mychoombatheroomba

[mychoombatheroomba]

An Eye for An Eye

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 54

Leon and the squad grapple with the weight of their loss while you learn what you mysterious ally has given you.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

“You look like shit.”

Valeria had never been one to mince words. Whatever else had changed in the last week, that had remained the same. At least something had. 

Leon wasn’t sure he wanted the company. He had gone outside to escape the droning fluorescent lights and ever-present eyes inside the CIA facility. He’d gone out to be where his thoughts could have a quiet place to wage their war. His friends should have brought him comfort. 

He hated that they didn’t. 

“Don’t worry, I feel worse.” His response was dry as his friend leaned against the wall beside him, sliding down to sit at his level. She hummed what might have been a laugh, once. Now, the sound was muted. A gray tone where once there had been vibrant color. 

Leon could sympathize. 

“Good to know we’re all in the same boat.” Dina lowered herself onto the ground at Valeria’s side, the three of them looking out towards the dimming sky. 

The shorter of the two women scoffed, shaking her head. “Can’t fucking sleep. Every time I close my eyes, it’s just . . .” 

She didn’t need to say it. Leon knew. Maybe that was why they’d sought him out. Maybe they hoped he’d have some advice. Some secret to help them through it all. As if he hadn’t been cursed with this for months now. Just when he’d thought he might finally be free of it-

“You guys hear the official story?” 

Leon turned his head towards Dina, who looked up at the sky like she had a bone to pick with whoever was up there. He knew what she was talking about without having to ask. The base. How the Army would spin so many lives lost all at once. 

“They, uh . . . they’re saying it was a fire that got out of control. Someone smoking without authorization. Summer heat, dry brush . . . fwoosh .” She motioned with her hands, then let out an empty laugh. “Probably easier that way. Don’t have to send home any bodies if they’re all ash.”

A fire. The same excuse used for Dorne base. More lies. More deaths kept hidden. 

It was a bad joke.  

“You know, they put all this money into this,” Dina droned, shaking her head, “training us to fight monsters, teaching us to spy and shoot and whatever else. And then none of it fuckin’ matters.” 

“It’ll matter,” Leon shook his head, surprising himself. He sounded like you. Like you used to, before everything had crashed down around you all. He just wished he believed the words more. “It’s gotta mean something.” His life hadn’t been torn open and rearranged for no reason. You hadn’t been made to relive the worst night of your life for nothing. He had to believe that. 

“I don’t think any of this means anything,” Williams shook her head, digging her heels into the dirt and pushing her legs out in front of her. “I don’t think watching your friends kill each other has some greater purpose behind it.” 

“Dina,” Valeria spoke, her voice softer than Leon had ever heard it, “he wanted to go out on his own terms.” 

It didn’t matter how right she was, though. The words, the memory of you lowering that gun, of that look of nothingness in your eyes, and a pool of crimson framing Logan’s head . . .

“Shouldn’t have had to, though,” Dina shook her head. “He should be right here, telling us some stupid shit about tanks, or singing fuckin’ Journey.” 

The world blurred a bit, as tears stung at Leon’s eyes. He clenched his jaw tight. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let it out, or he’d crumble. These last few days, he’d learned very quickly in the solitude of his room that once he started down that path, there wasn’t much that could stop it. 

None of this should have happened. Leon almost spoke it aloud with a bitter laugh, feeling his heart beating at a faster pace. His mind running in desperate circles, trying to escape the thoughts that nipped at its heels. None of this should be like this. 

All the wishing in the world wouldn’t change it, though. 

“But he isn’t.” That was all Leon could manage to say. 

Dina shook her head, her mouth pressed in a thin line. “But he isn’t.” 

Silence blanketed them for a few long seconds, before the covers were torn off again. 

“Sarge said anything about it?” 

The question was meant for Leon. Who else? He was the one you spoke to most, before. If you would have said anything, it would have been to him. Should have been to him. As it was . . .

“No.” He couldn’t decide if he wished you had or not. 

Dina didn’t look like she could decide, either. She bit at the inside of her mouth, shaking her head. “I know why it had to happen . . .” she said, nodding like she was trying to convince herself of it even now; that you putting a bullet in her friend’s head was the right thing to do. That it was mercy. “I just . . .” she just couldn’t fathom it. 

Leon nodded in turn. “Yeah. I know.” 

There was only so much rationalizing one could do. Only so many times a person could tell themselves that it had to be done. Leon knew he would either be broken by that fact or become numb to it. He wasn’t sure which one he dreaded more. 

Nor was he able to dwell on it for long, before a figure approached, winding around the edge of the building. Leon and his companions looked up just in time to see a guard there, his face pulled into a tight expression. Leon didn’t even get to ask what brought him there before the guard spoke, gesturing for them all to stand. 

“Everyone needs to come with me. Now.” 

He didn’t hide it very well - the worry in his voice. The urgency. 

“What happened?” Valeria asked, her eyes suddenly sharpening as she picked up on the new energy brought to the moment. 

There was no real answer given, only a sense of looming dread as they were ushered back to their rooms. A sense of dread that was becoming all too familiar to Leon. 

⧫⧫⧫

Fate hadn’t given you many of the things that you’d hoped for. 

In fact, lately, it felt like life had been gorging itself on you, rather than practicing charity. What it had given, you found, had only led to hurt. Or it surely would. This would be no different. The gift you’d just been given would bring pain, but it was the kind you would gladly endure. You wouldn’t refuse something you craved with all your being - that you had paid for in blood and bruises and a breaking spirit. You gave in to a dark faith that now, finally, fate had thrown you a goddamn bone. 

Not all those around you shared that sentiment.

Including you, there were five in the room - a room that was completely sealed off from the rest of the world. Simmons watched the room from the edges of it, twisting the gold ring on his thumb while he focused. Hellman and Benford were more focused on the computer screen in front of them. As for the fifth . . . you could never remember feeling so much weight behind Major Krauser’s gaze. He’d done a poor job of hiding his concern when you and Hellman explained what had happened. That concern had so quickly turned to rage, and you had wished you could return to being blind to the cause of it all. Things had been less complicated, then. 

You wished a lot of things could go back to the way they had been. 

But with no way to go but forward, you set your focus to the information in front of you. A hound being given a scent. 

“I don’t like this.” Benford shook his head, the computer screen in front of him reflected in his glasses.  

The images on it, the text . . . 

Coordinates. Overhead images of an island - Kolguyev, it read. A sizable but mostly unoccupied piece of land in the Barents Sea. Russia. The island itself had a small town on one side, and on the other, a fenced perimeter. Four buildings were tucked in, surrounded by more open expanses of land. Ranges, you realized. You could see vehicles, even what looked like a tank, and well-carved pathways for them to use. It was a familiar layout even if you’d never seen the island before - you’d spent the last several months in places just like this, after all.

“It’s a training facility,” you breathed, your voice raspy. Crushed down to size by the man’s hand around your throat. A man who, it seemed, had given you a target. 

It was all but confirmed when Benford scrolled down, and names and faces you didn’t recognize passed the screen. Service records, you realized, though not for any one country’s military. No, they were unified under a different banner. 

𝚄𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎

𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚁𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙲𝚒𝚝𝚢

That was not surprising. Instead, what caught your eye was not who they served, but where they’d come from. 

𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙺𝚘𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚎𝚟 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢

Benford leaned back in his chair, his mouth set in a thin line. 

His silence only served to fuel your anger. You weren’t alone in that. 

“You said Reed was heading to Russia?” Krauser sounded just as viciously pleased as you were. It only made the senior agent at the computer more uncomfortable. 

Benford nodded. Once. Reluctantly. “But there are Umbrella facilities all over the world. We don’t know-”

“We don’t have to know.” You straightened up, feeling something rise in you. Potential energy, the need to do something. And now, you’d been given a heading. “If this is a training facility, then we can start to level the playing field.” You could take from them what they’d taken from you: their future. And if Reed was there, then you could kill him. You could show him the failure of his cause as he died and-

“The risk is too high,” Benford shook his head. “Not when we have so little concrete information.”

“But you can get more information.” Krauser sounded almost as certain as you were, tearing open holes in Benford’s argument. 

He’d taught you to press the offensive, so you did. “You wanted to fight Umbrella. You trained us to do that, and now what? You’re too scared to use the weapons you built?” You met Benford’s eyes, and felt some little satisfaction when you saw him waver under your stare.  

His response was measured, even so. “It’s not that simple, Sergeant. It’s how we were given this information that concerns me.” 

“You mean the man who broke your perimeter like it was made of tissue paper?” Krauser’s words bit hard into their target, as they so often did. 

Benford just turned the attack into more ammunition. “Exactly. This man broke into our facility without issue. He overpowered you and Hellman both, and left just as easily. This kind of intel isn’t just given without motive.” 

“Umbrella has enemies besides us,” Simmons pointed out, finally entering the conversation with a cool voice. “Their facility on Rockfort Island was destroyed by a paramilitary organization a few months ago, was it not?” 

So Krauser hadn’t been given all the reports after all, because that name didn’t sound familiar to you. By his reaction now, it wasn’t because the Major had omitted any information when it came to you.

“It was,” Benford confirmed, “but I would argue that makes this more suspicious. Not less.” 

It was Hellman who spoke next, incredulous. “If Umbrella has an enemy in that man, why is he not the one storming Kolguyev?” There was something to that, you supposed. He’d crushed a knife blade in his hand. Lifted you off the ground like you were nothing, and moved with a speed you couldn’t hope to match. Even so, even with all that power, he was handing this off to the likes of you. “He wouldn’t let us take him in for a reason. He’s setting us up to be pawns.” 

“Does it matter?” you found yourself asking, the words not your own. Did it matter whose pawn you were, so long as Umbrella was dealt a blow? 

Benford turned to you, already-present frown lines deepening. “There’s a good chance that this is a trap. If this is a training outpost, there will be soldiers there-”

Fire rushed through you, your gaze turned to a branding iron. “I’m counting on it.” 

A laugh followed your declaration, and Simmons pushed off the wall. Satisfaction curled his lips into a smile. “ That right there. We need more soldiers like that if we’re to stand a chance against this corporation. Sometimes risks must be taken in a fight such as this one, and we need those who will do what it takes.” 

“So glad you approve,” Krauser snarled under his breath, but the conversation went on as if he’d said nothing.

Benford snapped his attention to his fellow agent, then. “Derek, we don’t have many people who know about this conflict left. If this operation goes wrong, we could lose all of them.” 

It was true. You knew it. This was enemy territory. No reinforcements, no solid intel, nothing to go on but what you held now. And it was worth it, for the exact reasons that Simmons spoke now. “And if this really is a training facility, if more records like these are available there and we got ahold of them,” he pointed his chin towards the screen, “then we could root out Umbrella’s personnel.” 

People like Reed. People like the man who’d driven a knife into your gut, and the team that had been with him. If there was a chance you could find them - track them down . . . 

“So send me.” The room turned towards Krauser, the Major pulling attention with his declaration. One forged in iron. One that embedded itself in your gut.

“By yourself, Major?” Simmons asked. The bastard had a talent for sounding patronizing, one that Krauser didn’t appreciate, if his biting tone was any indication. 

“Benford’s right. You’re down too many men to send them. I’m the most experienced soldier you have who knows about all of this. One man has a better chance of not being spotted than a team.” 

No. You felt a surge of something rise in you at the suggestion, because you knew how that would end. Whatever was happening with Krauser, whatever his feelings for you and however you felt in return, you knew that if he went out there alone, he would likely die. 

That was unacceptable. 

Even so, you stopped yourself from voicing that thought. You stopped yourself because all of the people in this room seemed to think that there was something between you and the Major. Something you couldn’t give credence to. You had to act as though you didn’t care, as though the man who’d saved your life, who’d given you so much, meant nothing to you. 

So, just like with Alenko, you dug deeper into the hollow of yourself. 

“So,” the Major went on, blue eyes boring into Benford’s own, “send me.” 

The most horrifying part was that the men around you considered it. You could see them making the mental calculations. Better to lose one man than an entire squad, that was the brutal calculus of it. One that you couldn’t exactly argue.

“No.” Your focus snapped elsewhere, and you never, ever thought you would be grateful to Hellman of all people. Still, the agent, wielding the guilt you’d buried in his gut, went on. “You’re a good soldier, no one can deny that, but this is about infiltration. Information retrieval. That’s what I’ve been trained for.” 

Krauser scoffed, somehow making a laugh sound dangerous. “You couldn’t even tell that your friend was an Umbrella plant.”

“Neither could you, Major,” Hellman reminded him. “Not until it was too late.”

“You watch your mouth-”

Hellman went on, undeterred. “I’m in the best position to make it right. I can scope things out and see what’s there.” It was an idea that sat with you no better than Krauser going alone. Not because you cared about Hellman’s safety, but because he didn’t deserve this vengeance, as far as you were concerned. 

“Noble of you,” Simmons nodded, still twisting the gold band on his thumb, “but that doesn’t solve the problem of one man not being enough to take down an entire base. A small team could assess the facility covertly and then infiltrate it if need be,” he went on, eyes sharp as he planned. 

“The Umbrella facilities we’re aware of thus far have always been more than they appear on the surface,” Benford pointed out. “There could be more than what’s depicted here. They would be on enemy territory, going in blind, fighting a force they’ve never faced before.” 

“How fortunate then,” Simmons just went on, his fingers twisting his ring while his lips were twisted into a smile to match, “that we have individuals with experience in such matters. Individuals who understand the value of knowing one’s enemy, and will stop at nothing to take the fight to them.” He looked at you, then, with the expression of a man who gambled and won more often than not. A man who didn't mind betting, especially when he wasn't the one who stood to lose. 

You didn’t mind that he was gambling with your life, though. Not so long as you got what you wanted. 

The only trouble was that Simmons wasn’t the only player in this game. 

“I don’t like the idea of sending just the two of them,” Benford said, another opinion added to the mix. One borne of mistrust - that much you could see plainly. You and Hellman were untrustworthy in his eyes, even now. You couldn’t blame him, you supposed; this mysterious man with too much information on Umbrella appeared out of nowhere and gifted you exactly what you needed. Anyone with a brain would find it suspicious. 

You understood that, you truly did. The only trouble was, what you knew was coming next. What you felt in your bones. 

“Kennedy has been inside Umbrella facilities before,” Benford went on, and it was clear to you then that fate had not, in fact, thought you’d paid the price for this gift. No, it demanded ever more. “And they worked well with Soto and Williams. That would keep the team small enough to avoid attention.” 

Your jaw tightened as he spoke their names, eyes going wide, showing off the red that had crept in when your air was cut off. 

But before you even had the chance to speak, Krauser huffed, incredulous. “Then I should go with them.” 

“I would be inclined to agree,” Simmons took a moment to formulate his counter, “but you and Hellman here are the only two instructors we have left with knowledge of bioweapons.”

“You can just tell someone else. They just destroyed an entire base, it’s not like it’s going to be a secret forever.” 

“The President has made it clear,” Benford said this time, “the fewer people know about all this, the better.” 

It was a losing argument. A fight not worth spilling blood over. That didn’t stop Krauser, though. “You’ve got to be joking,” the Major shook his head, looking between you and Simmons. “You wanna send a bunch of shell-shocked rookies out there? You’ll get them killed.” 

Simmons tilted his head to the side. “Many of these ‘rookies’ have service records before STRATCOM, Major. With the exception of Kennedy, I suppose. Though I would imagine his experience in Raccoon City makes up for that fact.” 

“They’re not ready-”

“Are you implying that your training of them was insufficient?” 

“Damn it, you’ve seen them!” He was talking about the entirety of your squad, but he looked at you. And in that moment, you had a realization: this wasn’t the Major you were used to seeing. In the last few months, he’d been a steadying force for you. A leader you could look to for guidance. Now, in this moment, all you saw was a scared man, clinging to whatever control he had left. Control that he’d given up the moment he gave you those reports. The second he admitted his guilt in doing so. “They’re afraid, and angry, and if you send people like that out there, they’re going to slip up. They’re going to get themselves killed.” 

He’d told you so many times to never show weakness. To never bear your scars and wounds. Now, here he was, doing it without meaning. 

A blunted blade would do them no good. Whether that was Krauser or Leon or you. 

So, no matter how much you wanted to insist that Leon be left behind, that he wasn’t suited to this mission, you knew how that would look. You knew that, to Simmons, that would be blood in the water for him to scent and salivate on. 

Not that it mattered what you or Krauser wanted, anyway. The decision was already being made, you could see it in Simmons’ eyes. 

Leon’s fate and yours, your friends . . . you were all tied together. At least you could spare one person you cared about. He’d saved your life once, after all. You hadn’t expected to return the favor this way. 

You hadn’t expected so many things. 

“You’re angry, sir,” you said, finding your voice again, however hollow it may be. You’d seen many expressions on Krauser’s face that you’d never thought to see, lately. The surprise you were greeted with now, almost like betrayal, was one of them. He wasn’t the only one that had a claim to that betrayal. Still, you carried on, reminding him of a fact he should have known well. “Your judgment would be just as compromised.” 

You’d never been on the receiving end of Major Krauser’s anger, really. Some part of you had hoped to never experience it. When faced with it now, though? You were surprised by how little it affected you. He’d taught you to face down worse though, hadn’t he? 

“My judgment?” He asked, stepping closer. “You want to talk about emotion clouding judgment? All you’ve ever done is let what you’re feeling control you. The only reason you’re here is revenge. That’s it. You want to kill the people who took your Captain. Your friends-” 

“Umbrella didn’t kill them,” you said, your expression blank as you stated the truth that had eaten away at you. The truth that had carved a well in you and taken up residence there. Because as much as Umbrella had turned your friends into monsters, as much as Reed and the man who’d driven a knife into you had done, they hadn’t pulled the trigger on Rain. 

Or Reynolds. 

Or Alenko. 

“I did.” 

Krauser, for once, looked disarmed. He stared at you - him and the other men in the room. Men who had either helped shape you into the dagger you were, or would wield you. 

“I did what I had to do. And I will keep doing that, until Umbrella is buried.” That had been your vow, all those months ago. As you lay in a hospital bed, clutching a dog tag that would be all that remained of the man you considered a father. You’d lost sight of that goal, and the world had reminded you of it now. So, you looked at the computer screen in front of you, at the image of the base there. Your chance, not to make it right, but to strike a blow. “That’s all that matters.” 

And to these men who would be your commanders, who would now dispatch you across the globe, hunting your targets, that was enough. 

⧫⧫⧫

Hours passed, and still there were no answers. No justifications for why everyone had been taken back to their rooms, but it was all too clear to Leon that something had happened. The guards - rigid even on a good day - had been tight-jawed and tense as they’d guided Leon and the others towards their rooms. Something was wrong, because it seemed like something was always wrong, now. 

The only question was: what?

That night, he was allowed to imagine just how wrong things were. By the time their cell doors were opened again, the worst possible scenarios had flooded his mind, memories amplified by a sudden and gruesome abundance of imagination. It didn’t amount to the horrors he feared. There was no attack. No undead. 

All Leon was greeted with was a pair of eyes framed by glasses, set in the aging face of the man who’d ruined his life. “Agent Kennedy, if you’ll come with me, please.” 

Agent Kennedy.

He was an agent now, wasn’t he? He’d passed his final test. He was theirs to send wherever they pleased. 

Him and you, it seemed, because you stood just behind the agent, and you weren’t alone. Hellman, Dina and Valeria were there too, each of them looking like the hangman had called their names. Not you, though. You were stone, as you so often were.

Even with a handprint bruised onto your throat. 

Leon felt sick to his stomach as he saw the mark, the skin on your throat turned a dark purple from the pressure of someone's grasp. He’d worn a bruise to match after Raccoon City, courtesy of the silent monster that had stalked him that night. That had come too close to killing him too many times. 

That handprint had been larger than a human’s hand, though. The one on your throat could have belonged to anyone. Who then? Who had hurt you? Who had done this to you? 

There were no answers to be found from Benford, who simply gestured for Leon to follow, before pausing a moment. “And if you may . . .” he held up his other hand, one that had been clenched at his side. One that, as his fingers uncurled, Leon realized held little plaques. Three sets of two, linked by chains, numbers and letters stamped into the metal. Three sets of two, and one chain that linked three plaques, the name REYNOLDS clear to Leon’s eye, just as your name was. 

Their dog tags. 

Benford was collecting them. 

For a moment, Leon felt fear surge through him. With the group gathered before him, he worried that the feelings present among the group had finally been laid bare. He worried that, at last, their luck had run out and their places in STRATCOM had been taken as punishment. 

As he hesitated, Benford spoke a clarification. One he sounded solemn about. “You’ll get them back when you return.” 

“Return from where?” Leon felt numb even asking the question. 

Benford didn’t look any more pleased as he took a breath in, but Leon saw your expression shift. You didn’t look up from the empty space you stared off into, but your eyes darkened all the same as the agent answered. “I’ll explain elsewhere, but . . . you have a target.”

A target. 

A mission. 

His first. 

And wherever you were all going, your identities couldn’t follow. 

He had little choice, so did as he was told and reached up to his neck. A moment later, his name was pressed down beside yours and those of his friends, hidden from view as Benford closed his fist around them. 

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Chapter Index

Tag List: @greywardensaywhat @torchbearerkyle

[mychoombatheroomba]

ARCANE SEASON 2 SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT

If I had a nickel for every time in media I like, a sad gay with floppy emo hair was betrayed and hurt by their grief-stricken, beret-wearing commanding officer/lover, I'd have two nickels. Not a lot, but weird that it happened twice.

[mychoombatheroomba]

I can’t express in words how much I love your ongoing leon fic😭 ♥️♥️♥️♥️

GUH THANK YOU SO MUCH I feel bad I've been taking a lil break from writing it lately, but I wanna make it as good as I possibly can! Thank you so much for reading it! It's a big lad, so I always always am honored when I see people going through the whole thing! ❤

[mychoombatheroomba]

“The training, the punishing missions nearly killed me”

[mychoombatheroomba]

On the one hand, I'm devastated and do not want to write at all.

On the other, if Project 2025 goes into full effect it could deadass inhibit me from finishing Between the Bones and my other silly little projects because it would criminalize porn in the US (among many other terrifying things).

So I gotta lock in out of spite, I guess.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Gang . . . I was gonna try and write more this week to make up for the literal void of content I've produced but um

Looked at how the election is going and that ain't happening for a while.

[mychoombatheroomba]

ALSO GO VOTE

[mychoombatheroomba]

can my goddamn story please just write itself ❤️

[mychoombatheroomba]

[mychoombatheroomba]

The Enemy of My Enemy

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 54

An unexpected ally gives you some insight, and the hunt begins.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

After Raccoon City, in those first weeks of training - before he’d properly met you even - Leon had found a numbing comfort in routine. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train some more. A schedule had helped him. It broke up the day into predictable steps. In this facility they were in, wherever it was, there was no such luxury. Days after the interrogations and still, Leon was unable to leave his room without supervision. He ate there, slept there and tried to find a way to keep himself sane there. Easier said than done. The days fogged into one continuous expanse, each one longer than the last. 

Habit led him to train in the room’s limited space. Krauser had taught them enough that even four concrete walls and a shitty bed could become a usable work room. Still, there were only so many push-ups he could do before his mind started to wander. 

Didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed, now. He could see them. All of them. 

Marvin and Ada and the rest of the lives lost in Raccoon City had company. Uninvited, their memories made those four concrete walls their home too, stuffing in around Leon and suffocating him. Too many bodies. Too many faces he would never forget. 

Alejandro, staring into the dark sky in shock. 

Doc, his face torn and barely recognizable. 

Alenko, his eyes pleading and pained right up until-

You. Leon thought of your face just as much as he sat in that room. He thought of the smiles he’d coaxed out of you over months and months together. The way your eyes, normally, would soften when they turned his way. 

He thought of how you hadn’t even looked at him as you’d passed him in that hallway. 

Those were the thoughts he was stuck with for days. Right up until the door opened at last and Leon was ushered out of that little prison cell. He was marched down the hallway, falling in line behind a familiar friend, her broad shoulders bowed with the weight of the world. 

“Dina,” Leon said, his voice soft with wounded hope. 

Williams, for her part, managed a small smile as she looked back at him. “Hey, Kennedy.” 

More cells were opened. More of their squad joined them in the line-up. Valeria, Doc’s assistant, Grayson . . . and, of course, you were there, towards the other end of the line. Leon didn’t get more than a glimpse of you before you fell into formation. No, instead, it was Krauser’s eyes that caught his own. The Major was pulled from a cell just like the rest of them. His gaze passed over you, a direct omission. Instead, it fell on Leon. An accident, the younger man was certain, and one that betrayed too many emotions Leon had never thought to see on Krauser's face.  

Exhaustion. Pain. Rage. Leon saw it all as plain as day. 

He could sympathize. 

The contact was over in a moment, and Krauser filed in, Hellman joining from his cell last. 

All of the survivors. All that was left. 

“What’s going on?” The question was whispered to Williams as they began moving. 

She didn’t have an answer for him. 

He didn’t have to wait long for one. 

Benford was waiting for them in the room they all filed into, his glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. When he told them all to take a seat, Leon couldn’t help but feel he’d stepped into some strange new world as Major Krauser obeyed alongside everyone else. A world where everything was wrong - somehow turned upside-down and inside-out and even worse than he thought it could be. 

The only thing that seemed right was the moment Benford confirmed what he’d known in his heart. 

“Agent Andrew Reed is our chief suspect for the recent attack.” The air changed, then. How could it not, when a room was full of attack dogs that had finally been given a scent to go after? “Our intelligence has tracked him as far as Russia, but beyond that, we don’t know where he is.” 

Russia. Reed hadn’t just slipped away, he’d all but disappeared. Vanished. There would be no justice for what he’d done while he was there. 

“Then send us out.” Krauser spoke with a snarl. “We’ll have him in a week.” 

Benford’s expression was sympathetic, but his answer was predictable. It wouldn't be that simple. “We can’t sanction sending you all into Russia. Not on a wild goose chase. If we can find a more clear course-”

“Every day,” Krauser stood, “every minute we sit here and wait, that bastard has time to hide. To call all his friends in Umbrella and get protection. If we don’t move now-”

“I’m aware, Major,” Benford said, his tone cool. Even. Same as always with these suits. Bastards that they were. It had crossed Leon’s mind more than once in the past few days that he couldn’t trust Benford any more than he could trust Reed. That didn’t change the fact that the man in front of them all held their leashes, whoever might be holding Benford’s in turn. “We are moving as fast as we can. The moment we find anything, we will act on it.” 

That was all they were given, along with the freedom to roam the facility they were in now. A freedom that rang hollow as you were all dismissed and you slipped out of the room like smoke through fingertips. 

He could have chased after you. He almost did. 

Instead, he let you be. Leon would do all he could do. 

He would wait.

⧫⧫⧫

Sunlight bleeding into darkness. Blunted steel. Moves and countermoves. 

It was uncanny how so many familiar things could feel alien to you. That was all down to the man holding the other knife. Hellman moved differently from any of the other STRATCOM recruits. Different training. You’d seen some of his skills shared in Reed’s style, when you’d assisted him in training. That was the reason you’d sought the agent out. Well, one of a few. 

The other two reasons . . . you’d avoided them since Derek C. Simmons turned their names into weapons. Krauser and Leon, for their parts, had done the same. Had they been threatened too? You wouldn’t be surprised. Didn’t matter. Just like the comfort you longed for in Leon’s arms didn’t matter - the way you wanted to go to him. To pray that he didn’t hate you for what you’d done. Just like the questions you had for Krauser didn’t matter - the way you wished you could understand why he’d risked so much to protect you. Even if some part of you knew. That didn’t matter. Right now, only the knife across from you did.

You suspected Hellman had reasons of his own for agreeing to this. Shame, most likely. Good. You hoped he felt shame every time you managed to slip your knife past his defenses. 

Let him feel over and over again the cost of carelessness. 

Bruises were the best teachers, weren’t they?

Over the last few days, you’d had plenty to learn from the agent as well. Now, you were pulling your knife back as he pressed a counter-cut down where you’d gone to attack. Fast, just like Reed was. Calculating, too. Good at thinking a few moves ahead. He kept catching you in the same patterns. Old habits you’d fallen into since your injury. 

“You’re protecting your ribs more than anything,” Hellman pointed out. His notes weren’t as welcome as Krauser’s. You would take them, but not without biting back. 

“Someone broke them, remember?” It might get under his skin, childish as it was. Maybe guilt would make him sloppy. You hoped it would. Guilt likely wouldn’t work on Reed when you found him, but right now? You would settle for hurting Hellman in his stead. 

It nearly worked, too, as the agent just barely batted your attack away, a followup to a series of feints. Chest, leg, chest. Hellman stayed in place, trying to grab your arm. To run his knife up in a move that would have filleted the flesh from your bone. Your knee driving upward into his stomach stopped him. The knife dropped from your right to your left, stabbing towards his gut. Another near miss. 

You had him on the defensive.

“I shouldn’t have let him-”

“What?” you pressed, trailing after him. Each slash, each thrust, you paired with sharpened words to match. “Shouldn’t have let him break my bones? Cripple our soldiers? Poison an entire base of people?” 

Hellman’s skills as a fighter were all that saved him from bruising blows with your practice blade, and even as he managed to slash at your arm in a riposte, you kept advancing. Kept forcing him up against the wall of the facility that now housed you. 

You knew better than most how a cornered animal could fight, though. 

Krauser had often warned you not to let your feelings get in the way in a fight. Now, you paid the price for not listening to him and to Hellman both. Anger made you sloppy. As you blocked a high strike at your face, you realized his free hand was going low, a fist aimed at the ribs he’d just warned you about. You inhaled sharply, moving to defend with your other hand. His knife slipped around your upper defense. Yours moved in tandem. Then, you had knives at each other’s throats. 

A draw meant death, and your own stupidity had your anger rising. 

“I should have seen him for what he was,” Hellman panted, and you realized that he was feeling much the same way you were. You’d seen honesty from the agent plenty of times before, but nothing like this. Nothing so full of all-consuming remorse, because ultimately, he had been the best equipped to catch Reed before anything happened. He’d failed, and everyone else had paid the price. “I should have seen it sooner.” 

You were past the point of pity, your world reduced to red and black. So, you didn’t waver, even with a knife to your throat. “You should have,” you declared, sinking the blade of those words into Hellman’s heart. 

Your vengeance was short-lived. 

“Don’t be so hard on the agent.” You hadn’t even noticed someone approaching, you’d been so caught up in your fight. You didn’t know the voice, smooth and steady, and that made your head snap to its source. Your blunted blade fell away from Hellman and was now ready at your side. The man you found standing before you looked utterly unimpressed, the dark glasses that hid his eyes making disinterest appear effortless. Slicked back hair, a well-pressed suit . . . if not for the blond shine of that hair in the low light, you might have mistaken him for- “Reed was well-trained. You might be surprised how well Umbrella has embedded itself in the world. But perhaps you’d like to find out.” 

As if those words weren’t enough to make your grip on the knife tighten, Hellman tensed beside you. 

Tall, which meant a long reach. Not as well-muscled as Krauser, but it was hard to tell what physique hid beneath the suit jacket over the man’s shoulders. A jacket that could conceal a weapon as well. 

“Who the hell are you?” Hellman asked, his eyes narrowed.

Thin lips curled up before the strange man spoke. “An interested party. One with knowledge of use to you.” 

Not CIA. And anyone with knowledge of worth- 

“You’re with Umbrella.” The accusation was spat from your lips, your body thrumming with potential energy. The promise of violence, even as the man stood perfectly still and straight before you. 

His smile only widened. “Interesting theory.”

"How else would you have any knowledge of use?"

There was a moment of thought, the man choosing his words carefully. "Umbrella has outlived its usefulness. You and your government aren't the only ones interested in seeing it dismantled." 

You didn't have time to question what the hell that could mean. “Then you’ll have no problems coming in for questioning,” Hellman stepped forward, a warning buried shallowly beneath his words. 

“On the contrary,” the blond man tilted his head, “you won’t be taking me in, agent. You can have the information I’m offering, and you can determine what the cost of that information will be.” 

There were security cameras. Guards . . . and that hadn’t stopped this man from getting here. It hadn’t stopped him from not only finding this facility, but breaching its defenses seemingly unnoticed. You took a steadying breath, your muscles coiling, trying to put a plan together in your mind.

“I can’t let you leave,” Hellman said. “Not if you know what you claim you do.” 

The man took a breath, then sighed it out.

You knew when a fight was coming. You could feel the shift in the air. 

Even so, you never stood a chance. 

Not when the man, who had been a good ten paces away one moment was in front of you the next. Your knife arced up, your free hand moving to a defensive position, and none of it mattered when a hand closed around your throat, the force of it making you sputter.

No time to react. No time to question. 

You saw Hellman move, but a kick sent him flying back against the wall. Your air supply cut off, your only option was the blunted blade in your hand. One that you aimed straight for the dark lenses of the man holding you-

Only for him to catch it by the steel and, all while looking at you with a smug smirk, he squeezed. Your eyes widened as you watched the metal bend like dough beneath his grip, and then those same eyes bulged as his other hand tightened at your throat. You kicked as you were lifted easily off the ground, your free hand beating against his arm, terror setting in as your vision blurred. 

He could snap your neck like a toothpick. 

He could and would.

“I’ve wasted enough time talking,” the man said, looking down at Hellman as he held you, oblivious to your struggles. Kicks that landed like hammer blows on most did nothing to move him. 

You could die here, after everything, unless-

He let the bent knife go, then reached into his pocket. He pulled something small from it. Indiscernible in your wavering state of consciousness, your grip on his wrist tightening as you gasped for air. “Take this,” he said, tossing it at Hellman's feet. “Make good use of it.” 

Just as the world was about to go black, just as you felt your grip on his arm loosening, air rushed to you and you were falling. 

"You will need every soldier you can get." 

The ground met you without remorse and you grasped at your throat, coughing and sucking in air desperately. “Sergeant!” you heard Hellman, calling for you. Footsteps and scrambling against the dirt. Your perception was all hazy images and dying light, but you were alive. 

Still alive. 

Of course you were. 

Of fucking course you were. 

You forced yourself up, your arms full of pins and needles as you moved. You saw the warped remains of your knife, and empty space where the man had once stood. Too late. Not that it would have made a difference. You never could have won that fight. At most, you would have cost him a few seconds from his time to escape. He’d done what he’d come to do.

It lay in the dirt, sealed in a protective case. A little piece of what looked like plastic, wrapped around metal. Information, he’d said.

Information that a man who could crush steel in his hand was willing to give up. 

There was no doubt in your mind; that man had been a creation of Umbrella, in some way shape or form. He knew Reed at least by name. He was setting you all after something. Something he didn’t want to handle himself. 

Another player in a game you had no control over. Another person who’d taken your life quite literally in their hands without a thought or care. You were just a piece on the board. Always had been.

All it left you with, as your lungs finally refilled with air, was more anger. More rage. If this was what the world was? How your life shaped up to be? Fine. So long as you had something to sink your teeth into. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N:

Wesker: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life difficult. Sarge, sarcastically: Wow. I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life.

You know I had to get the third blond freak in there somehow. Anyway I hope you enjoyed your mandatory dose of Deus ex Wesker, he will probably not be back lol. Literary structure can kiss my ass for this cameo in particular (meaning I know this is shoehorned in but ya know what, in the spirit of Resident Evil's goofiness, I kept the idea).

Anyway, APOLOGIES for the literal month this chapter took me to post, I was moving this last month! It was a lot of work but I'm very happy with my new place! Happy enough that I immediately left on a vacation - so I've been a little busy as of late. In any case, we're coming up on the end of this story here and I'm so so excited to finally write all the craziness I have in mind! Thank you all of you for your patience, hope you enjoy the end of the ride (and will follow me into the sequel when I get to it!)

Also, fun fact, apparently Wesker dropping off a flash drive could have happened if he's got cutting edge tech, the USB flash drive was invented in April of 1999! Bro absolutely stole the design for that. What a menace.

Tag List: @greywardensaywhat

[mychoombatheroomba]

Ok this is fucking incredible

Storyboard sequence I made from the video game "Baldur's Gate 3"!! Love Karlach.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Almost 2 minutes of Krauser going absolutely ham to Rihanna (sound on for the full vibes)

[mychoombatheroomba]

I think daily about how hot Remake Leon would look with the cheek scar OG Leon got from Krauser and I think daily about how to make Capcom pay for stealing that from us.

[mychoombatheroomba]

[mychoombatheroomba]

The definitive Between the Bones "what if it was a throuple?" alignment chart

[mychoombatheroomba]

Fade Out

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 53

You and Leon are questioned following the events on base.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW for angst and government manipulation but what else is new?

You didn’t really know where you were, only that the room was familiar. A one-way mirror. A simple table. A recording device. An empty chair across from you. A little TV on the corner of the table.

You’d been in a room like it once before, when you gave your report on what happened in Finland over a year ago. 

Now, here you were, history repeating itself; returning to you in new clothes but with the same violent intentions. You’d thought you had been cresting a hill in feeling your pain ease. Now you knew that you’d just been the unknowing fool strapped to a wheel, turning up to see the sun only to get crushed against the ground once more. 

So you let yourself be pressed down by the weight, wishing you could well and truly sink into the earth. It was easy to fall into that mindset by yourself, you found. 

In the days following this newest nightmare, you and the others had been isolated. A safety precaution to prevent the spread of the virus, and to keep anyone from taking action. Now, though, you’d been escorted from your quarantine and taken to this room, where you knew questions would be waiting for you. You didn’t want to talk about what had happened now any more than you had after Finland. You didn’t want to speak into reality what was already building a cage around your mind. 

Not that you had a choice. 

The door opened without you being ready for it to. A man walked in, carrying a manila folder. Tall. Brown hair. Pale, gaunt cheeks. Another fine-pressed suit, complete with one of those stupid ties that only cowboys should wear, but assholes from old money always seemed to love. 

“Good morning, Sergeant,” he greeted, already sounding like he knew everything in the world. 

Then there’s no need to talk to me. 

You didn’t speak back as the man settled into the chair opposite you, clicked the record button on the machine in front of him, holding the folder in his lap. He spoke your rank and name into the air, alongside the word “debriefing” as if that’s what this was. “Presiding officer: Derek C. Simmons.” He fixed his gaze on you, then, and it began. 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon knew the man across from him. 

He knew that aged face, the hair that was already beginning to gray, the rectangular glasses. Hard to forget a person who forced you into military service. Who had weighed your life against information you possessed and deemed you the lesser of the two. 

He half expected Adam Benford to find some new, horrible way to threaten him. As the agent took a seat and started the recording, Leon kept waiting for him to bring up Sherry, or even you and the others. He waited for some terrible new hammer to fall, because that seemed to be the way of things. 

Instead, it was just questions.

Familiar questions, all revolving around one central theme: tell me what happened that night.  

So he did. He relived on tape every agonizing detail. Each moment. 

- a shriek and a cracking of bone as it connected - 

- the laces of his boot colliding with a skull -

- no time for surprise to even register on his face -

⧫⧫⧫

“All of that, and you weren’t infected,” Simmons mused, stroking the goatee on his chin. “Nearly everyone on base turned, and you-”

“I didn’t eat the same food as everyone else,” you said dryly, because you’d had plenty of time over the last few days to put together that much. “That’s what it was, wasn’t it?” 

The man gave you a look that might have been approval, even if it was still filtered through a discerning veneer. “It was. And how convenient that you happened to avoid it. Just as you managed to avoid being infected during the incident at Dorne Base.” 

Anger. It lanced through you as soon as Simmons spoke. “If you’re looking to make accusations, don’t waste your time. Did you find Reed’s body with the others?” You didn’t even need Simmons to confirm it, you were so dead set in your belief. You were certain beyond any shadow of a doubt. 

⧫⧫⧫

Benford shook his head, and Leon knew you’d been right. He could feel it, even if your explanation had been rushed and delivered in near mania back on the base. How could it not have been? You’d watched another home fall in the same brutal way. You’d endured your nightmare a second time. 

Another horror for you to relive.

Another horror for Leon, because every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was a smoking rifle barrel and that look of emptiness on your face-

“How did this happen?” Leon asked, because when he wasn’t thinking of the blood and fires, he was thinking of that one question. “How did you let this happen again?” 

The wrinkles already present on Benford’s face deepened as he frowned. There was more guilt there than Leon would have expected. “We put our trust in the wrong person,” he answered, and Leon couldn’t have scoffed more at the understatement. 

The wrong person. A man who’d had his run of the base. The authority to do as he pleased. 

“Reed was in charge of handling all incoming and outgoing mail. It’s fair to say that’s how he got the virus samples. It would have gone through him first,” Benford admitted, and again Leon was floored by how easy it had been, in hindsight. All Reed had to do was wait until Krauser and Hellman were away . . . “What we don’t know for certain,” the agent went on, “is whether Reed acted alone.” 

Leon had been exhausted for days. Sleep evaded him, no matter what he tried. His mind was addled with the fresh poison of memory and nightmare. Even so, even with the stupor he was in, he felt his hackles raise as soon as Benford spoke the words. 

“You think someone on base helped him?” 

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility.” Some terrible feeling in his gut told Leon who they suspected even before your name was spoken into the air. “You’re quite close with the Sergeant, aren’t you?”

“You can’t be serious.” What other response was he supposed to have? “Are you just throwing accusations around for the hell of it? Or have you found any evidence?” 

⧫⧫⧫

“No, we haven’t,” Simmons surprised you by answering honestly, but his intake of breath told you that he wasn’t done. That much was proven further when he lifted the folder he held, and a jolt of adrenaline shot through you. “We did find these, though, hidden under the mattress of your bunk.” 

Fuck . . .

He flipped the folder open, and you immediately recognized the printed words on the first page. 

𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙾𝙾𝙽 𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃 - 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟸𝟽𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾

⧫⧫⧫

Leon looked down at the pictures of the reports and felt a new pit open in his stomach. He recognized them. He’d spent a fair amount of time reading through them, under your supervision, after all. 

“These same reports were missing from Major Krauser’s office,” Benford began, and Leon didn’t know what to do. 

What to say. Telling the truth would implicate not only you, but-

“The Major was adamant that he gave the reports to the Sergeant,” Benford explained, and Leon felt his heart sink. “He asked that punishment be his alone to bear. Claimed that he was the only one responsible for this breach of intelligence.”

⧫⧫⧫

“He lied.” It wasn’t your best performance, but you had to try. Had to do something, or Krauser would take the fall for your curiosity. Another casualty that you could have prevented if you’d been smarter. If you’d just put the fucking reports back when you were done reading through them in the first place. Now, all you could do was pray that your bluff would work. “I took them from his office the night before the attack. Check the camera footage, I was in the officer’s barracks. He’s just trying to cover for me.”

Simmons, for his part, just seemed intrigued by your words. “Really?” he said, raising a brow. “And what reason would he have to do that?” 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon knew the reason. He had been ignoring it for long enough, but he knew now. The Major’s service was everything to him, his life in the military all that he had. Still, he’d risked it for you. It all became unavoidable, then; why Krauser had been so harsh with Leon after Fort Benning. Why he’d been taking such an interest in your training. Why he’d given you classified information. Him keeping your secret, his late nights with you, all of it. 

Krauser cared for you. More than he should have.

And Leon knew. 

If he said as much, if he spoke that truth, Jack Krauser’s career would be over. 

Krauser’s feelings for you were a breach of the balance of power. Leon knew that. He would be justified in reporting it . . . but Krauser had never acted on those feelings. At least as far as Leon knew. He cared for you, that much was obvious, but he’d never acted on it. And Leon knew he wouldn’t. For all the harsh training, for every bruising lesson, Krauser was a good man.

A man that Leon, despite himself, cared for.

A man who just wanted the best for those under his command.

Still, a choice had to be made.

Leon wasn’t a liar. He had never been good at it. He’d always spoken the truth, when he could help it. 

But more than that, he’d always defended those he cared for. 

“He’s loyal to his men,” Leon answered, his voice smaller than he would like. It was true, he supposed. Even if loyalty may not have been all the Major felt towards you. “He would lie to keep them protected in a heartbeat.” 

⧫⧫⧫

“And you are loyal to him, it seems.” 

You knew where this was going, because Reed had made the exact same implication the other night. It made you want to scream. This whole ordeal did, because it was what little remained of your world being torn apart once more. The dogs and carrion birds had come to tear at the remains of you. It left you on your back heels, trying desperately to defend yourself and your Major both. “I’m loyal to everyone I serve with.” 

“Not to your country?” 

“To the government that signed off on a deal with Birkin?” you hissed, shaking your head. “That let an Umbrella agent slip under its nose? How can I trust that country when anyone could be working for the enemy? How the fuck can I even know that you’re not with Umbrella? Another asshole on its payroll?” You were seething, now. Swinging blindly at an enemy you couldn’t see, hoping to land any blow. 

Simmons regarded you, then, his eyes calculating. 

Up until now, everything felt scripted. Like he had been given a loose list of questions to ask you.

In that moment, you felt him break from it. 

⧫⧫⧫

“I understand what the Sergeant has gone through,” Benford said, his tone more sympathetic than Leon had ever heard it. “I know that what you both endured might have brought you . . . closer. I know that you likely trust the Sergeant. I’m trying to determine if we can.” 

Leon’s jaw clenched. “You’re crazy if you think that anyone who watched their entire base be destroyed, who lost the people most important in their life, who nearly died because of Umbrella, would ever work for those bastards.” Because you wouldn’t. You would never have done this. He didn’t understand why they would even think-

“You were close with Lieutenant Logan Alenko, were you not?” 

Benford’s question eviscerated Leon. Dug in before the younger man could even prepare himself. 

“Yes,” he answered, numb. “I was.” 

“And the Sergeant was too, am I correct?” 

Leon winced, the memory of your smiles and wry humor clashing brutally with that newest memory of you. The one that Leon could never and would never forget. 

“Yes.”

“But you reported that the Sergeant killed him anyway.”

“He . . . was infected.” 

“Infected but not turned, correct?” 

“. . . Yes.” 

Benford nodded, thinking for a moment. “You may speak freely, Leon,” he said, the eyes framed by glasses piercing but sincere. “Do you think you can trust an individual like that? One who is comfortable committing treason and executing allies?” 

Leon knew what answer was expected of him.

⧫⧫⧫

“I suppose you can’t,” Simmons admitted, seeming to mull something over. In the end, he looked towards the one-way glass, towards where other agents and officers were no doubt watching the debriefing, then back to you. “So allow me to be transparent with you.” He leaned forward, his hands clasping together and his elbows resting on the table. “Many of these reports that you’ve read crossed my desk. I was aware of the dealings being made with William Birkin. I was aware that Agent Reed was facilitating that communication.” You didn’t get any satisfaction from that confirmation. Not as Simmons continued. “I oversaw the operation to obtain virus samples when Birkin went silent, and when the situation in Raccoon City became uncontainable, I counseled its destruction.” 

You didn’t even have time to process the information. One hundred thousand deaths, deaths that bore down on Leon’s conscious, on your own, in a way . . . lives snuffed out in an instant, all because of this man. Some asshole in a suit. What truly made you feel empty, though, was what Simmons said next. 

“And I think you understand why I did it,” he said, and you wanted to look anywhere but his eyes. It felt impossible, though, as he peered at you from over his clasped hands. “You killed Lieutenant Alenko for the same reason.” 

You nearly flew across the table at him. Nearly tore his throat out. “It is not the same-”

⧫⧫⧫

You’d done it because you had to. Because Alenko would have turned if you hadn’t. You’d done it, Leon knew, to spare him. It wasn’t heartless of you . . .

⧫⧫⧫

“Oh, but it was,” Simmons shook his head. “It was ugly, but necessary. You kill a friend to keep him from turning into a monster. I destroy a city to keep a nation sleeping peacefully at night. I think you would have done the same thing, in my place. And I think you and I share a similar resentment for the organization that forced our hands.” 

The only thing that stayed your rage was hearing it mirrored in Simmons’ voice. 

⧫⧫⧫

You did what you had to do.

⧫⧫⧫

“Umbrella has upset the balance of our entire world. We did the same thing once before, developing the atomic bomb. We changed war forever. Now, it will be changed again. As much as we have tried - as I have tried - to keep the knowledge of what Umbrella has developed from the rest of the world, I know that news is already spreading. Our enemies are clamoring for their share of a weapon that can destroy a military base, a city. We will need individuals who can do what must be done,” he said, and you felt the chains clicking into place as he looked at you. “We need individuals like you.”

“I thought I might be responsible for all this?” Bitterness flavored your words because hadn’t he just suggested that you were the plant? That you were working for Umbrella?  

Simmons nodded, pensive as he lowered his hands. “I was asked to interrogate you on your potential involvement in this most recent attack, that is true. But you’re right. I think it’s a waste of time. You’re loyal to the men and women you serve with, I believe you when you say that. Unfortunately-” he drummed his fingers against the reports- “you have put me in a difficult situation.” 

Because even if you hadn’t been involved in the attack, you had absolutely done something wrong besides. You knew too much. Just as Leon knew too much, when he’d been tracked down after Raccoon City. 

They’d threatened a child to force his loyalty. Told him not so subtly that he and Sherry would die if he didn’t agree to give his life in service. 

What would they do to you?

“If you’re not with Umbrella,” you began, “then you don’t have anything to worry about from me.” 

⧫⧫⧫

You would never hurt anyone unless you had a good reason. Leon knew that truth in his heart. 

⧫⧫⧫

“I believe you,” Simmons said again, “but unfortunately, my superiors feel otherwise.”

“I’m offering you my cooperation-”

“And you’re being forgiven for committing treason,” Simmons pointed out. “You’ll forgive them for being cautious.” 

“Oh I will?” 

“You will,” Simmons nodded. “Because your Major admitted to committing that same treason on record. A record that I can strike or can act on. Just as I can ignore your fraternization, or act on it.” 

“I’m not fraternizing with the Major-”

“I wasn’t referring to him. Well, perhaps not only to him.”

You’d been through this enough times by now that it was no longer a shock; that realization that you hadn’t, in fact, been careful. That despite your best efforts, there were precious few ways to hide from eyes that were everywhere. 

So, as Simmons reached towards the little TV on the corner of the table and turned it on, it wasn’t shock that overtook you, this time. It was a dark acceptance. 

You looked at the screen, seeing the image come to life, low-quality, but unmistakable. Leon’s hair - that fucking ridiculous hair that he refused to cut - made it impossible to think it was anyone else. The shape of you was just as clear as you watched a familiar scene. You knew exactly what day it was. In your gut, you knew. The day you and Leon had faced Krauser together in sparring, right before the final test. The day you’d lamented that you wished to be going into service with Leon. You schooled your expression as best you could as you watched the recording, seeing you both walking back to the barracks, stopping, and then Leon folding his arms around you in a comforting embrace. 

⧫⧫⧫

He loved you. However much horror you’d endured, he loved you. 

⧫⧫⧫

You watched as, after a moment, your own arms came up to hold him in return. 

When you were with him like that, it was easy to forget the passage of time. Comfort had that effect, you supposed. Now, though, each second that embrace lasted on screen seemed to be a lifetime long. 

It was always going to turn out like this. You’d known that going in, hadn’t you? 

“Is this supposed to be a threat?” you asked, your voice becoming hollow once more. 

Simmons shook his head. “It’s an observation. You and Kennedy care for each other. The Major claimed to have no knowledge of anything between the two of you, but Hellman and Reed’s reports both surmise that you two are close.” He tilted his head, opening his hands in a questioning motion. “Just how close are you?”

“He asked me to teach him how to fight,” you said, holding Simmons’ gaze. “We’ve trained together. We’re friends. Nothing more.” 

“Really? No deeper feelings at all?”

⧫⧫⧫

He loved you.

⧫⧫⧫

“There’s nothing.” 

Simmons didn’t believe you. You could see that much written plainly across his face. Still, he nodded. “Good. I’m sure you’re aware of the importance of Leon’s continued service. I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize that.” The threat was plain. Barely disguised. 

“Nothing will.” 

Because if Leon wasn’t in STRATCOM, if he wasn’t an agent for the government, he would be a liability. A man who knew too much.

That much was spelled out for you now, clear as day. If he was thrown from service, his life was forfeit. 

Krauser’s career, Leon’s life . . . all riding on you not misbehaving. 

The shackles were in place, your path forward clear. They were your weaknesses – the gaps in your armor. Simmons had found them without trouble. He would use them against you, if you gave him cause to.

So long as you were all entangled together, they would be in danger.

In the recording, you and Leon finally stepped away from each other. You watched out of the corner of your eye, numb. 

⧫⧫⧫

He hated what you’d done, but he loved you. 

⧫⧫⧫

“You want someone who will do whatever it takes? Who will bury Umbrella in the ground? You’ve got them.” If that was what you were put on this Earth to do, then so be it. 

You could be their weapon. That was what you’d been training for.

⧫⧫⧫

“Leon,” Benford spoke again, and Leon just wanted the nightmare to stop. He wanted it all to stop, even if just for a moment. “Do you honestly think we can trust a person like that?” 

The question wouldn’t have fazed him a week ago. It would have been ridiculous. Insane. 

Even now, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. He did. He always would. 

That didn’t change the fact that he had hesitated in his answer. Something had held his tongue, even if only for a moment. Something he never, ever wanted to associate with you, but he found it there all the same. He found it in the memory of your hollow expression, your blank stare as you lowered the rifle. 

Fear. 

He’d been afraid of you, in that moment. 

Or, perhaps, he’d been afraid for you. 

“It had to be done.” Leon was trying to convince the man across from him as much as himself. 

So yes. He trusted you. 

Even if he would never forget what you’d done.

⧫⧫⧫

Hearing those words, Simmons smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.” With that, it was done. The agent stood and left, and a few seconds later, soldiers came in to lead you out of the room.

You passed him in the hallway as you were escorted back to your room. 

The universe loved its shitty timing, didn’t it? 

Leon’s eyes widened just a touch as he saw you. Blue framed in bruising. Still beautiful, just as he had been when you’d seen him across the mess hall. Just as when that bruising had been dealt by your hand and not just a lack of sleep. Maybe that lack of sleep was your fault, too. 

You hoped it was.

You hoped he hated you for what you’d done. You certainly did. 

It wasn’t hatred that you saw in that gaze, though. 

No. Instead, you glimpsed uncertainty. Concern. 

Fear. 

And what did you give back? What did you spare the man you loved? The man who had saved you the night of the attack and long before then? 

Absolutely nothing. 

You kept walking, your eyes focused forward as you passed him. 

You didn’t even blink. Not until you were back in your appointed cell, finding your belongings there. Fatigues, rucksack . . . and a radio that you shouldn’t have had. One stolen in an act of petty retribution. One that had been your companion as you watched others training for a war that was yours. 

Only yours. 

It should have only been yours. 

You took the radio in your hands. Flipped it on. 

A guitar. Drums. A voice that seemed to strain against the very words it sang. 

Cracked eggs, dead birds,

Scream as they fight for life

You’d known. You’d known from the start it couldn’t end any other way. 

I can feel death, can see its beady eyes

If things could be different . . . if you were anyone, anywhere else . . . but you weren’t. Wishing didn’t matter, not when you were faced with the reality before you. Leon could have your love, or he could have his life. You knew which one he would choose. So you wouldn’t give him the choice.

All these things into position,

All these things we’ll one day swallow whole

Your hands tightened around the radio, your eyes stinging.

And fade out again . . .

Your teeth clenched so hard you thought they might break, just as the plastic on the radio began to groan under your constricting fingers. 

And fade out-

Plastic and wiring splintered against the wall. The radio kept playing, even as you dashed it against the concrete. So, you brought your heel up. You knew how to silence something that wouldn’t die. You knew better than anyone. 

You brought your boot down and there was a crunch, a warping of voice.

Then, finally, silence. 

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[mychoombatheroomba]

All That Remains

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 52

Leon, Krauser and the rest of the squad return to base, and deal with all that remains of it.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

TW for death, gore, PTSD and suicidal thoughts and just general trauma, please take care of yourselves and your mental health!

Leon had felt fear when he’d driven towards Raccoon City. After he’d had his first encounter with the undead, he’d been terrified, but he’d pressed on. He’d done it then out of a sense of duty. A need to help anyone he could. He’d been trained and able-bodied, he could make a difference. That was what he’d thought then, and he’d been wrong. 

Would he be wrong again? 

No. No, he couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be. That was all there was to it. 

That didn’t stop his gut from lurching as he heard the sound of a distant boom. Even miles away and through the dark trees, Leon could see the light of the explosion. It lit up the night sky, a bloom of orange against the black. He knew where that explosion had come from, and it only seeded dread in him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Williams murmured from Leon’s side, her eyes fixed on the windshield, horror painted clearly on her face. 

Too late. 

Too late too late too late.  

Leon couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing against his mind, bombarding him. 

“How far out are we?” he found himself asking, looking at Krauser with desperation. 

The Major pulled his lips into a tight line, his expression turning to stone. “Fifteen minutes.” 

Leon of all people knew that anything and everything could go wrong in fifteen minutes. His doubts, his fears, all of it pressed down on him, threatening to crush him under the weight because if you were-

“We’ll make it,” Alenko said, his eyes haunted but his voice firm. His hands were clasped tightly together in the dark, his thumb rubbing nervous circles against his wrist. “We have to. There has to be enough time.” 

Leon nodded. His friend was right. They had to do this. No one else could.  

They’d turn off the mountain path they drove down now, then it would be a straight shot to the main road. Then into base. Into the fire. Leon had often thought to himself that he would face down anything for you. Now, he would prove it. So the Humvee, with the ambulance in tow, raced down dangerous forest paths. Oblivious that they had been only fifteen minutes from missing a different Humvee, coming from the base, fleeing the fire left in its wake. 

⧫⧫⧫

Smoke. Blood. Gasoline. Burning rubber. The smells came to you before anything else. 

Then, it was the pain. 

Your head, your back; your whole body felt heavy with aches as you came to, the world a blur of blacks and oranges. Eventually, it was enough light for some things to come into view. Things like the windshield, cracked and buckled, or the steering wheel that you soon realized was hanging down on the other side of the vehicle instead of rising to meet you. It was then that you realized the Humvee had flipped and you now lay on the roof. 

Reed. He’d cut comms, destroyed the means of escape . . . perfect fucking plan. And you’d failed to stop it. Now, who knew how far away he was? He’d succeeded, and you’d failed. Just like Finland, you’d failed. 

That sinking feeling was only worsened by a familiar sound. One that jolted you fully awake. 

Shuffling feet against pavement, the sound barely audible against the ringing in your ears and the still-burning remains of the motor pool. You could see them, shambling about outside the wreckage of your Humvee, boots scuffing against the pavement with clumsy steps. Drawn by the sound of the explosion, no doubt. You didn’t know how long you’d lay there, unconscious from the crash. Time enough to find yourself surrounded. 

You could make out the stock of your rifle, lying on the roof of what would have been the back seat. Only the throwing knife you’d stashed in your fatigue pocket was close, which you reached for in a pained desperation. 

Just in time, too, as you felt a hand close around your ankle. 

You jumped, adrenaline tossing the pain in your body aside, the need to survive taking you by the throat. You kicked, scrambling away. Eyes wide. Reaching for your gun to no avail.

A snarling form met your vision, crawling in through the driver’s side window of the Humvee. Hands stained with blood reached out for you again, and you moved backwards, reaching over yourself with your free hand. Tried to open the passenger side door, only to hear a pounding against the intact glass and a hungry growl from the other side.  

Not that way-

When the zombie crawling its way inside reached for you again you snarled yourself, your mind driving you to fight. To survive. 

Your knife came down into the skull of the crawling assailant, the sound enough to make your skin crawl. Still, it was enough and the corpse died its second death, just in time for another to drop to its knees outside and take its place, clawing its way into the shattered window. 

Your knife wouldn’t budge from where it lay embedded in bone and brain. 

Leave it. No time. 

You shifted with your teeth bared, panic starting to swell in you as the third attacker pulled itself up the body of its fallen brethren. 

Need a weapon. Need my-

You moved under the seat backs that now hung over you. Army crawl. Like you were moving under razor wire. Or, now, like your life depended on it. 

Your hand found the stock of the rifle.

Another hand found your leg. 

The rifle was at an awkward angle, but your aim was true. The muzzle flashed, illuminating the remnants of a face you’d known. One of the soldiers who’d maintained the vehicles here, the ones that were all, no doubt, in ruin and wreckage outside. You could see blood on his mouth, a vacancy of spirit in his eyes. And then there was a splattering of gore as the bullets put an end to him. 

Not him. It. This wasn’t a man anymore. Not a comrade. 

Neither were any of the corpses walking around outside, drawn by the sound of your struggle. 

You couldn’t stay here.

You took a ragged breath, reaching for the back driver’s side door. Its window was gone too, but crawling would leave you more vulnerable. Better to slip through a fully open door. You hadn’t had time to combat-lock the doors before the explosion hit. The metal opened for you, and the heat of the fires around you hit you. 

Moving forward, you stood, finding yourself dizzy. Surrounded. 

The corpses growled, undead hands reaching for you as they moved forward. 

All you were missing was the snow and the wound in your side, and it was almost the picture of your past. The hell that should have killed you. Dying here would do, though. If it came to that. 

⧫⧫⧫

But it couldn’t come to that. God, don’t let it come to that. 

Leon could only pray to whoever was listening as they passed the gate of the base. One that was guarded by only the shells of men. His prayers barely drowned out the sound of Krauser’s command, echoing in his head. Go for the head. No matter who it was. 

Even if it was-

No. It wouldn’t come to that. 

There were no words from the soldiers at Leon’s side, just a tyrannical silence that settled in, taking ownership of the space in the vehicle. Brows furrowed at the sight of their home, the one place that Leon and everyone else had thought would be safe, consumed by death and fire. A fire that raged to their right, in the smoldering ruins of where the other vehicles had been housed. 

Ruins that, Leon swore, he heard gunfire from. 

“Major,” he spoke, unable to stop himself because if there was anyone still alive-

“I hear it,” Krauser growled, his eyes shifting towards the glowing flames and the bodies they could see shambling amidst them. 

Leon could feel his body readying itself, his conscience begging him to go. To help. The Major’s teachings, the brutality they’d all endured, the countless times he’d been told not to be a hero . . . none of that mattered in that moment. Someone needed help. So, Leon looked to Krauser, his eyes almost pleading. 

Krauser, who’s own eyes flitted between the path around base to the armory and the fiery remains of the motor pool . . . and the figure they both glimpsed pushing their way through advancing undead, a rifle flashing faint against the blaze. Too far to make out who it was, just now. 

Didn’t matter, though. 

It was one of Krauser’s men, and Leon had learned that no matter how much the Major asked of them, no matter how badly he beat them down, when it came down to it, Jack Krauser would do everything he could to keep his men alive. So Leon wasn’t surprised when the Major tightened his grip on the wheel and cracked his neck, turning off course. “Get ready,” he snarled to his men, and Leon obeyed. Krauser radioed Hellman in the ambulance trailing them. Told him that he was stopping to help a survivor, and then they were speeding ahead towards the fight. 

Whoever it was . . .

⧫⧫⧫

You wouldn’t die alone. 

No, you would take as many of these things with you as you could. 

Bullets tore into decaying flesh. 

Lungs filled with smoke. 

Eyes pierced through the night. 

They fell before you. One after the other. A mercy. A necessity. More and more and you moved to escape the debris of the motor pool. Moved and killed and you were no longer you. Just the charred wreckage of a person. There was peace in your rage. Tranquility found in the tide of bloodshed. Right up until your rifle clicked empty, and there were still more foes between you and escape. 

Your practiced hands turned the rifle in your hand, swinging it hard at the first zombie to come at you. Then another. More and more until you felt hands grabbing at your arms from behind. Desperate, you shook them off and turned, breaking teeth free of a rotting skull with the butt of your rifle. 

Trying to kill as many as you could. Nearly missing the sound of tires approaching in your struggle. Then you and your opponents were illuminated in the harsh glow of headlights, an engine roaring towards you. 

Those headlights flashed, so close , and then there was a sickening crunch of bone and flesh.

⧫⧫⧫

The entire Humvee rose and fell as at least one of the bodies was crushed under the tires. Leon felt his weight shift forward and braced himself as the huge vehicle came to a halt, and as he looked out the window . . .

His heart stopped.  

You. Framed in fire and painted in blood, fighting with everything you had. That was the sight he glimpsed as he looked out that window, and he’d never felt the need to move, to fight, more in his entire life. 

That made him all the more ready to answer the call. 

“Kennedy!” Krauser roared, “go, now!” 

⧫⧫⧫

You barely registered the sound of a car door opening, or the sound of someone dashing towards you. You were preoccupied with the two undead struggling to bring you down. To tear you apart. 

You snarled. Bared your teeth at the jaws threatening to close around you-

⧫⧫⧫

And then he was there, the laces of his boot colliding with a skull, taking down one of the two bodies around you. It wouldn’t kill it immediately, but he didn’t need that. He just needed to get it away from you. He just needed to give you time to-

⧫⧫⧫

Move. 

You took the opportunity given to you. Bashed your remaining attacker hard in the face, then moved to its side. A kick buckled its knee, and once it was on the ground you set to work. 

The rifle’s stock cracked against the skull over and over and over. Blood sprayed up at you, coating the gunmetal and your hands both. Still, you kept going. Not hearing your name called. Not feeling-

⧫⧫⧫

His hand found your shoulder, the other stopping your swing, and your head snapped towards him. He was exhausted. Drained. But seeing you was a shot of adrenaline into his veins. Blood trickled down from your hairline, it splattered your skin. Your eyes were wild, frenzied, terrified. 

“It’s me!” Leon said, his voice breaking. 

You jolted in his hold, trying to pull your rifle away from him. Like you couldn’t even see him. Like his words were hollow. 

So Leon moved, and-

⧫⧫⧫

You froze as you felt him take your face in his hands. 

Someone shouted at the pair of you from the Humvee. A gruff voice. Familiar. The sound was lost in the din of violence in your head, to the pleading voice of the man holding you. 

“It’s me!” he repeated, and at last you made sense of what you were seeing. 

“Leon.” His name was ragged as you spoke it. The remnants of something fraying and falling apart. 

He nodded anyway, giving you a half-smile. “I’m here.” 

Here. He shouldn’t be. He should be up in the mountains, far from this hell. Safe-

Something reached for him out of the corner of your eye. Half a body, trailing guts behind it from under the Humvee that had come to your rescue. One hand wrapping around his ankle, his distraction with you allowing the creature to pull itself forward. 

You pushed him to the side in an instant. Stomped down on the back of the zombie’s neck. Heard vertebrae separate beneath your heel. 

And then you were back, moving once more. 

Your hand around Leon’s, you pulled him towards the Humvee, ushering him inside, your head pounding but your focus resharpened. He didn’t protest, pulling you in after him. The door slammed shut and you were met with familiar faces, each looking at you in concern and relief. Williams brought a hand to your shoulder. Valeria let out an almost unnoticeable sigh. Alenko tried to smile at you, only for his face to fall back into a grave mask. 

And Leon held on to you all the while, not caring if anyone saw. Not anymore. 

Not even Hellman, when you all reunited outside the armory. Hellman, who beheld you with dawning horror. Who stepped back as your eyes flared with pure and utter rage- 

⧫⧫⧫

And who may have only been saved from that rage by Leon’s hand in yours and the arm Krauser placed across you, halting your advance mid-stride. “Sergeant,” the Major cautioned, his tone strained, but his authority intact. Even as you met him with an inferno stare. 

“You can’t trust him. It was Reed. He did this." That was what made you look at Hellman with such scathing suspicion. "How can you be sure he wasn’t involved?” you hissed, more sure of this than you’d ever been sure of anything. Krauser looked at you, his eyes searching yours, looking for answers in your mania. 

As if it would take much to convince him. 

“You saw Reed?” he asked, maintaining his own rage, if only just. “You’re sure?” 

“Someone sabotaged comms. And the motor pool,” you insisted, looking over at Hellman. “Someone cut the power before it all happened, and everyone on base gets fucking sick at the same time. Who better than the CIA motherfuckers sent to-” 

“If I was involved,” Hellman said, his tone as even as he could manage, “I wouldn't have driven back down here and put myself in harm's way. I would have killed this entire squad and the Major too during the test.” 

The words made even Krauser tense, but Hellman continued, his reasoning sound and delivered with brutal honesty. 

“I would have done it quickly. Efficiently. Not one lone attacker that could be taken down so quickly.” 

One attacker? That meant . . .

Krauser’s hand on your shoulder tightened. Forcing you back to reality. “We need to get inside. Then we debrief.” 

So you did. You all moved carefully into the shooting range. There was one guard there, like always. He snarled and swatted at you all, but Krauser moved faster. Snapped his neck and dragged his body outside. When he returned and everyone had filed into the building, he looked at you.

“Sergeant,” Krauser said, his voice more worried than you’d ever heard it. No, that’s not true. You’d heard fear in his voice before as he carried you from the snow, urging you to stay awake. “Talk to me.” 

A situation report. That was what he was asking for, and that was what you gave as he sped towards the shooting range. You didn’t dare look at Leon the entire time you spoke. You didn’t look at anyone. Not until Krauser confirmed to you that the attack hadn’t been just on base. You felt your gut sink at the mention of Doc’s assistant. The one who’d swapped out with him to oversee the final test. The woman who had given Grayson her meal out of kindness. The woman who had torn out Alejandro’s throat. 

Another dead body. Another comrade you couldn’t save. 

⧫⧫⧫

He won’t be the last. That terrible truth wrapped Leon in a cold embrace as you all burst into the range, arming yourselves. Thankful that STRATCOM had provided live rounds for practice. Nothing but the best for the best. 

The best gear, the best training, and it hadn’t made a difference. 

No, Leon breathed, forcing his mind to level out. 

You were alive. Somehow, by your own hand and by the mercy of fate, you were alive. Leon clung to that victory as he slid a knife onto the back of his belt. Even if, by the look in your eyes, you didn’t take it as a victory. Leon had seen you disappear into yourself before. He’d seen you bloodied before. 

But this?

You weren’t just hiding in yourself, you’d let the dark swallow you whole. He could see it in your movements. Precise and cold, your eyes piercing in their ice. The day he’d met you, he’d glimpsed this. Now . . . now he was beholden to a mutation all its own. 

One that he could feel in himself, too. One that would have overtaken him completely, if you weren’t there. 

When this was done, he would hold you and you would hold him and then you could try to excise that darkness together. He had enough strength to believe that. Strength gifted to him when, for a moment, you met his eyes just before the group marched out. In that moment, he saw the ice chip and shatter, the little light in your gaze flickering to life for him. No smile. No expression of hope. Just acknowledgement that he was there and so were you.  

That was enough. 

But then that moment was broken-

⧫⧫⧫

And the work began. 

The med bay first. Then the other buildings on base. 

Krauser and Hellman led the way and you fell into their shadow easily. Watching the CIA agent as much as you watched your surroundings. Leon remained ever at your side, as did your friends. Friends who could die if they were bitten or scratched. Hell, even you might die. There may be a scratch on you that you hadn’t realized was seeping poison into you. You wouldn’t know. Not until it was too late. 

It would be long enough, though. To destroy what Reed had done to this base, and to save who you could. 

To make sure that Leon made it through this. That the others made it through this.

So, you pulled the trigger when you had to. You brought down men and women you’d trained alongside, those who’d trained you, who’d stood vigil day in and day out, who’d served you meals and given you snarky remarks or polite smiles. 

⧫⧫⧫

He hadn’t known anyone in Raccoon City. It had been a terrible vision of what might have been. 

But Leon knew these men and women. And as the squad moved in bursts of gunfire, coordinated and brutal, Leon would look away each time he pulled the trigger. Had to. Not that it would matter. The faces would haunt him either way, just as they would haunt you. More ghosts. More names. 

It had to be worth something. They had to save some. 

The med bay. Where Doc, his assistant and the recruit who you said had seemed unaffected had been left. With you, that made four. Four lives that Leon held out hope of saving. But as they approached the infirmary, he felt that hope fading. 

The squad’s flashlights shined, the only source of light in the dark, and they illuminated red streaks on the windows. Bloody handprints, broken glass. The main door to the building was open, a smearing of red on the ground, leading them inside. 

He couldn’t . . . 

Like ghosts, they entered the building, Krauser and Hellman in the lead. They found bodies, scalpels stabbed into flesh or skulls caved in with blunt force trauma. There had been a fight. That didn’t stop them from encountering shambling corpses, though. Ones that were put down quickly. Aim for the head, just like Krauser had instructed. No matter how much each bullet marked a new toll on Leon’s conscience, weighing him down as much as the exhaustion in his bones. 

He couldn’t . . .

Press in. Stick close. Stay vigilant.

Leon followed Krauser’s silent orders, moving in to clear the main sick bay just behind Krauser, Hellman and you. Gunfire filled the room, flashing as corpses fell. Other rooms shared the same echoes as the squad cleared the building, a song Leon would never forget, one that filled his ears and made his heart pound heavy in his chest-

Just as the figure that lunged at him did. The mess of flashes and noises made the shadows deeper, and Leon didn’t see the figure moving until it was too late. He lifted his rifle, but a blooded hand knocked it out of the way. His muscles protested as the full weight of someone else’s body slammed into him, lack of sleep sapping his strength. He tried to angle his weapon, to find a way, a place to aim the barrel-

⧫⧫⧫

Then a flash of silver arced towards him, and the attacker fell to the ground. 

Not you. You wished you’d been fast enough. 

No, it was Major Krauser that stood over the fresh kill, wrenching his blade free of the body now still on the ground. You watched as he turned to Leon with a snarl. “You have a knife, rookie. Use it. It’s faster up close.” He leaned in, meeting Leon’s eyes. “You know better. Focus. And keep your eyes on your targets.”

Another grim lesson. 

Not the last one the night had in store for you. Oh, no. No, even the sight that greeted you as you searched the now silent building wasn’t the night’s final, brutal instruction. 

You found him in what had once been your old room, the door locked, just as you’d told him to keep it. Only Grayson wasn’t alone. He must have let Doc and his assistant in, at some point. And even if he’d been careful in doing so, the undead had shattered the windows to get to them. The same windows you’d spent so long staring out of, wishing to move. To fight at Leon’s side. 

Well, you’d gotten your wish. 

Now, this room that had once been full of music was silent, but for the ragged breathing of the two souls standing at the ready, each holding makeshift weapons. Grayson and the assistant, both covered in blood, looked ready to collapse when Krauser and Hellman made their way inside. “Don’t shoot!” They implored, their speech clear and terrified. 

Bodies lay strewn across the floor and over the bed, making a bloody artwork of the room you’d spent so long in. 

“Doc?” you dared to ask, once the room was confirmed to be clear. 

You didn’t know why you bothered to ask, the way their eyes fell was answer enough. In the wake of the bloodbath you’d missed . . . you couldn’t even tell which body was his. 

⧫⧫⧫

It was hours before it was done. Hours of clearing barracks and offices, making sure that every last threat was put down. There could be no room for error. By the end of it, Leon lost count of the corpses put to rest. The survivors were easier to tally. 

Three survivors of the base. Eleven from the testing grounds. Fourteen in total. 

Out of every soldier on base, dozens of personnel, of recruits . . . fourteen people lived to burn an S.O.S. into the ground, as if the smoke from the motor pool explosion wasn’t indication enough already. The corpses were burned too. A massive pyre that should never have had to be lit. Some had already been charred, or damaged beyond identification, but even so, Leon couldn’t find Reed anywhere amongst the bodies. 

The survivors all watched on through the night, a silence falling among the group. There was nothing to say. No words that would make it right. 

It happened again.  

It wasn’t supposed to happen again, not like this. Not here. 

Leon’s mind refused to accept it, his breathing labored as he stared ahead at the flames. You stood beside him, your eyes just as empty. Just as distant. Leon debated reaching for you. He wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to. But in the wake of the shock you’d all experienced, he found himself unable to move. 

As dawn began to break and the sound of sirens filled the air, Krauser moved, signaling the group with a stiffness Leon had never seen in him. “Move out.” His words were hollow.  

With just a moment’s hesitation, the squad nodded. They didn’t make it very far, though, before Williams spoke, her voice cracked and brittle. “Where’s Alenko?” 

Leon stopped, dread coiling in his stomach. The older soldier had been with them through the fighting. He’d been there as they collected the dead and piled them. He must have slipped away. But why? 

Krauser had energy enough to grimace as he looked for the missing soldier. In the end, though, Valeria stepped forward. “We’ll go find him, sir.” 

With a nod, your little group split from the rest in search. 

You didn’t have to look far. 

He sat against the edge of the officer’s barracks, just beneath the window to Krauser’s office. No music, this time. Even the birds that would usually greet the dawn were silent. Only Alenko’s heavy breathing could be heard, intercut with the sound of wet coughing, his shoulders rising and falling, his eyes downcast. 

That gaze was fixed on the trembling pistol in his hand. 

“Logan?” Leon asked, using the name he’d known for so long but so seldom used, looking between you and the others as he approached. 

The older soldier squeezed his eyes shut, then looked up at the others slowly. Only then, in the breaking morning light, did Leon realize how pale Alenko had become. He looked up at them all, a bleak resignation in his eyes.

No-

“Finally got past the last name thing?” he asked, trying and failing to smile. 

Oh god please-

“What are you doing?” Williams asked, her voice full of fear. Fear for their friend, for a man who’d only ever been a kind and connecting force in the months they’d known him. 

A man who, with a soldier’s resolve, found it in him to laugh, even if it was a dry, humorless thing. “Waiting for sunrise,” he told you all, looking towards the horizon. “Seemed like a good thing to do.” 

“Alenko-” Valeria stepped forward, but the man pushed up the sleeve on his wrist. There, just under the sleeve of his fatigues, was a tiny, tiny little cut. More a breakage of skin than anything, but with enough that blood lined the wound in red. And around it, was a network of veins and rot. 

Leon felt his heart fall deep into his belly, eyes wide. 

Alenko, though, just shook his head. “I didn’t even feel it, at first,” he admitted, shame clear in his voice. “But it was after Alejandro . . .” he couldn’t even say it. “Then I thought, well, maybe it was small enough, or not deep enough-” a coughing fit cut off his words, and Leon felt frozen. 

Helpless. 

He’d felt that far too many times before. 

“I, uh,” Alenko went on, biting his lip, his voice strained, “I can feel it, though. So, you know, I tried to do the right thing. The noble thing.” He raised and then lowered the pistol in his hands, shaking his head, eyes shining in the dawning light. “Couldn’t, though. I . . .” he looked up, then, his eyes finding Leon’s, and the weight of so much sorrow bore down on him in that gaze. “I couldn’t-”

Williams moved first, kneeling at his side, wrapping strong arms around Alenko’s shoulders. Valeria followed, not hugging him but being there, at his side. The three of them huddled together, clinging to a man who would slip away no matter what they did. 

Leon couldn’t move, though. Not at first. He couldn’t reconcile what he was seeing with what his mind tried to tell him; his mind, saying this wasn’t real. Still fighting the reality. 

And you . . . you were the same, just staring at Alenko, jaw tight. Leon wouldn’t blame you for that reaction. He would forever blame himself, though, if he wasn’t there for his friend. 

So, he approached, dropping down to the dirt at Alenko’s side, his whole body numb as he was forced to accept the reality of this once more. Forced to watch as the shattered fragments of his world were pulverized further. He was going to lose another friend. And not only lose, Leon realized, as Alenko looked up at them all. “I can’t do it myself,” he said, his voice utterly defeated, his eyes shining. “I . . . I can’t ask you to, but . . .” 

But he was asking. 

“Please,” Alenko - Logan - implored. “I don’t want to become one of them.” 

The plea was all it took, because Leon was intimately familiar with that fear. Even if he’d never become infected himself, he understood. He wouldn’t want to die as some monster, his soul buried inside a husk of who he once was. Few things in this world scared him more. 

So, as Dina and Valeria looked between each other, their reluctance plain, Leon reached his shaking hand forward, resting it on the gun in Alenko’s grasp. 

Alenko looked up, meeting Leon’s eyes once more. Shame, guilt, relief. All three were plain to see in his eyes as the soldier whispered a “Thank you.” 

Leon nodded. That was all he could do. He and the others rose to their feet, and the world seemed to go still. The gun that Leon took from Alenko’s hand was heavy. Heavier than he could ever remember one being. His lip trembled as he stepped back, his body moving but his mind blank. Back in Raccoon City, he’d had to bring Marvin down, but that had been after he turned. After the person he had been was gone. Alenko was still here, though. Still looking up at him, fully himself. 

He had to do this. He had to, for his friend . . . 

But as Leon stood there, he found he couldn’t lift that hand. 

Not as Alenko looked up at him, giving Leon a small, sad smile, a bad mask for the fear that was welling in the soldier’s heart. Leon could see it. Fear. Fear to die, to end. Fear of becoming something else, but fear of this, too. Of the gun in Leon’s hand that shook, pointed at the ground. “It . . .” Alenko spoke, taking a shuddering breath. “It’s oka-”

A gunshot, clear and powerful, made Leon flinch, his eyes widening in horror. 

Alenko’s expression went slack, no time for surprise to even register on his face. He fell to the side, curled against the wall and dust. Gone. Just like that, in less than a second, he was gone. Leon blinked, his lips parting, pistol still at his side. 

He looked over just in time to see you lower your rifle. 

And he nearly didn’t recognize the person holding that gun. 

You stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the body now lying there, dead at your hand. Face and hands stained with blood, no more frenzy in your eyes. No warmth, no ice . . . nothing at all. 

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