seen those beautiful eyes drown in a sea of tears, and the way his hands shake sometimes. Vergil was a man on fire, a man in agony hidden behind a carefully crafted mask. He never lied about his past or his suffering to Leon. It was the truth.

Yet…he and Dante are brothers. They were twins, one person split into two. They couldn’t exist without each other.

‘Did…did Vergil lie to me? Did you lie to me? All this time, you were here….they kept you here, the only person who could defy Vergil. You are his equal, yet you couldn’t be more different.’ Leon looked down at Dante’s hand, long, fair, and calloused. The pretty blonde grimaced; he sluggishly moved his arm, his fingertips inches from Dante’s. After pushing down his nerves, Leon slid his hand under Dante’s. He didn’t curl his fingers, didn’t hold Dante’s hand—he simply let their palms connect, a sliver of skin-to-skin contact.

Leon expected a flurry of images playing back for him, like a double feature. He expected a searing pain going up his spine again, and echoes of his past hitting him like a two-ton truck. He expected to feel joy, a warmth unique to finding your other half. When you find that person meant for you, the world feels right. It’s strange, off-kilter, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

…But nothing happened. No memories flooded back, none of his senses overloaded with familiar smells, tastes, and sensations, and no warmth. He felt cold all over, much like how he did when he first set foot in DARKCOM HQ.

Empty, unsteady, hollow–the same.

“...Maybe everything is a lie,” Leon mumbled, his mouth barely moving. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, relaxing his tense muscles. He didn’t move an inch; he counted in his head, skipped count, started over, until he lost count. He lost count and opened his eyes, blinked owlishly.

“...?!”

Blue eyes were staring back at him. They were an electric-blue, seemingly glowing. They were wide, sparkling. Blue eyes were staring back at Leon, framed by unruly, long, snow-white hair. Blue eyes were staring back at Leon, and the heart monitor suddenly spiked.

Dante was staring at Leon. His eyes were half-lidded at first, as black shadows were all he could decipher. Black, shapeless, muted shadows, with no faces; as the rest of his body caught up with him, one shadow melted in place, revealing short, spun golden silk.

Spun golden silk, twinkling, iridescent eyes, right now a piercing, encompassing blue, and a soft, shapely mouth, fair as roses. Dante’s eyes widened, his oxygen mask fogging up. “Le…on?” He asked, his voice scratchy. He coughed, wincing as a twinge of pain stung the back of his throat.

Leon went still. He was afraid to blink—his muscles locked down, his lungs deflated, and his heart started pounding against the walls of his ribcage, sending shockwaves down his spine.

“Leon…” Dante said again, pushing off the bed with his elbows. Leon’s upper body backed away, his feet cemented in place. Dante’s eyes took up most of his face; he gave Leon a lookover, his jaw gradually dropping as more and more details, old and new, started registering.

Leon had sandy blonde hair now. His face was less round, revealing a cutting jawline. He had a slight tan, and his eyes looked bluer than ever. He was wearing a satin blue jacket over a plain, gray shirt and tight, dark-washed jeans. His arms looked thicker, his chest wider, and his shoulders broader.

He…he looked older, forged by unknown fires, yet still breathtakingly gorgeous. An angel dropped unceremoniously from Heaven. He was a living, breathing statue, sculpted from pain and loss, compassion and sincerity. It’s been years, clearly, yet Dante couldn’t look away.

“Leon…?”

“W-wait here, I’ll get a nurse to-” Leon began, putting one foot behind the other.

That’s all it took.

“Wait-!”

“LEON!!”

CRASH!

“What the hell?!” HUNK shouted as the entire building quaked out of nowhere. He steadied himself on the side railing of Lady’s bed, who nearly flew out the window from the impact. Her dual-colored eyes widened, a fresh wave of distress seeping into her bones.

“He’s awake. And h-he saw Leon,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Lady was in a crinkly paper gown, ripping out the multiple wires in her arms and discarding her oxygen mask. “No…! He doesn’t know yet.”

“Oh, come on!” HUNK hissed as he followed Lady out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

The duo didn’t have to look for long: Dante’s hospital room was next door to Lady’s, and the wall closest to the hallway had a human-shaped hole. It was a miracle the wall didn’t come tumbling down then and there; several doctors and nurses, pale-faced and trembling, stared blankly at the wall. Small bits of debris shattered into fine powder onto the floor—holding Lady’s hand, HUNK approached the ruined wall, peering through the hole.

Leon stood there, panting. He had a hand over his mouth; his eyes were navy blue. Lady looked behind her.

Dante was limp on the floor several feet away, upside-down eagle spread. He was groaning weakly, his hair in his eyes. Being tossed like an empty soda can didn’t hurt him, but as he got to his feet, a hand pressed against his side, and confused wrinkles etched into Dante’s forehead.

“Leon? What happened?” HUNK asked slowly, letting go of Lady’s hand and stepping through the Dante-shaped hole in the wall.

He held up his hands when the pretty blonde growled, still in a defensive stance: legs spread, evenly distributing his weight, keeping his core tight while his arms were folded tightly, protecting his torso. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” HUNK softened his tone, frowning under his cloth mask. “I just want to know what he did.”

“...He tried to kiss me,” Leon answered finally, taking his hand away from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, wrinkling his nose. “I panicked. He hugged me, then tried to…I just r-reacted.”

HUNK’s shoulders slumped, sighing as he hung his head. He turned to meet Lady’s gaze, who looked torn between plain shock, because since when was Leon that strong, and mounting shame.

On wobbly legs, the woman with dual-colored eyes walked over to Dante. Dante snapped his head back and snarled, rage suddenly making his blood boil over. His eyes flashed red for a split second; Lady gasped and stopped, her stomach twisting itself.

“Dante…we need to talk.”

“About…what? You and I have nothing to talk about.” Dante looked past Lady to Leon, his expression going from furious to confused again. He stood up, grunting, as he walked past Lady. “Leon…Leon, it’s me! It’s me, Dante! Angel, come on, what was the roundhouse kick for? Though it was kind of hot, gotta say, you were always strong, but that was something else!” Dante forced a laugh, a smile, as if that would break the tension.

But Leon stared coldly back at him. No smile, no sweet, light giggle with an adorable snort thrown at the end. No…anything.

“Leon…?”

“Don’t. Touch. M-me.” Leon said, biting his lips. He shook his head, slowly at first. He shook his head, his bangs sent flying. He doubled forward before vomiting on the floor. HUNK ran to Leon’s side—Lady swallowed hard, leaning harder on her right leg.

Leon emptied his stomach onto the floor, spittle hanging off his lower lip. Dante’s pupils shrank, his entire body suddenly rigid; an overbearing smell filled the room, Leon’s body convulsing where he kneeled. Tears ran down his face, retching noises spewing from his mouth, echoing deafeningly off the walls. HUNK rubbed Leon’s back, holding him steady as Leon nearly collapsed to the smooth, cool floor.

Dante let out a dry sob. Leon groaned, his throat hurting. HUNK was silent as a mime, and Lady covered her mouth with both hands.

Vice President Baines didn’t smile as Dante, Lady, Leon, and HUNK waltzed into the room. Arius did, his radiant smirk straight off a cheesy toothpaste billboard.

Leon managed not to flinch when seeing Baines. Dante caught his lower jaw clenching—if Baines saw it, he didn’t react, his gloved hands folded behind his back. Arius’s secretary, a bronze-skinned woman with deep red hair, cropped short, dressed in red with yellow accents and a purple-eyed masquerade mask, lingered in the background, her arms folded.

The view outside the office was immaculate. The clear blue sky, clouds stretched thin as the sun shone down; apart from the Lincoln Memorial in the distance, none of the other buildings in Washington, D.C., eclipsed DARKCOM HQ.

“We finally have the pleasure.” Arius greeted, giving a whimsical bow to the four. His muted red coat with the fur collar swayed merrily behind him. Lady, HUNK, and Leon stayed back with Arius’s secretary as Dante approached him. His every step was loaded, his normally grinning face smooth. “Believe me,” Arius went on, his gaze flickering to Leon for a split second, “it’s one for us both. I’d apologize for your hiatus in our cryo chamber, but I’m actually a bit envious.”

Leon tensed when Arius, after holding his hand out for Dante to shake, yanked the younger man into him. He patted Dante’s back with a hefty, gray-white hand, his smile touching his plum-purple eyes.

Arius leaned in, his warm breath fanning against Dante’s ear. “I’d been thinking of trying it myself.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, his lips in a light frown. Then, when his eyes landed on Baines again, all the puzzlement was zapped out of the half-demon’s system.

Baines blinked. He looked from Dante to Leon and finally at HUNK. The masked man cocked his hip out, his Lightning Hawk out for everyone to see.

“Ah, I see there’s some history here.” Arius’s voice brought Dante back to reality. The man with plum-purple eyes looked past his secretary and Lady to hone in on HUNK. “Human Unit Never Killed. I thought you were a myth; one learns, however, that truth is stranger than fiction. Your reputation precedes you.”

HUNK stayed quiet. “Is it true you spent some time here, Mr. HUNK? Like our other honorary guest?”

“It was a lousy time. I would rather not dwell on the past,” HUNK said nonchalantly, removing a crick in his neck.

Arius laughed.

“Deadly with a sense of humor to boo! If you lacked alliance, I’d offer you a permanent position here. We could use a man like you.” Arius sidestepped Dante, his expression darkening.

Dante forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t have to look at Arius to know he was staring down Leon. “And you…Mr. Kennedy. Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, I’ve been anticipating our first meeting since I accessed your file.”

Leon fought the urge to vomit again—this man had too many mannerisms that reminded him of Ramón Salazar. “A survivor of the Raccoon City Incident, one of the few. Such a tragic end to so many lives, don’t you agree?”

Leon didn’t say anything.

“You were young, hopeful, and dare I say, naive. As many young people with aspirations are.” Arius made his way towards Leon, stopping half a foot in front of him. Plum-purple scrutinized icy-blue. “After that night, you’ve transformed yourself—no longer that idealistic rookie cop, but a force of nature. Your skills, your professionalism, and your ability to handle larger-than-life situations have put you on the map! The best the American government has, and…” Arius leaned in, the sunlight coming in giving his skin a glossy shine. “The only human I’ve met to not only subdue one half-demon, but two. And that those two powerful half-demons share the same blood, I applaud you. No wonder Baines was fond of you.”

“?!” Leon’s eyes widened a fraction. Dante’s superhuman hearing was a blessing and a curse; as he heard Leon’s heart stutter, white-hot fury seeped into his veins.

“Speaking of Baines! I apologize, my friend, we’ve been ignoring you.” Arius straightened his back, a faux sheepish expression on his face now. “Everyone here is familiar with our Vice President, correct? Baines assists with recruiting, and he directed Arkham’s elite ops team on certain missions pertaining to national security.”

Lady’s mind flashed back to her old team, their smiling faces, and their go-getter attitudes. The few people she felt truly comfortable with, who saw her ugliest side, yet stuck by her regardless. She folded her arms tighter over her chest. HUNK turned his head a little and subtly, without Arius’s secretary noticing, placed a hand on the small of Lady’s back.

Dante kept Baines in his sights, his heart breaking when Leon’s pulse only spiked in intensity.

“But DARKCOM is my company, as is the company that owns it. You’ve been made aware of our current situation; the gruelling war between Humans and Demons is but one half of the story. It’s a triptych: every war has its layers, its secrets and truths, and sometimes drastic measures are necessary to ensure a victory that satisfies everyone. Which is why I’ll be overseeing your mission personally.”

Arius’s hand was on Dante again, gently kneading his shoulder. “I trust that your allies seek the same thing? There aren’t limitations to the resources at your disposal, Dante. One should know when to let the experts handle things. Come, let me give you and your friends a tour.”

Baines sighed softly. Dante let himself be led away by Arius. Arius’s secretary followed closely behind, while Lady and HUNK’s every move was in sync. Leon brought up the rear, and he stopped before crossing the threshold after the others. He gripped the doorway, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder.

Baines stared at Leon, and Leon stared back at him. The tension between them was unmistakable with the others out of the way. Baines tilted his head to the side, his nostrils flaring—Leon winced, despite fighting so hard. He winced and exhaled sharply, shaking his head and letting the door slide shut behind him.

“You’re leaving so soon?”

Dante glanced at Leon and HUNK out of the corner of his eye. He slowly sheathed Ebony and Ivory. Lady was too preoccupied inspecting Nell Goldstein’s latest weapons shipment, contemplating what to take for herself.

The two men were talking in mild, hushed tones, Leon’s arms folded over his chest. HUNK stood there, his back erect. He traded in his cloth facemask and shades for his trademark gasmask, his round, soulless red eyes eerier than usual.

“I guess this isn’t enough action for you.”

“I need to step out,” HUNK agreed, nodding once. He then removed his Lightning Hawk from its holster. “But just in case you get into any trouble before I return, take this.”

“I can’t. This is-”

“It’s not the only weapon in my arsenal, Leon,” HUNK cut Leon’s reluctant ramblings in half, pressing the powerful, semi-automatic 7-round magnum against Leon’s palms.

The pretty blonde’s frown deepened. “This beauty packs a punch, but you already knew that, right? You’re going to face hordes out there, human and non-human. The Lightning Hawk is great for crowd control, and if you’re feeling extra frisky. One shot will pop heads like a grape.”

“What about you?” Leon asked, curling his fingers around the grip. It was weighty, sturdy, and, yeah, HUNK had a Grim Reaper scythe charm hanging from it. It was goofy, it was ridiculous, and it fits. “...You knew this whole time. You knew me this whole time, yet pretended we first met in Raccoon City. Why?”

“Because I learned long ago that I didn’t deserve to know you,” HUNK replied dryly, thumbing the hilt of his combat knife.

Leon furrowed his eyebrows. “...I’m not a good person, Leon. I never said I was, nor did I try to be. I did what I had to do to survive; morality goes out the window when you’re short on options. But you, you were always the one good thing in my life. What we went through here six years ago made me realize I couldn’t hold on to you anymore. Our lives are too far apart, and we’re on opposite sides.”

“...”

“I have people to answer to. Bad people, as bad if not worse than Arius and Baines,” HUNK went on, squaring his shoulders. “Umbrella isn’t gone, Leon. You know that, I know that. You have to be the hero—there’s no way around it, I’m in too deep.”

“You don’t have to be…!” Leon blurted out, letting out a sharp sigh. “If you don’t believe in what Umbrella wants, then you can still change your mind.”

“What’s on my mind is capital, Leon. It’s a business transaction, another job coming down the pipeline. This world is doomed; humanity, as we know it, is rotten and will eventually end itself. At least when it all comes crumbling down, I’ll die in luxury.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t possibly know that.”

“...Heh, I see why you and Vergil connected,” HUNK asserted, his smile lost to flawless, hard black. “You know, maybe I was wrong before.”

“What are you talking about?” Leon asked, as the man in the gas mask reached out and brushed his thumb along his forearm.

“Who you used to be…I don’t think he’ll ever come back. I don’t know why, I can’t say why, but the Leon I knew died here, in the basement, six years ago. I thought it was a terrible loss, and I wanted to kill Dante for breaking his promise to me.”

“His promise…?”

“That he’d keep you safe. He couldn’t keep it. I wanted him dead then; I want him dead now. And what does that have to do with you?”

Leon pressed his lips into a thin line, shrugging.

“I thought the Leon I knew died here six years ago. While you’ll never be who you used to be, you’re still the same good guy I remember. You’ve never stopped being a good guy, even when time and time again, you had reasons to.”

Leon’s eyes widened as HUNK’s hand moved to cup his face. He didn’t jerk away or feel a chill wash over him. This was foreign, yet…grounded. It was foreign yet grounding, reassuring. “You’ll always be a good guy, Leon. So I know that you’ll figure this out.”

“...”

“I don’t know if Vergil is all evil, or just misguided. But you saw the good in him, like you saw the good in Dante. You believed in him—you won’t stop fighting until you get him back, and set things right. You might lose yourself, or him, or both in the process, but you don’t care, do you?”

“...I won’t abandon Vergil,” Leon breathed, his eyes a pale, pale blue. He placed his hand over HUNK’s. “He’s keeping something from me. Mundus wants something, I can feel it. I never trusted Mundus, but I trusted Vergil. If he’s lied to me…if he’s going to keep hurting people, then I will stop him. At that point, my feelings don’t matter. I have a job to do.”

“...You’re going to be okay,” HUNK whispered, running his gloved thumb over Leon’s cheek, his forefinger stroking the nape of his neck. He then dropped his hand, and his voice was frigid once again. “I’ll see you around, Agent Kennedy.”

“I hope so—not everyone gets to meet the Grim Reaper and live to tell the tale,” Leon said, as HUNK backed away. “How are you going to get out of this place alive, hmm?”

“It’s not that impressive.” HUNK retorted. He lingered a minute longer, then, just like that, vanished without a trace.

Leon looked down at the Lightning Hawk in his left hand. He caressed the grip, caught the reflection of his left eye in the scythe charm’s dulled blade.

…

“That piece is what legends are made of. Eh, and your pretty boy agent ain’t so bad either.”

Dante let out an undignified squeak as Nell Goldstein stood next to him, grinning around a skinny, lit cigarette. “That’s a lot of trust to put in someone—that magnum in Leon’s hands? It can almost match my creations in terms of creativity and firepower. Almost! I wouldn’t worry too much about Blondie now, kid, since he’s got the means to hold his own.”

The blonde woman with golden-hazel eyes bumped hips with Dante, her grin wider than before. “You got good taste for a wacko.”

“W-what are you talking about?!” Dante hissed, since he didn’t want an outburst getting Leon’s attention. The pretty blonde didn’t have to know that Dante heard his entire conversation with HUNK, even through solid steel walls and bullets, fire, and claws-proof glass.

Nell snorted, thumbing her nose. “You know what I’m talkin’ about, ya blockhead. You were worried about your pretty boy agent. Well, now you’re off the hook! I don’t see what the fuss was about to begin with—he wouldn’t be America’s Finest if he didn’t know a grenade from a flame round.”

Dante sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know, just when I was starting to like you, Nell.”

“You already did.” Nell pointed out, tucking some stringy, platinum blonde hair behind her ears. Then, in a low murmur, she added, “I’m rooting for you, kiddo.”

“Huh?”

“You spent the last fifteen minutes standin’ like a statue, worried your pretty boy’s friend was leaving him high and dry. You’re already carrying a lot of guilt concerning him, and you’re willing to take more as long as he’s standing.” Nell hummed, resting her hands on her hips.

Dante looked at her warily. “The way you look at him, it ain’t just guilt in those eyes. You loved him all this time, huh? Even when you were under ice.”

“...When I saw him, when I woke up, I was happy.” Nell snubbed out her cigarette on the ashtray on her desk, shrugging on her lab coat.

Dante watched as Leon stared into the distance, lost in thought. “He made me the happiest I’ve been in years. I dragged him into my mess, and the last memory I had of Leon was of him in tears. He was crying, unable to move, and I couldn’t stop the bad people from hurting him.”

Nell hummed. She glanced at Lady’s back. “Is that why you two aren’t talking much? She had something to do with Blondie’s time here?”

“Yeah,” Dante’s lips pulled back over his teeth, showing rows of serrated canines.

“I don’t blame ya. She’s trying to make things right, that doesn’t mean you can’t feel the way you feel.”

“Thanks for that?”

“I mean it, Dante. I’m too old for this shit—romance wasn’t exactly my strong point back in the day, that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.” Nell sat down in her thick, cozy desk chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.

Dante plopped down on her desk, and she didn’t knee him in the groin over it. “...Listen, whatever happens, you've got to remember that the Leon you knew probably won’t come back. It’s possible; whatever Baines pumped into him had time to cause irreversible damage. The sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be to reconnect with him.”

“But how can I?” Dante mused out loud as he stared at the ground. “Nell, Leon got together with Vergil. He got together with my twin brother, the same twin brother I believed dead this entire time. While I was away, he and Vergil formed a connection I’ll never understand. The way he looks at me…it’s like he’s seeing a monster.”

Nell frowned. She reached over and touched Dante’s knee, prompting him to look her dead in the eye.

“He loves Vergil now. He’s doing this for Vergil, and only Vergil. We’re being forced to work together; he hates me.”

“He hates the you that Vergil made for him. Everyone’s got their side of the story, and Vergil told his. Now it’s time you told yours,” Nell persisted, squeezing Dante’s knee. “Don’t count Leon out just yet. This could be what he needs to see things clearly. You love him, don’t you?”

“I’ll love him for the rest of my life. Even if he never remembers, or never feels the same way for me again…I love him more than anything else in the world.”

“Then fight for him,” Nell said, just as Leon came back into the room, the Lightning Hawk strapped to his thigh. Lady turned on her heels, having picked out her spoils for the day. “Everything’s worth fightin’ for, I reckon love’s one of those things. You’re not Vergil, and that’s a good thing.”

The frail-looking, snarky woman soon stretched and let out an exaggerated yawn. Her somber look was gone, replaced with smoldering, lively topaz eyes and a lopsided, toothy grin. “Ah! Well, y’all take whatever else you want now, just be quiet about it.”

Leon and Lady joined Dante at Nell’s desk as she kicked up her feet and reclined in her seat. “My show’s almost on.”

Talk about emotional whiplash.

“Thanks for everything,” Leon said, a hint of a smile on his lips. Nell chuckled. “You’re batshit insane, lady.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Batshit insane, bonkers, off your head. But I guess all the best people are.”

Nell threw her head back, holding her stomach as her banshee wails echoed throughout the room. Leon winced, still smiling though. Lady rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and Dante let it be, seeing as this was the first time Leon’s been at ease since Dante’s disastrous attempt at a romantic reunion in the medical wing.

They were locked and loaded. HUNK might have taken off, but Leon was a trained operative. He had six years of fighting bioterrorism under his belt and knew Vergil better than Dante and Lady combined. They’ll have the jump on him, and once Dante gets his bearings, he’ll finally have the answers to all of his questions.

Things will turn around. Things will get better; they’ll be different this time. They had to be.

“We’re ready to go?” Lady asked tentatively, looking from Dante to Leon and back again.

Leon nodded.

“Ready when you are, Lady. Let’s get this party started!” Dante exclaimed, puffing out his chest.

Lady pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back a smirk as she led the way back to the elevator. Dante and Leon looked at one another; the pretty blonde nodded once and went ahead of Dante.

The white-haired man smiled in relief, and a tiny sliver of hope bloomed in his chest. Nell Goldstein was glued to her T.V. screen, one of those sleazy, over-the-top daytime talk shows playing. Even the man was sleazy-looking, with his overly bleached blonde hair in a terrible combover, a pink rental suit, and a red bowtie. He leaned forward into the camera, smirking.

Okay, maybe Nell does have a couple of screws loose if this is her show.

“Welcome to the show. I’m Stan Sullivan,” the portly man greeted both his live and television audiences, cold sweat forming against his temple. He was wearing a painfully forced, cheerful smile. “Today we have a special, unplanned guest.”

Right. Who was it now, another politician being exposed for having an affair and thus an illegitimate child? Please.

“An official ambassador from the Demon Realm, whose name is Vergil the demon.”

Nell sat up in her chair, her mouth stretched in a disbelieving grin.

“What?!” Dante stopped in his tracks, he, Lady, and Leon looking back at the television.

“No fucking way,” Lady blurted out, narrowing her dual-colored eyes. Then she gasped and looked at Leon.

The blonde-haired agent was speechless. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilating. His arms were limp at his sides, his mouth parted down the middle. Leon let out a long, shuddering sigh, a tremor going down his right arm.

Dante was by Leon’s side in a millisecond, a hand out ready to steady him.

“...V-Vergil.”

HUNK switched on a small, rectangular device he had hanging off his belt. It had a couple of buttons, with a screen taking most of the real estate. As the console came to life, a blinking red dot appeared, flashing like a warning sign.

“Hmm…” The masked man pursed his lips. He looked through his many pockets, drawing out what looked like a SIM card. It was square and mint green.

HUNK popped the chip into the console, tapping his knee. He then tapped the side of his head—it took a few minutes, DARKCOM HQ’s comms. jammers were surprisingly efficient, but soon HUNK was smiling.

“Oliveira, this is your only freebie. I’ll make this quick—Kennedy’s going to need backup, urgent.”

“Vergil?”

Jill knocked her chair back. Carlos stopped typing, and Chris crushed the pen in his hand. Claire gripped the table for support, her knees close to giving in.

“Thank you for having me, Stan,” Vergil said, taking a seat onstage. He folded his hands across his lap, keeping the Yamato in plain sight. He had a serene smile, sitting up straight with his legs slightly spread.

Stan Sullivan cleared his throat, his hand shaking around the microphone. “Well, to start, Vergil,” he said, walking leisurely in place, “if I can call you that, something I think a lot of our audience will be wondering…You don’t exactly look like a demon.”

“This has to be a trick,” Jill said, slowly shaking her head. Her lower lip quivered, her chest tight. “T-this has to be another shapeshifting Plasma, something! This can’t be him…”

“And what is it that a demon looks like, Stan?”

The audience, the one at home included, was dead silent. Just swallowing sounded like a rockslide—Stan gulped, his eyes straining to stay under those stupid sunglasses.

Vergil soon chuckled, tilting his head to the side inquisitively. “I’m just kidding,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “I, of course, know what you mean.”

Cue the cue card to clap along to the license-free music!

“It is him,” Chris argued, glaring. He hung his head, exhaling heavily. “It is him, Jill. There’s no mistaking it—that confidence bordering on arrogance, no one does it better than Vergil.”

“I can’t believe it…”

“The explanation is simple,” Vergil resumed, once the grating music track cut off. “My father was a demon, but my mother was human.”

“Wow. I…I didn’t even know that–” Stan began, his voice steady.

“We need to shut this down. Now.” Baines growled, the DARKCOM HQ Control room in chaos. Everyone stationed at a computer was typing madly, pulling up a map marked with every known rift between the Human and Demon Realms. None were currently active; DARKCOM has been working around the clock to ensure they had the only way in and out of Makai.

The White Rabbit’s messes were cleaned up ages ago, so how is Vergil here?

“Shut it down? This is can’t-miss T.V.,” Arius argued, perfectly poised as he stood beside Baines. His pompous air was intact. “Not a move I expected from a brooding warrior.” The man with plum-purple eyes craned his neck to look at Leon, who had rushed in along with Dante and Lady. “...Perhaps because he knows his treasure is in our possession.”

The blonde agent shook his head. “You disagree? Let’s be rational about this, Mr. Kennedy. Vergil and Dante are bound by blood. Two souls that were originally one—as Dante awakened, so did Vergil. He knows Dante is out there, and where Dante is, you’re sure to be too.” Arius tapped his chin. “He’s upended the entire game board. Utterly inspired.”

“If he wanted to contact me, he could,” Leon answered hastily, the Lightning Hawk in his thigh holster suddenly weighing fifty pounds.

“What do you mean, Leon?” Lady demanded, measuring her tone so as not to make the man snap at her.

“If he…if he wanted to contact me…” Leon trailed off, realization hitting him like a tidal wave.

He hasn’t checked his book in hours. Ever since Dante woke up in the medical wing, Leon’s been too skittish to see what new messages Vergil wrote him.

He ignored the bookmark’s glowing, consumed with his inquiries and dead ends.

Vergil…

‘Mundus warned me, Leon. But I suspect he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist—you are my kin, as is Dante. I should have known before any of this transpired that my brother’s and my sordid history would have you in the crosshairs. I suspected, yet didn’t act in time.’

Vergil, on the surface, was the ideal stoic. He didn’t bat an eye as people in the live audience eyed him, cowering in their seats over his origin.

A woman, a human woman…willingly mated with a demon? Or was she coerced?

“Are there many others who are like you?” Stan asked, yanking on his collar.

“Others like me?” Vergil parroted, his blue eyes sparkling. “Only one. I was born on Earth. But I’ve lived on Makai since I was a child.”

Dante clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles went pink. “I return now on behalf of Mundus, my king. You have all been told that our world is Hell, and our ruler the Devil.”

“What is he doing…?”

“But these are only stories. They have nothing to do with our true nature. Mundus seeks simply to preserve the proper order of his realm.”

“How could he defend that MONSTER?” Dante howled, his hands sliding into his hair. He dug his dull nails into his scalp. “When he…”

Lady squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away. Leon’s eyes were now glued to Dante’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, only for Vergil to continue addressing the world.

Vergil’s mouth was a firm, harsh line. He stared directly into the camera, and pictured ice-blue eyes gazing back at him.

“Your leaders, with the help of their well-paid mouthpieces, have sold you this attempted invasion as a moral battle. Good versus Evil. Humanity versus Hell. Unlike them, I believe you are intelligent enough to face reality.”

Vergil rose from the chair. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, reaching into his coat pocket.

‘It’s time I expose DARKCOM for what it is, Leon. I’m exposing what they did to my people, our people. And what they did to you.’

“These are stills taken from security footage at one of your country’s black site demon prisons.”

The images were gruesome: DARKCOM soldiers aiming their high-powered rifles at a downed demon and handcuffing it. The demon’s face frozen in terror, tears prickling the corners of their eyes; several demons, no Makaians, in filthy cages, eyes bulging from their skulls as course after course of raw electricity singed their bodies from the inside out while scientists wearing oxygen masks idly watched; a tall, thin Makaian laying on an examination table, blood oozing from his severed limbs, while still alive.

Lady screamed. Leon fell to his knees, as did Dante.

“Showing your soldiers torturing Makaians without trial, for no crime other than their origins.” Vergil’s voice went husky, his eyes black as a moonless night.

“T-those demons aren’t from Mundus’s troops!” Lady exclaimed, grabbing Baines’s shoulder in a death grip. Her eyes were on fire as she forced him to look at her, tasting bile in the back of her throat. “They’re civilians, refugees.”

Baines didn’t blink as he stared Lady down.

“There can be no refugees from Hell,” he declared, calm and collected. “Tsk, I thought you would have seen your error in that by now.”

“Your people…did that to them?!” Leon moaned, his hands clawing the hard, metal floor. Baines spared him a glance. Leon’s eyes were in slits, blood pounding hard and fast behind his ears. “You abducted Makaians who wanted nothing to do with this! They paid with their lives, all for your religious righteousness bullshit?!”

“...Those needing to be dealt with were dealt with swiftly,” Baines replied, his stone gray eyes peeking out from under his dark red shades.

Leon went white as a sheet. Dante snarled and stood between Baines and Leon, his fingers curled around Ebony and Ivory.

Arius hummed, seemingly unbothered by the impending battle brewing mere inches from him. His secretary stared blankly ahead. “Hmm. If his big play is to hope people sympathize with demons…” the man with plum-purple eyes couldn’t keep from laughing, trailing off with a cynical smile.

Vergil held the photos up high, his other hand tight around the Yamato. “This prison torturing innocent civilians is a private facility, whose ownership can be traced to a single parent corporation, Uroboros.”

“...Uroboros?” Leon echoed, as Arius’s gleeful expression soured immensely.

“The invasion of Makai and the lives it’s claimed from both our realms, has all been engineered by one man, Arius Von Erenburg. Your country’s entire cause for taking up arms against Makai is built on a lie. Manufactured by Arius. The so-called demon who attacked New York City, the White Rabbit, was in fact–”

“Cut the feed!” Arius roared into the phone his secretary handed him.

Vergil’s face was gone from the screen, a loud, jeering wailing filling the room. Everything and everyone was hushed, as if silenced by an invisible force. Arius was seething, his face a bright scarlet.

“...” That’s when Dante, silent as a grave, turned and ran from the room.

Leon’s eyes were on the ground. After a few minutes, he found the strength to stand again, lumbering after Dante like a zombie. Lady watched them exit with her heart in her throat. She avoided Baines’s glower while Arius slammed his fists down on the control console in front of him.

“Vergil. Compadre. Seeing as you’re Makai’s ambassador and all, I figured you and I should negotiate.”

“I got Leon’s location! He’s at DARKCOM HQ.”

“Chris?”

“Screw Hopper. We’re dealing with this ourselves. We have to hurry.”

“Right behind you.”

“Let’s go!”

“Come on!”

…CODE RED. VERGIL IS INCOMING. T-MINUS TEN MINUTES…

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get him back.” Dante whispered, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the smooth, round golden locket. He slid it into his inside jacket pocket, Rebellion strapped to his back. Leon then entered the room, dressed in black tactical gear. He held the Lightning Hawk steady, his sandy blonde bangs obscuring his eyes. He evaded Dante’s momentarily worried look, shaking his head.

Dante relented, leading the way. He listened to Leon’s heartbeat with every step he took, the only sound keeping him grounded now.

‘Vergil…this ends here.’

‘Dante…Vergil…’

‘...Leon, I’m here.’

Birth-day cake

2026-05-22T14:49:30+00:00

Ethan worked in a bakery when he was a teenager, so this time he decided to make the cake himself.

His little daughter, Rose, was turning seven. The girl was at the table eating the lunch that Ethan had prepared for her; since it was her birthday, she decided to have cheesy macaroni.

Leon left the house very early; Ethan had barely noticed he'd gotten out of bed. He simply left him a text message that said:

I'll go get Rosey's birthday present

-leon kennedy

What did you purchase?

-Ethan

Government secret

-Leon kennedy

If it's the puppy you promised a week ago, I'll kill you and I won't leave any cake for you.

-Ethan

Leon didn't reply to the last message, he simply left it on read.

"Dad, I'm done eating!" Rosey said, slamming her plate down on the table. "I want cookies!" she yelled, grabbing her fork and banging it on the table. "Cookies now! Cookies now!"

"Rosey, don't bang on the table." Ethan approached Rosey and took the fork from her hand. Rosey pouted. "I'll make you cookies after I finish the cake."

“ But I want them now! “ Rose tried to throw a tantrum.

Ethan put his hands to his forehead and pinched his brow. "Sweetheart, I can't do everything at once. Besides, didn't you want a cake like Matilda's? That kind of cake takes time," he tried to convince her. But Rosemary was determined to eat cookies.

“ I'll tell your father to buy some cookies, okay? “To which Rosemary nodded.

“I want chocolate chip cookies! “ Ethan smiled, picked up his phone and went into the chat.

Leon, honey, can you buy chocolate chip cookies for rosey?

-Ethan

Leon took a while to reply, but he sent him a thumbs-up emoji.

"When your daddy gets back, you'll have your cookies." Ethan hid the fact that Leon had gone to buy her birthday present; he wanted it to be a surprise, even though Ethan already suspected what it was. But he gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Look at the time," Ethan said, swiping down on his phone to check the time. "It's time for your favorite cartoon, go on." Rosey held out her arms, and Ethan lifted her by the armpits to help her down from the seat.

Her little daughter ran into the living room and turned on the television.

That will give him time to make the cake.

Ethan went back to the kitchen and started looking for the ingredients at the counter.

Chocolate bar, eggs, sugar, a pinch of salt, milk, flour, baking powder, butter at room temperature, and cocoa powder. All spread out on the counter.

In another bowl had chocolate for melting, with cream and powdered sugar.

He began creaming the butter and sugar together, then added the eggs one at a time, mixing them with the milk. He set the bowl aside and began mixing the flour, cocoa powder, and baking powder in another bowl, sifting it.

He put some butter and chocolate in a microwave-safe glass bowl and melt it in 30-second intervals. Once melted, he waited a bit and then add it to the bowl with the liquid ingredients.

and with a hand whisk he began to mix the melted chocolate with the eggs.

Now he had to gradually incorporate the dry ingredients, the flour.

Once he had a liquid batter, he looked for a cake pan, greased and floured the pan.

He poured the cake batter into the pan and put it in the oven, which was already preheated. He set the timer and let it cook for 40 minutes.

Ethan went to check on his daughter; her favorite animated show had already finished, so she was just drawing on the floor.

His little girl was already 7 years old. ‘How fast they grow up’ Ethan thought.

She watched her daughter draw for a few minutes

Once the 40 minutes had passed, the timer went off, Ethan went back to the kitchen and took the cake out of the oven.

He waited ten minutes so he could unmold it more easily.

Once the cake had cooled slightly, Ethan cut it in half.

He took the whipping cream and started whipping it to stiff peaks with 50 grams of sugar. Then he melted the chocolate in the microwave to gradually incorporate it into the cream.

Once everything was integrated, he began to make the cake.

Layer by layer he placed the chocolate cream along with a cup of sugared coffee to soak the sponge cake and then covered the whole cake with the chocolate cream.

Once the cake is finished, he stores it in the refrigerator.

Ethan rested in the living room with his daughter, she was quiet while watching another show that caught her attention.

They were in a comfortable silence.

Until the door opened, Rose suddenly stood up and ran to the door.

Ethan got up from the sofa and headed towards the entrance of the house.

“Oh no,” Ethan thought.

It was Leon, with a small brown box and chocolate chip cookies on top. “I can’t believe it,” Ethan mentally facepalmed.

"Daddy, what's that?" Rosemary asked curiously, wanting to take the box. Leon couldn't stop smiling. Ethan took the cookies while Leon put the box down on the floor.

Leon opened the box and inside was a puppy, a golden retriever. His daughter gasped in surprise and began to shout and jump with excitement.

“Puppy! Puppy!” Rosemary picked up the puppy and hugged it, tears of joy streaming down her face.”Daddy” sobbed rosemary.”thank you dad-dy”

Leon couldn't stop smiling and laughing. Leon looked at Ethan and gave him a knowing smile.

Ethan looked back at him.

"Maybe a puppy isn't such a bad idea, we need a protector," Ethan joked.

Leon let out a chuckle.

"Promise me you'll take care of him, Rosey, hm?" Leon said, looking into his daughter's eyes. Rosey simply nodded as she gave the puppy affectionate kisses.

“How should we name it?” Ethan asked.

“What about rookie” Leon said nonchalantly

“Seriously…”-Ethan pouted.

Rosemary picked up the puppy and said “Rookie!!”.

The adults laughed and went to the kitchen with their daughter and the newest member of the family.

Ethan placed the cake in front of his daughter with a candle that had the number seven on it.

“Make a wish, sweetheart,” Ethan told him, and Leon began to sing Happy Birthday, to which Ethan continued.

Rosey thought for a few moments and blew out the candle.

Leon stood on Rosemary's right side and Ethan on her left, and they hugged her, squeezing her between them, kissing her cheeks.

After that they sent Rosey to sleep in her roombed. They cuddled her and gave her a goodnight kiss. They left the puppy in Rosey's room, in the same box with a pillow for a bed.

They both fell asleep easily.

Leon was undressing in the master bedroom. Ethan watched him from the bed.

“admit you're a bit of an idiot for not consulting me about the puppy “ Ethan commented, a little angry.

“Well, but now she cleans her room by herself ” Leon replied, turning his back on him, almost on purpose, as if to seduce him.

"Just by picking up her toys from the floor," Ethan said, raising an eyebrow.

To which Leon replied, "That's what you promised her." And with a lopsided smile, he crawled to the bed.

Ethan kissed him on the mouth, a dry kiss. "Hmm, maybe that was okay. You made her very happy today... You'll clean up the dog mess," he threatened, placing a finger on Leon's lips to prevent him from saying anything else foolish. Or from daring to suggest that Ethan would have to clean everything again, in addition to the house.

Leon took Ethan's hand and kissed it, moving up from the back of his hand up his arm to Ethan's neck.

Ethan moaned at the wet kiss. Leon pulled away from his neck and kissed Ethan, opening his mouth with a finger and deepening the kiss with his tongue.

Leon's other hand slipped under Ethan's pajama shirt, and Ethan shivered under his touch.

Ethan took hold of Leon's hair, pulling his face closer to his, noses brushing and teeth clashing.

Leon rubbed his bulge against Ethan's. They both groaned, Ethan's hands tracing Leon's back, touching every wound.

Leon stopped kissing Ethan to look at how he had left his husband after his little intervention.

Leon removed Ethan's pants, exposing his boxers, which contained an erection. He removed the boxers and began to masturbate Ethan.

Ethan squirmed and whimpered under his touch, his blood boiling.

“Leon…ah mhph” Ethan stammered.

He slid his hand from the tip of his penis down to Ethan's anus. He teased his hole a little bit.

She took it from the bedside table lube. He placed it in his hand and began to penetrate Ethan's anus, little by little until he went from one finger to two, to three, and finally to four.

Leon's erection hurt, Leon took his jean bottoms off with his underwear.

so without further ado he took the lube again and spread it over his penis.

Ethan was whimpering, with small tears in his eyes, looking at Leon from under his eyelashes. A lustful look.

Leon pressed his penis against Ethan's wet entrance and pushed his penis into him. Leon grumbled as he thrust himself over Ethan. He grabbed his hips and pushed his penis in slowly, at a gentle pace, so that Ethan could get used to it.

which a minute later Ethan was asking between stammers — more, please l-leon— .

Leon granted that wish, and began thrusting even harder, almost both of them reaching climax after being in the missionary position.

Leon gave one last thrust and came inside Ethan.

Ethan sighed, still without cumming, and looked at Leon with a disappointed expression.

“ Don't worry, I won't leave you without your climax” Leon took Ethan's penis and jacked him off, still with Leon's dick in his ass.

The hole squirmed with every pump leon gave ethans cock

Ethan se squirmed and cummed.

Quieter

2026-05-22T14:27:38+00:00

For once, morning came not with dread that it may be his last. He blinked awake slowly. Finsing himself surrounded by a soft comforter and a solid weight around his waist. Leone smiled softly not needing to turn around to know who it was. He would know Chris’s touch even if he were blind. He lifted his left hand up to the light filtering through the curtains. His wedding ring back on his finger where it belonged. His skin no longer marred by Racoon City Syndrome. He would live to see another morning. Hopefully many more if he could help it.

The arm around his waist tightened and the person behind him hummed quietly “Morning” Chris mumbled keeping his face buried in Leon’s soft hair.

“Morning” Leon murmured back, his voice ragged. He shifted slightly in bed, a phantom ache in his lower back made him chuckle lightly. Last night, after Chris was done lecturing him about running off into danger without advanced notice or even leaving a message explaining, Chris proceeded to drag Leon into the bedroom where he showed Leon just how much he missed him.

Which, as it turned out, was a lot.

Leon bore the bites on his throat and the bruises on his thighs with pride. Sex with Chris had always been out of this world but last night had been insane. His throat ached from crying out Chris’s name. His thighs felt like lead. He was pretty sure the sheets were ruined.

He couldn’t give a flying fuck.

Chris pressed a kiss to Leon’s shoulder “Don’t run off on me again”

Leon smiled into his pillow, threading his hand with Chris’s. Their matching wedding rings glinting in the morning light “You got it”

===

Later that morning when they finally dragged themselves out of bed, Leon was making breakfast when the front door knocked. Chris went to answer it while Leon plated the food. Crispy bacon and eggs sunny side up. They were currently staying in one of the DOS’s many safe houses. Located in a quiet suburban neighbourhood that was known to keep to themselves.

Leon was just about finished pouring two cups of black coffee when Chris came back into the kitchen looking rather amused “Leon?”

“Yeah, Chris?” he asked turning around noting the amusement in his expression

Christ stifled a chuckle “I think we need to be quieter from now on”

Leon sipped his coffee before responding “What do you mean?”

“The neighbours just knocked on our door,” Chris began to explain “And they were like, hey Chris, could you maybe keep the noise down?”

His husband gave a confused tilt of his head “Did they say why?”

A surprisingly undignified snort escaped Chris “They didn’t have to. I’ve - I’ve never told them my name before”

It took a moment for it to click in Leon’s brain how the neighbours would know Chris’s name if they’d never introduced themselves. That’s when Leon remembered the night before and realised he had been much, much louder than intended “... Oh”

princess hair

2026-05-22T14:27:22+00:00

princess hair

Leon sat on the fluffy carpet in the living room, his long legs stretched out, trying to look dignified. It wasn’t exactly easy when two little girls were kneeling on either side of him, working on his hair with intense concentration.

“Not too tight, Rose,” he murmured as Rose carefully parted a strand of his blond hair with a serious expression. The girl nodded solemnly, as if she were performing an extremely important operation.

Emily, meanwhile, was already holding up a handful of pink and purple hair clips. “This one goes perfectly with your eyes, Leon!”

Leon smiled crookedly. “My eyes are blue, Em.”

“But the clips have glitter! That’s basically the same thing. Because every time you see Chris, your eyes sparkle just like those hair clips!”

Leon couldn't help but feel a warm glow in his heart at Emily's words. She already seemed to have a knack for observing things.

He let out a quiet sigh, but it was a fond one. Ever since Chris had left for work that morning, Leon had taken over watching Rose and Emily, because he had offered Grace to watch Emily for a week. He was the only one of the three who finally had time off anyway. And today was supposed to be a quiet day – watching cartoons, baking cookies, maybe some reading. Instead, he had officially been appointed as a living styling doll.

Rose skillfully divided his hair into several small sections and began braiding tiny little pigtails. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Emily immediately decorated each finished braid with a clip – butterflies, stars, a little unicorn.

“You do realize Chris is going to laugh at me when he gets home, right?” Leon asked dryly.

“He’s gonna think it looks really pretty,” Rose said confidently. “You look like a pretty princess!”

“A really cool pretty princess,” Emily added, sticking another sparkly clip right above Leon’s forehead.

Leon closed his eyes for a moment and let them continue. The little fingers in his hair felt strangely soothing. After all the years of fighting viruses, and zombies, this was… peaceful. Almost absurdly peaceful. So he let the girls keep fiddling with his hair.

When the front door finally opened, it was already afternoon. Leon heard Chris’s heavy footsteps in the hallway and the familiar sound of him hanging up his jacket. “I’m home!” Chris called out, as always.

Then he rounded the corner into the living room – and stopped dead. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His eyes widened, and a broad, far-too-amused grin spread across his face.

Leon just raised one eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the two tiny braids right above his forehead. “Not. A. Word, Redfield-Kennedy.”

Chris walked over slowly, arms crossed over his chest. He looked his husband up and down – the many little braids, the glittering clips, and especially the very prominent unicorn right at the top of his head.

“Baby”, Chris began in his deep, warm voice, “you look… enchanting.”

Leon snorted. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it.” Chris crouched down in front of him so they were at eye level. He reached out and gently touched one of the little braids. “Very… avant-garde. Very graceful. Very Leon-Redfield-Kennedy.”

Rose and Emily giggled behind their hands.

Chris grinned even wider. “I didn’t know I married a fashion influencer. Just wait until Jill sees this. Or Claire. They’re gonna demand I take a picture.”

Leon narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t suppress the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“A little,” Chris admitted. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Leon’s forehead, right between two clips. “But mostly I think it’s sweet. You let them do whatever they want with you.”

“They bribed me,” Leon muttered. “With hot chocolate.”

“And it worked!” Rose noted, clearly proud.

Emily triumphantly held up one last clip. “One more! The rainbow one!”

Chris sat down on the carpet beside Leon, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Go ahead, girls. I’ll hold him so he doesn’t run away.”

Leon leaned his head against Chris’s shoulder, the many little braids rustling softly. “I hate all of you,” he said, with zero conviction.

Chris chuckled quietly, kissed him again on the temple and whispered in his ear: “Liar. You love us.”

And Leon, surrounded by glittering hair clips and the warm weight of Chris’s arm around him, couldn’t argue.

The Dead Of Baby Blue

2026-05-22T13:30:06+00:00

The concrete wall is cold through the thin fabric of his shirt. The chill of it seeping into his spine–not that he could be bothered by it in the grand scheme of things when his hair’s still dripping wet at his feet.

What’s a little chill when he’s practically dissociated at one point to withstand the pain like a body on autopilot and the pilot’s long gone…

In fact, bracing his back against the cold wall is almost a welcomed sensation–something sturdy and real that’s slowly pulling him back from everything that’s distant and submerged.

Slumped against the wall, knees pulled in, shoulders shaking in small, uneven tremors he can’t quite suppress, he doesn’t know how long he's been sitting here. Ten minutes? An hour? Time does what it does during these sessions; stretches and compresses in ways that make it unreliable. After all, part of the torture is losing the notion of time…

Parts of his body still believe it’s not over. His hands, resting loose against his head, trembles in fine, almost imperceptible increments. He presses his palms flat against his forehead to stop it, which doesn’t work, which he already knew.

Every time the session drags a little longer and today was another new record. Long past the point where his body stopped cooperating and something more stubborn, more desperate had taken over. It was almost an outer body experience.

It was horrible.

It was frightening.

But it’s over–yet he hates that he can’t muster the strength to run the fuck away from this room, now.

So his legs buckle beneath his feet and he let himself slide down against the wall. And the moment he hits the ground, a tear slips down before he can stop it.

Then another. Silent. Steady.

Then a gut-wrenching sob not silent at all.

He presses his forehead hard against his wrists, and just like that, the breakdown becomes almost as worst as the nightmare.

The nightmare he can categorize. Box it, fill it under training, necessary, temporary… but this? The way his body has just decided to surrender to the weakness, blowing all the resilience he’s been made to build for hours here into smithereens? That’s unforgivable. And yet here he was, loud and steady, like a broken faucet he couldn’t fix.

He’s not even sad. He’s not sure what he is at that moment. But something has shaken loose inside when it was finally over and the tears are just the evidence.

Perhaps it’s the epiphany that this is what life had in store for him all along–when he’s kissed his grandma one last time before leaving town to join Raccoon City’s precinct, happy as a clam. When he’s been so scared to have fumbled his first day at work after his girlfriend broke up with him through the phone.

That every police code he’s learned by heart has been a silly waste of time.

That protecting citizens using the law has been a waste of dreams.

That all along, he’s been bound to end here, in this empty room bereft of nothing but a table for a handyman’s tool case and an execution chair.

Leon wants to fucking die.

He hears bootsteps approaching and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. Then the long descent of a man lowering himself to the floor without complaint, and suddenly there’s a smidgen of warmth at his left shoulder, the solid proximity of someone who has also been in that room with him for hours.

Krauser doesn’t say anything and for a while. There’s only the sound of Leon trying and failing to steady his sobbing and the twitches of that miserable bulb above their heads.

And yet, something stubborn survives the wreckage—even like this he finds the strength to cling to it—keeping his gaze down, refusing to look at Krauser first.

Krauser finally breaks the silence, voice low, almost thoughtful. “Someday this pain will be useful.”

Leon turns his head, eyes red, lashes clumped together, and looks at Krauser like he’s trying to decide whether to believe him—or hate him for it.

It’s almost harder than if he's said something cutting. Leon has braced for cutting. Has assembled the architecture of a response, something clipped and defiant. But Krauser just sits there with his forearms across his knees and his breathing even, meeting his gaze without flinching.

It’s always a small miscalculation, looking directly at Jack Krauser. The man has a quality of attention that feels like pressure—not aggressive, not warm, just total—like being observed by something that doesn't look away till it’s bored.

And those eyes are enduring glaciers in a boreal land where Leon wonders if anyone could ever be welcome.

They find his face and hold. And they win like fucking always because Leon looks away first.

But he doesn’t get far.

Krauser’s hand comes up, firm fingers catching his chin and pulling him back—not gently, but worse of all, not roughly either.

“Don’t turn away,” Krauser mutters. “Look me in the eyes with that angry, snotty little mug of yours.”

Something ignites in Leon's chest.

Snotty. He feels it move through him like a lit fuse—the indignity of it, the accuracy; the fact that Krauser can sit here after everything he did to him and still find the angle that makes Leon want to swing through absolute exhaustion.

It’s not even cruelty—which would have been easier to dismiss. It’s the precision. Him locating exactly the small remaining embers of his pride and breathing on it, deliberately, because this impossible man understands what a man needs to come back from something.

And that thumb presses against his chin.

Making him look into that wintrily appraisal that always feels like a nice little present saved for Leon’s eyes only.

He won’t fully understand it until later, would turn it over for a long time afterward in the dark but in that instant, he closes the distance and presses his mouth against Krauser's.

Hard, graceless. A declaration more than anything else. Take this. Feel this. Have a taste of the fucking snot.

The rebellious punch he doesn’t have the strength to land.

He wants Krauser to flinch, to pull back, to be thrown - he wants one moment where the man doesn't have the upper hand, where something lands that Krauser hasn’t already anticipated. He wants to land a hit. He wants to take something back from this session.

And most of all, he wants to show the prick he can’t just break him for hours then act like he can also be gentle by slinging bits of wisdom words at him like some fucking Ghandi.

But he ends up pulling away first.

Because Jack hasn’t moved.

There’s a flicker of expectation—like he’s waiting for impact. For the man to shove him off, to get pissed, to react.

But he hasn’t even flinched.

He’s exactly where he'd been, forearms across his knees, chin slightly tilted, watching Leon with an expression that’s—God, insufferable—and the faintest suggestion of a smile curls the edge of his lips.

“That supposed to mean somethin’?”

He’s fucking amused and Leon’s the one still leaking snot and tears.

Oh whatever the fuck.

Leon starts wiping at his face, rough and resentful. “Yeah,” he mutters hoarsely. “Means I’m not fucking broken.”

“Then I have more work on my plate.”

Leon snaps back at him with a pathetic, hateful glower. “Why do you fucking hate me?”

“‘Cuz you haven’t been damaged enough. And damaged people are dangerous. Know why?” Leon scrunches his brow and Krauser smiles. “‘Cuz they know they can survive.”

This time, Leon doesn’t look away.

“Plus I don’t hate ya, Rookie. You’re part of the fold I must train—and I always deliver good fucking results.”

His chest still heaves, his throat is still tight—but he holds eye contact, now even as his chin still trembles.

Krauser suddenly pokes at Leon's temple. “It all begins and ends in your mind, Rookie. What you give power to, has power over you, if you allow it. Do you wanna continue to be ruled by pain and whatever fucking monsters you told me about?”

It’s at that exact moment, that something slowly burrows inside his head. Like the faintest beam of light pushing its way through the dark clouds of the nightmare.

Krauser turns back to face forward, forearms settling on his knees again, gaze moving to where that vile, strapping chair is, and Leon gets suddenly dizzy from the whiplash of feeling like they’re just two men sitting in the training field now. As if nothing has shifted. Jack hasn’t been drowning him for hours in electrified water and Leon hasn’t planted his lips on his fucking superior… Or everything had, but the difference didn't matter to the other man.

Leon wetly coughs and stares at the side of his face.

Maybe…

Maybe he should start looking at this differently.

Maybe he’s not being buried in this dark place.

Maybe he’s being planted...

take my hand (take my whole life too)

2026-05-22T12:46:21+00:00

The first time you hold Leon's hand, he doesn't know what to do. You were his current mission objective, and his purpose was to keep you safe and bring you to the extraction point. Hand holding was not and is not something ever requested or required of him. Sure, sometimes he would hold a kids hand when he was extracting them, but it was more of a mechanism for protection and safety than it was for their comfort, though Leon knew that often, holding the kids hands helped them feel safer. He didn't mind that, but it wasn't ever the reason he did it. He just found that it was easier to keep track of kids that way, and only did it when he couldn't just carry the children.

Protection had never meant affection in any way. At least not usually. And besides, you weren't a kid. So hand holding or carrying would be, generally speaking, extremely unusual. But he liked you. Your conversations, the way you would lean into him when scared, how you looked to him for protection while also being a strong, grounded adult.

You don't even think about it when you shove your hand into his, crouched down next to him, peeking around the corner, both of you staring intently at the two blisterheads, the first of these kinds of zombies that you'd seen, with their jerky, erratic movements, their soft, sinister growls, and their unnaturally blown up, cranium heavy heads. Your hand just simply- finds his, heart pounding and muscles tense with anxiety. You do it automatically, like you'd always held his hand, like your hand belonged in his, like it was the right place to be. Granted, you'd probably hold your enemies hand if they were next to you too, but it wouldn't feel as safe.

When your hands interlace, Leon doesn't flinch or move. He simply adjusts. He is far too tactically trained for a behavior like that, especially in a situation where he's dealing with flinch-happy creatures like these monsters. But boy is he surprised. He glances at you out of the periphery of his vision. "you okay?" he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble. Most of his attention stays focused on the blisterheads, who haven't yet noticed either of you. Both of you are doing your best to keep it that way.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, your hand squeezing onto his even tighter.

Using his free hand, Leon pulls Requiem quietly from its holster, and aims the gun carefully. His hand moves with practiced confidence, the lines of his muscles flexing as he straightens it and points, lining both creatures up in the line of fire. When he's happy with his aim, he shoots once, the bullet slicing through both of their heads as if made of tofu. A spray of blood paints the rubble around the now twice-dead blisters. Leons lip twitches, a small smile flickering there. "Heh. Two blisters, one bullet." He does not let go of your hand as he holsters his gun once more, his eyes sweeping the perimeter of the building, checking to see if the noise would attract more creatures or if that was it. You stay quiet as he does so, keeping your eyes peeled as well.

"I think we're okay. For now at least." He says, his other hand grabbing your elbow to help you as you stand up.

"Thank fuck." You say, dusting some of the powdery cement that had landed on your cargo pants.

"Those things were scary."

Leon can't resist a smile when you say that, checking his comms for the to figure out the best place to. "The blisters? Nah. They're just irritating. Like hemmoroids. Can't get off my ass."

You let out a little snort of laughter, your residual fear slowly disappearing. Agent Ashrcroft's voice flickers through the comm as Leon asks for an update. "Leon, theres a safe house a couple blocks down from where you two are located. You can rest there for the night. I've sent the details to your device. Over. Will communicate more when you reach the safe house."

Leon nods. "Lets go." He says to you. He glances down at your intertwined hands once but doesn't say anything more. He doesn't let go, just starts to walk, his comm shoved back in his pocket, clearly knowing his way around here.

It was Raccoon City, after all, and he had said, in one of the brief moments where you got him to talk about himself, that he was from here. You glance around. Not a single building here was still fully intact. Roofs slopped, caving in. Clothing dirty and tossed. Cars abandoned, full of supplies rotting and useless.

It must be hard, you mused. Seeing the place he knew so torn up. You squeeze his hand, almost as if to comfort him, and he squeezes back on autopilot, his focus on ensuring that you get through the rubble and buildings to a safe place without dying. Leon is constantly on alert, his eyes always scanning the area. He was good at his job, you'll give him that. And you would miss him when this job was over, which was odd to say because these had literally been some of the worst days of your life.

The two of you make it to the safe house with no serious trouble, and you finally let go of his hand, almost regretfully, missing the warmth and comfort immeadiately as you guys set up camp.

"Time to rest." Leon says. He takes some of his guns and weapons off, resting them to his sides. But Requiem, he keeps on him. His hatchet, which he takes care to sharpen and clean, wiping flakes of dried blood off. You watch him cleaning methodically, the motion repetitive and soothing, finding yourself staring at his hands. It had been awful nice to hold them. You find yourself wishing you had another excuse to hold his hand.

As the two of you dig into some canned tuna and stale saltines, a comfortable silence fills the air. You finally allow yourself to take a breath, knowing that in this area, you were at least safe for the night. Or that was the hope, anyways. You felt calm, with the little lamp buzzing softly, the two sleeping bags rolled out, yours on the small twin bed, Leons on the floor, despite your numerous offers to let him have the twin bed instead.

No no, ever the gentlemen, he simply says. "take the bed. i prefer the floor anyways. harder to sneak up on." you want to argue with his logic, but then decide that its not worth your time, and simply accept his offer of kindness.

You look up from your sad meal of tuna flakes to see him staring at you, his gaze burning a hole in your skin. It shocks you, the intensity of his gaze. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking when he stares like that. He glances away once he notices your gaze, and the moment passes as he stands up to check that the place is secure one more time before its time to sleep.

After the food and a simple washing up, you curl into your sleeping bag. it is nice to sleep on top of a bed again, you have to admit, the softness feeling foriegn after your abduction. Even though you can feel the springs hidden in the thin mattress, a twin bed has never felt more comforting and beautiful in your entire life.

"Thanks for letting me have the bed, Leon." You murmur, voice thick from tiredness.

"Glad you're comfortable." Is is simple reply, as he unzips his sleeping bag and settles in himself.

"Good night." You murmur, already drifting off. Leon turns off the little lamp with a soft click.

"Good night." He replies back. "Sleep well."

As the two of you are walking down the city streets the next morning, you actually find it quite peaceful. You really shouldn't, you suppose, but its been a couple of mornings like this and knock on wood, nothing too terrifying had happened in the mornings. The cold seemed to make the creatures go mildly dormant. Or perhaps they were more nocturnal than anything. You weren't sure. But whatever it was, mornings had always been relatively peaceful.

"Leon," You say, as the two of you walk over a bridge that feels like it may soon collapse beneath your feet, creaking and groaning. "Do you like what you do?"

"What I do?" He repeats, sparing you a quick glance, before it returns to scanning the horizon for dangers. He kicks a crushed soda can, the label long deteriorated.

"It seems like such a tough job. Mentally and physically." You say simply. "And so dangerous."

"It helps people." He replies back. "And I have more personal reasons as well." His eyes flick down to his gloved hand.

"I see." You reply. You don't want to pry.

"I've lost people." He continues quietly. "Seen people lost. Seen people gone. Watched people turn. It is a mercy, to take these people out of their misery. They're in pain, you know. They're supposed to be dead but they aren't, not fully, not yet. It is a mercy. A kindness."

He still refers to them as people sometimes, you note. Interesting for someone who has been at the hand of so many of their deaths.

"And, if I can save one more person whose alive? It's worth it. All the shit i deal with. I can't save em all." His face tenses at that, and he actually stops for a second, his gaze far off in the distance, lost in a memory.

"But I can try."

"Can't make killing some of these people easier though. Even if you save a few."

Leon shrugs at that. "Maybe not. But I've always been confident that what I've done has been the right thing. Even back when I was a starry-eyed recruit for the Raccoon City Police Department."

Leon actually laughs for a second, taking your hand and helping you over a large pile of rocks. "Technically this is breaking client confidentiality, but I don't think she'd care. I helped this kid: Sherri. A long time ago. She helped me too, more than she knew then. More than she knows now."

He reaches into his back pocket, behind his hatchet, and pulls out a sleek black wallet, which he flips open. You see a blonde girl, dressed in blue graduation regalia, her smile bright and sunny.

"This was her high school graduation. She sent me this picture." Leons smile softens as he looks at Sherri. "She got to graduate because of me."

"I don't always know how the people I save turn out. But I never regret it. Even saving one person."

"Oh man," You say softly. "Thats so beautiful. I kind of thought you just liked beating zombies up."

Leon lets out a huff of laughter. "It is satisfying in it's own way."

You squeeze his hand lightly. He blinks in surprise, glancing down at your hand, which has once again found his. "Thanks for sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but he does squeeze your hand in return. And if your heart fluttered the tiniest bit at that, that was no ones buisness.

A couple days later, the two of you are walking to the next safehouse, later than you'd usually be out. There had been more zombies than usual out crawling, and Agent Ashcroft had insisted that you move now, even though it was late at night.

Leon had been more open with you than usual, talking more, sharing more, and you can't help but think that you were going to miss him when this was over. A plant rustles menacingly and you can't help but grab his arm.

He glances over, hand coming to rest more securely in yours. "You scared?"

You nod. He pulls out his gun with his free hand. "I'll keep you safe." He says. "You can trust me."

"I know."" You reply, without a single thought, already feeling better with your arm wrapped around his. Its softer than you'd thought, less muscled almost. "I trust you."

The barest hint of a smile makes its way to his face. "Good. You should."

He guides you through the rest of the way to the safe house with one hand, the lamp secured to the strap on his breastpocket, lighting the way. Although you hadn't laced your hands together, he does it for you, grabbing your hand and meshing them together, your arm tucked still in the crook of his elbow. He squeezes your hand absentmindedly sometimes, as he continues to walk, almost as if to check in, make sure you knew that he was still there, still protecting you, still your safe space in this dark night.

He smells good, you realize. Even though he really shouldn't, not after all the days you've spent with barely any ability to stay hygenic. But he does. Not in cologne kind of way, though sometimes a faint trace of whatever colonge he usually wears drifts through the air, but more in the human kind of way, the natural scent each individual human has, indescribable in its uniqueness. It's soothing. You have to resist the urge to tell him this, even though he probably wouldn't care. Maybe, just maybe you have the tiniest crush on him, and you feel like saying that might make it very obvious.

Regretfully, the two of you do in fact reach the safe house, and, no longer having an excuse to hold on to him, you release him from your grip, immeadiately missing the comfort of holding onto him. He almost seems reluctant for you to let go, looking down at your hands as you pull your arm away.

But neither of you say anything.

Today, you are blessed with a can of spaghetti bolognese. Or, you think more honestly, a can of something that vaugely resembles that. It's got tomatoes in it, and perhaps it smells a little bit like beef, but it's not exactly...well. But it is a meal, and you are appreciative.

Leon sits across from you. You're lucky enough that this safe house has two beds, so he's placed most of his stuff down on one bed, the one nearer to windows and doors, and yours is more inside.

"You know," You say. "I'm going to miss this after its over."

Leon drags his metal fork through the can of gummy spaghetti. "Miss this." He huffs out a small laugh. "Now thats not one I've heard before. Want to explain?"

"Well..." And the rest of the words exit your mouth before you can stop it. "I'm going to miss spending time with you."

"With me?" He says, his smile twisting upward a little as he makes eye contact. "Really?"

"Yeah." You say. "You're..."

Sweet. Funny. Charming. Protective. Thoughtful. Handsome. Clever. Strong.

"Kind." You land on. "And also really cool." Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hope he can't see it in the golden glow of the lamp.

"You think I'm cool?" He asks, and you see Leon Kennedys face light up for the first time as he teases you a little.

You can't help the smile that comes to your face. "Don't let it get to your head."

He takes a bite of potential spaghetti. "You're...cool too." He pauses. "And sweet."

The two of you stare at each other, the lamp flickering and buzzing softly in the background, illuminating you with a warm glow. A tension, a good tension is flowing, ebbing, reaching a breaking point, sparking sharply in your veins and you think its going to burst, and he opens his mouth to say something when his comm buzzes and you startle.

He pulls his comm out, a little short when he replies, his mouth set in a tight line, irritated at having to do anything but talk to you.

"A little busy, Grace. Is it urgent?"

Graces voice crackles through the comm. "Adas on the line. She wants to talk." Leons eyebrows raise.

"Ada wants to talk, huh?" He smiles a little. "Alright, give me a second."

He walks to the makeshift bathroom to get a little privacy, but you can still hear the muffled sounds of a conversation. He sounds surprisingly animated and your heart sinks a little bit. Of course he would have a girl back home. It made a lot of sense. He was handsome, thoughtful, kind. You'd sort of thought the two of you were having a moment back there, but clearly you'd been reading the situation wrong.

Leon laughs from the other room, and you can't help but feel a little rejected. You know its not this womans fault, that she was probably awesome and amazing and wonderful, but you really liked Leon.

And fine, you did have a crush on him. Could anyone blame you?

But, you decide, as he comes back, it was his life to live. And you hoped that he lived it well.

You are in your sleeping bag, on the bed and ready to sleep by the time he comes back from the conversation. You'd give yourself a day to lick your wounds, and then accept things as they were. You had already curled up.

Leon pauses at your "sleeping figure" turned away from him, whispering your name softly. You don't reply. Pretending to sleep was your new plan, not just to be in bed already. You can hear his footsteps approach where you are sleeping, and with gentle, gentle hands, he takes the hair that has fallen in your face and brushes it carefully behind the curve of your ear, leaving a trail of shivers going down your spine, the pads of his fingers rough and callous, but the touch itself impossibly soft. He says your name again. When you don't reply, he sighs and flicks off the light.

"Sleep well." He says, and you hear him settle into his sleeping bag.

Your eyes open in the pitch black darkness, his touch lingering on your skin, burning a hole in your stomach. You weren't sleeping tonight.

Only one more day to the extraction. You take solace in this, even if it means traveling at night again, and even if it means saying goodbye to Leon after this mission. After he sends you back to safety, even though honestly, you've found so much safety in his company that you'll miss him no matter what. Even if he did have a thing with an amazing girl named Ada.

So tonight, you are going to brave the streets alone. No holding his hand. No grabbing his arm. Not that you should have been, but by the end, maybe you had thought of it as a sort of cute, romantic thing to do. Yes, you did do it because you were scared, but also because you liked holding his hand. It felt warm and calloused, but so so comforting.

For the first 30 minutes out after dark, this works out just fine. You just had to make it to the safe house, you encourage yourself. Just the safe house, then traveling to the nearby helipad and you would be on your way back home, to your safe, warm bed, and your lovely lovely little dog. You hoped your roommate was taking care of Engel.

But then Leons flashlight casts a suspicious shadow, and you jump twenty miles into the air, a squeal far too loud for a situation like this escaping your mouth. Your hand reaches out to grab Leons, but at the last second you curve it back to cover your mouth instead. You could do this.

"Sorry," You whisper, trying to keep your voice down.

"Happens." Leon says, scanning your surroundings, his hand hovering over Requiem. He glances over at your hand casually, but you don't reach to grab his. Honestly, you feel a little awkward after what had gone on, what with Ada, and as much as you would like to grab his hand, you were very stubborn and very embarrassed, and it was a potent combination that prevented you from doing anything else.

The two of you continue your journey, but you are much more on alert, and very regretful at your promise to yourself to not hold his hand, which you desperately wanted to do. You walk in the dark, quietly.

A couple minutes later, Leon holds his hand up, indicating for you to stop. Hand signals were far safer than speaking at this time of night, and you stop immediately, waiting to see what he's going to do. He takes out his gun, holding it in his right hand and then pauses, seeming to be in debate about something. Were you coming up on some very unsafe underpass? You weren't sure but you were also very confident that even if you were, Leon would be able to keep you safe. In some way shape or form. It would just double suck to not be able to hold his hand.

You are in your little deliberations so long that Leon has to cough lightly to get your attention. You look up, mildly startled, and see that hes been holding his free hand out to you.

You blink at him, almost confused. Does he want you to hold his hand? Why? You were scared and happy but still, before you had started to grasp onto his hand, he had never offered to hold yours.

"You don't have to," You say, feeling a little awkward, almost as if you'd been too seen, like he'd know that you liked holding his hand, not just cause it was protection, but that you liked the feel of his hand in yours, like walking beside him. All of those things. It almost felt like you bared your soul a little bit, and then found out about Ada, which was just embarrassing, honestly.

He sighs, shifting his weight back and forth. "I know that." He says back, making eye contact with you. You feel his gaze on you, something akin to desire in them.

"Oh." You say softly. And he's won. You reach your hand out to put in his. They mesh together, and you breathe an unconscious sigh of relief. A little smile flickers on his face.

"You find me that safe?" He asks quietly, his voice barely a murmur as you start to walk.

"I'm not dignifying that with an awnser." You breathe back, deliberately focusing your eyes on the road.

"Alright." He says back, but there's a smugness in his voice that makes you want to punch him, just the tiniest bit. Or perhaps kiss him. It was really up for debate.

Dinner that night is very quiet. Tonight you get to eat beef stew, with chunks of what might have once been potatoes and carrots mixed in as well.

Both of you are thinking about this ending. About having to say goodbye. It's not a pleasant thought, and that is somehow insane to you.

After all, you'd been abducted, held hostage, and then verbally harassed for days on end with little food or water. And then Leon had come in, and within a couple minutes, you'd been untied, seen your captors beaten up, and been on your way home. Or, you guessed, it did make sense that you'd like Leon. But for him, it was just a normal Tuesday. It just also majorly sucked that you liked Leon. What could you possibly say to him at the end of this?

Hey, just in case you aren't majorly in love with Ada, would you like to go out with the hostage you saved? We've already lived with one another, so I think we might be pretty well suited for each other. Anyways let me know what you think. I'd give you my number but I think its in my case file, along with other information that I think you probably shouldn't know about me. But hey, who's counting, amirite?

Anyhow. That was sort of all you could think of and it really wasn't great. So... it was quiet. He was such an interesting person too. The kind of person you'd simply love to know more about.

But all you could simply hope for in this case was that he did have someone lovely waiting for him back home. You'd not seen a ring, but that didn't mean he wasn't promised to someone.

You finish washing up, getting ready to go to bed. There were two beds today, and you had the more interior one, as usual. You curl up in your bed as Leon comes back from washing up as well, his hair slightly damp in an undecently handsome way.

"Good night Leon," You say as he flicks off the lamp. "I'll miss you." You add quieter.

"You too." He replies, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

A loud noise jolts you out of your sleep, and you are immediately on edge. It's too dark to be morning, so you quickly roll out of your sleeping bag and rummage around for the lamplight, flicking it on with fumbling hands.

It's Leon. He's covered in cold sweat, his face beaded with little droplets and scrunched up against some unknown fear. You tap his shoulder lightly, shake him, and yell his name, but nothing seems to pull him out of this dream that has gotten a hold of him.

Feeling desperate and a little delirious, you reach out and grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, very aware that he could accidentally throw a punch that would absolutely break your nose the closer you got to him. If you couldn't wake him up, maybe you could calm him down? Hopefully. Dear god.

His breathing slows a little as you hold his hand. You sit down on the edge of his sleeping bag that has been shoved off with movement, holding his hand and staring at the gun he has stored on the floor next to him.

Figuring this couldn't hurt, you edge closer to him, now sitting on the bed with him. His breathing is still heavy, and he seems to be in distress. You weren't going to push any boundaries by getting any closer, however.

Leon has other plans. In his sleep, his hand farther from you ends up flopping over your stomach as he sort of curls into you. His breathing is deepening though, so despite this being the most awkward position you've ever been in, for a multitude of reasons, you let it slide. Besides, it was almost like cuddling with him. Almost. Just a little bit.

You tap gently him on the shoulder one more time, testing his lucidity. Still asleep. There is no reaction to your tap, though you suppose with Leon there never would be. He was too good at managing his reactions for safety reasons. Besides, you think mildly, shifting your body so that you were very clearly just sitting next to him despite one of his arms being wrapped around you.

You sit there with him as he sleeps, not wanting him to become distressed again. What the fuck is happening?

"Leon. Leon!" You whisper.

Finally he lets out a small, sleepy moan. "Mmm. What?"

Well...at least he was awake, even if he wasn't entirely conscious.

"You-doing okay now?"

"From-what?" And you have a sudden realization that hits you like a truck. Hes- hes allowing himself to be sleepy around you. Must be allowing himself to, because he's so aware. So so aware. Had to be, for his job.

"Don't worry about it." You murmur. And as much as you don't want to, you realize that its probably just about time to go back to your own sleeping bag. "Alright. Goodnight."

You peel his hand off of you as gently as you could, trying not to distress him, while simultaneously not letting go of the hand you were still holding.

As you slowly remove his hand, it suddenly tightens imperceptibly, and he's pulling you in by the waist. Your breath catches, and you are wide awake now, finding yourself curled up against Leon Kennedy.

"Stay." He murmurs, his voice thick and soft. "Please."

"Okay." You whisper. His eyes stay shut, his breathing even and slow. It deepens out eventually, and you reach over to turn off the lamp, but not before you stare at him with unfiltered ache. His flaxen hair, messed up and flopped everywhere. His face so young and unstrained in sleep. His eyelashes, blonde in colour. You could stare at him for ages and you weren't sure you'd ever get another chance. He was so beautiful, so gentle, so kind, and you could feel your self falling for him. Just a little.

Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you know you are going to fall into the thick, warm recesses of sleep soon. Your head droops onto his shoulder and you curl into him a little, abandoning all pretenses. His arms go to wrap around you, enveloping you in his strong, warm embrace.

It's the best night of sleep you've gotten in a while.

The next day, things move too fast. Too fast. Leon is gone by the time you wake up. You are glad for this, honestly. Breakfast is quiet, though he does say thanks once, to which you nod and say of course. Its not as awkward as you'd think. Almost as if you'd always been like this, the two of you. It's a terribly domestic thought at you force yourself to push it away. It's a short walk in the cool morning to where the helicopter is waiting. Leon lifts you into it without a second thought.

Ada ends up being the one whose piloting the helicopter, and my god, you can't even blame Leon for being in love with her. Shes gorgeous, she can pilot, and shes got amazing style? Who wouldn't fall in love with her? She was also terribly nice to you, giving you her coat, which smelled expensive, and a small kiss on the cheek. Leon's face brightens when he sees her, and she holds her hand out.

You look away, refusing to admit that it was a little painful to see, but also point blank refusing to look as Leon probably kissed her hand.

"Never thought I'd see the day." Leon says.

Ada just laughs. "Neither did I. But we can talk about this later. Lets get her home."

You were glad for the little time you had gotten with Leon.

You cant hear anything with the blades whirring above your head, and you can't stop thinking about last night. The way his hand tightened around you. The way his breathing blew softly against your neck, the warmth of his body against yours. The feeling of resting your head against another's shoulder, the knowledge that you were being held, that he had wanted you to help him sleep. What had all of it meant? Was it really nothing?

And then its over. You're back home. In your native country. Leon helps you, his hands grasping your waist and making sure you don't fall off the helicopter. You open your mouth to say something. Thanks seems too small, and I will miss you horrendously seems too big in the light of day.

And unfortunately, barring a better thing to say, your brain decides on: "Thanks, miss." Combining the two potential statements into an equally terrible sentence.

Leons lips quirk up into a little half smile. "Miss?"

You wince. "Sorry, I was trying to say thanks and I'll miss you a lot all at the same time. I fucked it."

"Why...would you miss me?" He asks, sounding confused. Now you're the one whose confused.

"Well- this is the last I'm gonna see of you, isn't it?"

"It is?" Leon asks back, surprised. He runs a hand through his hair, a nasty thing to do to you. "I don't really have a next mission planned, and I kind of thought we hit it off. Just a little."

You laugh, a little exasperated.

"Well...you've got Ada, and I cant-"

Leons face scrunches up and he looks even more confused. "What do you mean I've got Ada?"

"Cmon, Leon, you took her call and then you took her hand earlier and-"

"Ada's a lesbian. She's marrying our coworker, Claire Redfield. I was congratulating her both times. She's a very dear friend."

Oh! Oh.

"You thought we were- no. In the best way possible, Ada and I are meant to be friends. I was actually going to- uh- if you wanted to, ask you to be my plus one to her wedding."

"Oh! I mean-yes! I mean sorry- I assumed- should-"

"And then, I was going to do this." He pulls you closer to him by your waist, one hand coming to rest in your hair, the other on your jaw, rubbing a gentle pattern.

albert whiskers x his dog leon.

2026-05-22T12:54:58+00:00

by mirrorcle

ugly chibi anime style fanarts of albert wesker dressed as a cat and leon s. kennedy dressed as a dog 🐱x🐶

every part/chapter are panels telling a story, so it's a mini comic.

Words: 9, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Albert Wesker, Leon S. Kennedy
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Albert Wesker
Additional Tags: albert whiskers, Fanart, Cute, Meet-Cute, Funny, Weskennedy, wesker x leon, Albert Wesker is Bad at Feelings, Soft Albert Wesker, Good Albert Wesker, Protective Albert Wesker, Leon S. Kennedy Needs a Hug, Hurt Leon S. Kennedy, Leon S. Kennedy is a Sweetheart, Romance, Love at First Sight

It's never too late

2026-05-22T12:41:50+00:00

Chapter Text

You wake up as your alarm starts ringing. Still pretty groggy, you check the time. It's 4 in the morning, you immediately get out of bed and start with your chores since you have a long day ahead. Making coffee, putting food out for the cat, putting seeds in the bird feeder in your garden, inspecting your plants among other things. You then go out on a walk around your neighborhood.

Your town is 45 minutes away from Washington DC but is thankfully mostly self sufficient with schools and hospitals. A good chunk of the population here is incredibly nice and they are always there for each other. Twenty minutes into the walk you start remincing about your dead husband, how it's been more than 27 years since you lost him in the racoon city incident and became a single mother. You've finally come to terms with it and thinking about him is not so somber anymore, instead you're reminded of the good things, the happy times you two spent together, it always manages to bring a soft smile to your face.

You've taken a shower and now you're driving to your coffee shop 45-50 minutes away from your house. Lily, your daughter calls you as usual just after she wakes up.

"Morning mom!"

"Morning sweetheart! How's everything going"

"Work's been crazy mom, I don't even know where to start"

"What happened?"

Lily hesitates a little because she is unsure about how you'll react but decides to say it anyways.

" The recent deaths of raccoon City victims due to the T virus syndrome"

"Well...." You try to say something but you just can't seem to say anything.

"How's Mocha (the cat) doing?" Lily asks quickly, changing the subject.

"Mocha is still as energetic as ever" you reply.

You two continue chatting as usual

"Mom I think it's about time you start dating again" Lily says

"Oh come on in 47, I'm too old for stuff like dating and romance"

"No you aren't, it's never too late for anything "

"Yea, yeah whatever" you reply.

"Ughhhhhhh, well I hope you do find a boyfriend soon. Anyways I gotta go to the Gym, Bye Mom."

"Bye sweetheart!"

Once the call cuts, you arrive at your coffee Shop.

It's now 6:00 in the morning and you've entered your shop.

Your shop, mostly known as Mocha's cafe is located in Washington DC. Thankfully your father's side of the family had bought this place ages ago leading you to inherit it.

The cafe isn't the most extravagant, but it's definitely cozy. It's always full of this subtle scent of vanilla, chocolate and coffee. There's photos of Mocha, your grey domestic shorthair everywhere.

"Morning!" Your sister Janet exclaims.

"Morning Janet, let's get started on the cookies and the croissants shall we?"

You and Janet start cleaning the cafe and baking the cookies and croissants respectively. The part timer Carl comes at 7:00. It's 7:30 in the morning and now it's time to open the cafe.

A black Porsche stops in front of your cafe.

The cafe door opens and a handsome middle aged man not much older than you enters.

He's by far the most attractive man you've seen and honestly he almost took your breath away, but you managed to keep your composure.

"Good morning!, welcome to Mocha's cafe! What would you like to have?"

"Just an americano"

"Is the order to go?" You ask.

"No I'll drink it here"

"May I have your name, sir?"

"Leon Kennedy"

"Alright sir please take a seat I'll bring your order soon"

You bring his order to him at his table, the sharp scent of his perfume going up your nose intoxicating you.

"There you go Sir, is there anything else you'd like?"

"No need, thanks for asking though"

He then proceeded to drink his americano and it felt as if he was........stealing glances at you? You felt as if he was looking towards you every chance he got, but the cafe eventually got busy and you couldn't be bothered to think about anything except work at the moment.

The time to close was coming near and we sent Carl home and started to prep pastries and stuff for tomorrow.

The door opened again and there stood Leon Kennedy.

This time he looked more worn out and tired and somehow sexier? Deciding to not focus on that right now, you take his order and close the cafe once he leaves.

He was all you could think about on the drive back home. Those vibrant blue eyes which made you feel like you were gazing into the ocean or his peppery blond hair which suited him so perfectly or the shirt that he was wearing which clung to every muscle on his body. This was the first time in 27 years that you had felt this way.

Even when you were back home that's all you thought about. Effectively losing your sleep.

Инстинкт

2026-05-22T12:29:17+00:00

by heart_attacks_you_back

Омега-Виктор в течке пользуется предоставившейся возможностью пообщаться с альфой-Леоном поближе...

Words: 2569, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Русский

Fandoms: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Categories: M/M
Characters: Victor Gideon, Leon S. Kennedy
Relationships: Victor Gideon/Leon S. Kennedy
Additional Tags: Omega Verse, Alpha/Omega, Dominant Bottom, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink, Knotting, Thigh Riding, Scents & Smells, Omega Victor Gideon, Alpha Leon S. Kennedy, Bottom Victor Gideon

Iridessa's break up

2026-05-22T11:40:02+00:00

by Pennie_Mae

When Dante heard when Trish and Lady told him about Iridessa is breaking up with him, he was shocked and quiet without his emotions.

Words: 536, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Multi-Fandom, Disney Fairies | Tinker Bell (Movies), Devil May Cry (Gameverse), Devil May Cry (Cartoon 2025)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen
Characters: Dante (Devil May Cry), Vergil (Devil May Cry), Iridessa (Disney Fairies), Patty Lowell, Ada Wong, Leon S. Kennedy, Lady (Devil May Cry), Trish (Devil May Cry), Tinker Bell (Peter Pan), Rosetta (Disney Fairies)
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Iridessa (Disney Fairies), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante (Devil May Cry) & Leon S. Kennedy, Leon S. Kennedy & Patty Lowell, Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong, Ada Wong & Patty Lowell, Lady/Trish (Devil May Cry)
Additional Tags: Heartbreaking, No Incest, No Porn, Letters, Games, Chess, Happy Ending, Dante (Devil May Cry) is a Sweetheart, Friendship, Lovers to Strangers, Emotional, Goodbyes, Song: Time After Time (Cyndi Lauper), Songfic, Brothers

ᥫ᭡. ⋮ older .ᐟ leon with a very obvious size kink .ᐟ

2026-05-22T11:27:29+00:00

“mhm, i don't think s’gonna fit, baby,”

teasing. leon’s teasing. he has to be after he’s spent hours slowly working you open. making you come on his tongue and fingertips, making you drip until your cunt is soaked and puffy, all so you can take him like you want to but he just keeps teasing you and it’s torture

soft sheets stick to your sweaty back where you're laid out in the middle of your bed with your thighs spread and held down by leon’s large hands pressing into the backs of them. he looks huge towering over you, broad shoulders, rippling muscles and his big cock nestled against your aching and very empty pussy

“it will—you said so—please,” you babble mindlessly while you clench around nothing as if that will somehow prove that you’re ready for him. if you aren’t prepared by now then you simply never will be and the latter doesn’t bare thinking about when you need him to fuck you so desperately

leon’s big everywhere, it’s no secret to anyone really, but his cock had to have been crafted by some kind of god. even as he’s grinding along your core, there’s more of him not touching you at any given moment because of his size. he’s long and thick, a double whammy and more than you could have ever dreamt of

“i don’t know,” leon hums, long and drawn out whilst he tips his chin to his chest to look at the spot where your bodies meet. his fingers brush over the backs of your thighs, soothing trembling muscles in a way that only he could manage to do while he’s being so cruel, “don’t want to split you in half, sweetheart,”

you moan wantonly at the idea of it. being fucked full and broken in two on his cock. you want it—no, you need it. writhing against the sheets and begging is getting you nowhere, so you try a slightly different approach instead, “just the tip then, please,” you whimper and tickle your nails against his wrists

for the first time since he spread you wide, leon falters. a groan rumbles through his chest like thunder and his hips buck involuntarily, making his balls slap against your soft skin, “fuck—yeah, okay,” he mumbles under his breath, like you’re not supposed to hear it, and finally starts to pull his hips back

his cock slips down the center of your cunt, aided by the sheer amount of slick that’s coating your skin, and as the fat head of him slots against your hole, you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. though, when leon still doesn’t give you what you want, you release it in a whiny, “please, please, plea—oh god,”

begs turn into sobs the second leon suddenly presses into you and stretches you around the tip of his cock. it aches in the best way possible and has your back arching away from the mattress as you fight against leon’s hands to squirm and force yourself further down his length

“not god but close enough,” leon grunts as you tighten like a vice, stuck somewhere between trying to pull him closer and push him out at the same time. he’s struggling too and you know it, the urge to sink into you is written in the furrowing of his eyebrows and his cock is twitching with anticipation

it’s not nearly enough to satisfy either of your needs though, just the tip of him was never going to be enough, but as your lips part and a beg for more sits right on the tip of your tongue, you look up at leon and see the smirk spreading across his face and you know exactly what it means straight away, “i can’t,” you pout

leon shrugs, “you can and you will, angel,” he rasps before he leans forwards slightly and spits directly onto your clit. you whine as one of his hands leaves your thigh and then moan when the calloused pad of his thumb spreads his saliva over where you’re very sensitive, “come like this, then i’ll fuck you, promise,”

electricity fizzles up your spine and shudders through your shoulders while you realise that he’s going to drag this out even longer. he’s going to make you come again and there’s nothing that you can do about it—not that you even want to try when you know that he’ll make it feel so good

your eyes pinch shut and your stomach tenses as his rough swipes turn into soft circles, going around and around your bundle of nerves, which causes your cunt to flutter around him. heat erupts in your stomach, a fire that’ll build quickly because it always does when leon’s the firestarter

“you’re just too small sweetheart, need to make sure you can definitely take me,” leon sighs condescendingly and you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, even though yours are still shut and you can’t actually prove that he's looking at you but somehow, you just know

he's good with his hands, he knows what he's doing, so the slide of his thumb over your clit is easy. all you have to do is lay there and take it, focus on the feeling that’s already beginning to coil tight and you’ll come in no time, especially if leon keeps talking filthy whilst burning holes into you

“fuck—wish you could see how tight you are, pretty little hole strugglin’ to take just the head of my cock,” leon murmurs as he ghosts his thumb down the center of your cunt. you huff over the loss of his touch but it’s back within a second and it’s devastating

his fingertip still goes in a circle but this time he’s tracing around the spot where your pussy is squeezing his cock. your delicate skin against his velvety skin, both wet and sticky with your slick and his precome as it leaks out of you. it’s filthy and it makes your head spin

you can’t help but sniffle and rake vicious lines over his wrist, the one that you can still reach and dig your nails into while he teases, and he returns the touch with a bruising hold on your thigh which makes your eyes flutter open, “ruin me, break me—please—just do anything,” you beg up at him

leon’s cock kicks and his jaw clenches, “yeah?” he grunts afterwards and then his thumb is back on your clit and rubbing harsher, uneven, circles, “fuck you full, make you bulge with my cock, mold your cunt to only take me, ruin you for everyone else?” he rambles through deep growls

“yes—fuck yes—you already have!” you wail while your thighs tremble and your clit throbs under his assault. there’s nothing nice in his movements anymore, it’s devolved into a driven need that’s dirty and abrasive and you love it even as it starts to become too much, too fast

everything in your body is screaming no as you hurtle towards another orgasm, the number of which is unknown because you lost the ability to keep count of them hours ago, but you can’t stop and you won’t stop while the ache in your stomach multiplies and your legs try to pull together, though leon won’t let them

“close, angel?” leon asks lowly and you could hear the smirk in his tone even if you couldn’t see it. you nod frantically in response, unable to use any of your words because of him, “yeah? you’re doing so good—fuck, you’re so good, letting me use you like this,” he groans, each word getting you closer

your chest begins to heave, panting in short, desperate breaths as leon’s thumb starts to swipe back and forth quickly over the tip of your twitching clit. you’re right there, teetering on the edge, ready to let bliss take ahold as your brain turns to mush. you just need one final little push and then—

“come baby, come for me,”

it’s such a simple order and yet, your body listens to it before you even have the chance to process it. the coil snaps and you choke on a sob while your entire body tenses and then shudders. your nerve endings burn in every part of your body, a white hot heat that spreads like a wildfire

somewhere distant is leon’s voice is ringing in your ears with a trickle of soft praises, “there you go, that feels better, huh?” he coos and strokes featherlight hearts—you think—into the outside of your thigh. when he let them snap shut, you don’t know, “uh huh—fuck look at you,”

around his cock your cunt has clamped down and pushed him out, leaving your hole empty again but you can’t find it in yourself to care when leon is wringing your orgasm for all that it’s worth by still brushing sporadic circles over your clit until you knock his hand away with a heavy feeling hand

“oh my god,” you whimper and then shiver through the last of the little aftershocks before you wriggle, “you promised,” you whisper, your tone laced with exhaustion while you remind him of the deal that he made and make it known that you do still want him to fuck you properly

leon chuckles as he leans over you and kisses your bottom lip just once before he pulls away. it’s sloppy and probably a little gross but it makes your cheeks flush anyway, “ready, sweet girl?” he asks and nudges his cock against your wet little hole, barely letting himself slip inside before he pulls back

“yes—please!” you blurt, much louder than you meant to but leon is far too focused on pressing into you to realise it. a silent gasp scratches your throat as he gives you back what you already had, the stretch is no longer there but your back still lazily curves away from your sheets over it

he goes slowly, excruciatingly slowly. each centimetre of his length has your jaw dropping further, while you stare up at him with big, wet eyes. every vein that’s strung around his cock drags against your fluttering walls and nothing else could ever compare to that feeling—a feeling that only leon can give you

once he’s half way in, you quickly feel full. it’s like your body simply has nowhere else for him to go because he’s already occupying every space, filling every spot and grinding against it no matter how sensitive it is. that, however, doesn’t stop your pussy from trying to pull him in

“sweeth—fuck—s’like you’re sucking me in,” leon hisses through clenched molars. his muscles are starting to tense and any composure that he had is slipping away rapidly but he’s held on for so long that you can’t blame him, even if it is his own fault, “shit—oh my god, fuck,” he groans

the last inches of his cock seem to sink into you quicker than the first ones did. whether it’s because you really are sucking him in or because he just doesn’t have the capacity to go slowly anymore, you really don’t care whilst your room gets filled with soft whimpers and deep grunts that sound like a song

that is, until leon bottoms out and nails your cervix

everything goes fuzzy. your vision, your nerves, your veins. you’re blindsided and blacking out whilst your pulse pounds against your eardrums and every colour of the rainbow bursts behind your eyes. you’re frozen, stuck in your mind while an orgasm rips through your system like a hurricane

it feels like lightning in every one of your limbs, seizing sore muscles and forcing a wrecked yelp from your lips. you've never felt anything like it and you're not sure you'll ever get close to it ever again. it's like a high that you don't want to chase

“oh—oh, are you coming, again?” leon’s asking but you can’t reply more than a stiff nod and a shove at his hip because he was right, it’s too much and you can’t take him all at once. he goes easily though, pulling out of you carefully whilst he hums a sympathetic, “good girl,”

losing all of his touch at once is horrid but you're too overstimulated for him to risk giving you anything whilst you writhe underneath him and even though you hate feeling empty in the moment, you'll thank him for it later

“too much,” you slur your words after sometime. your heart is still thumping in your chest and your eyelids are too heavy to open but it’s all made better by leon hovering over you and peppering soothing kisses to your burning cheeks, “too much,” you repeat, causing leon to hum and smile against your skin

“i know baby, i’m just far too big for you,”