Chapter Text
The soldier led Ethan to the helicopter, helping him heave himself inside. Once he was settled, another soldier came around with what looked like a tranquilizer gun. Panic suddenly gripped him, but Ethan was too tired and injured to struggle much; there was a prick in his neck, and--
--he blearily opened his eyes. Blurred figures yelled muffled words to each other. Another prick, this time in his arm--
Ethan woke up in a sterile white room. The walls were padded, and in a corner of the room he could see a gray bed. There were two doors in the room; one was a heavy-looking door made of solid metal, while the other was a contrastingly flimsy wood door. There was a reinforced glass window in one of the walls; though there was nobody behind the window, he could see several chairs and a large desk situated in the room beyond, and Ethan’s gut sank in horror.
He stood up from his seat (which, when turning around, was revealed to be some sort of medical stretcher) and took a few steps out before looking down.
Oh, shit, he was naked.
Feeling more exposed now than ever, Ethan opted to grab the blanket from the bed to cover himself, pulling it across his shoulders as well as he could like he was draping a towel over himself. Of course, the damned spikes got in the way, but nonetheless he was thankful for some semblance of modesty.
Ducking through the wooden door revealed a sparse bathroom with zero windows; Ethan saw it fit to have a panic attack in here and promptly curled up, thoughts racing.
Shit, shit, shit, he was in deep shit. He was going to be stuck here forever, experimented on like some sort of rat. He was trapped here. Of course he was trapped here! He was a fucking monster, that’s what they do to monsters. Lock them up and keep them away from society.
Another thought cut through his panic.
Mia.
He had left Mia behind at the boat. Was she okay? Did they find her? Was she recovering in a hospital? Or did they do this to her, too? A low growl escaped him at the thought of Mia being locked up, though he was quick to stifle it.
Ethan took a deep breath through his nose, curling his hands. He didn’t know what to do from here, how to proceed. Back in the Baker house, Ethan always had a goal. Save Mia, get the arm, destroy Eveline.
Now, however, he didn’t have anything. There was no Zoe here to help guide him through, there was no Eveline to destroy, there was no Mia to rescue. He was stuck here, possibly for the rest of his life. Escaping would likely end in his death; the Bakers may have been difficult, but they were no government organization---Ethan had just traded one hell for another.
Shakily standing up, Ethan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror stretching across the wall behind himself, and his stomach sank even further.
He couldn’t see a single trace of humanity left in him. The face, the arms, the feet---those he knew about, those he could see. But what was revealed to him now displayed just how fundamentally he had changed.
His torso was emaciated and skeletal; fleshy vines of mold traced his ribs before fading into taut skin at his gut. His upper arms and the entirety of his legs seemed to be composed almost exclusively of these vines, and Ethan noted in horror that there were gaps wide enough to see through between some of the tendrils.
Fireflies crawled from beneath his skin as he moved his arm, watching the tendrils twist with the movement. How had he not noticed this at Dulvey?
Prying his eyes away from the mirror, Ethan trudged out of the bathroom and to the bed. Trying to ignore the growing horror of his current situation, he instead focused on how good it felt to finally be on a real bed.
Why are you here?
You should be dead.
“Ethan Winters?”
A deep, commanding voice crackled to life through a small speaker somewhere in the room, rousing Ethan from sleep. When had he fallen asleep?
Everything felt sore; he tried to stretch before quickly smacking himself in the face with an arm spike.
“Fuck,” Ethan halfheartedly swore, still partially asleep. Gracelessly rolling out of the comparatively small bed with the sheets wrapped around himself for modesty, he looked over to the window.
A rather intimidating, broad-shouldered man stood on the other side of the glass. The man sported a scratchy brown beard, and his eyebrows were furrowed, giving him a permanent scowl. Something in the man’s face seemed to soften at the sight of Ethan.
“What do you want?” Ethan groaned, hunching on the floor with the blankets draping around himself.
“I’d just like to talk with you a bit, keep you up-to-date on the situation.” The man said, looking over Ethan’s curled form. “I’ll send a request for some clothes, too.”
“Please do.” Ethan snorted humorlessly, avoiding eye contact.
The two of them stewed in mutual silence for a long while before the other man broke the ice.
“I’m afraid I never introduced myself---I’m Chris Redfield.”
Ethan quirked an eyebrow at that. Chris had said his name with a sort of expectation, like it was supposed to mean something to Ethan. “Yeah?”
Catching on to Ethan’s confusion, Chris elaborated.
“I’m the soldier who found you.”
“Oh.” Well, Ethan wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. On one hand, Chris had shown him some genuine care and did spare his life. On the other hand...
“Why the fuck did you lock me up in here?”
Chris frowned at that; any softness in his expression disappeared at Ethan’s accusatory tone.
“It’s protocol. You’re a biohazard---we’ll need to keep you in here until we can determine that you’re not dangerous.”
“Dangerous?!” Ethan sputtered, almost laughing. “I’m not gonna hurt anybody! I don’t want to hurt anybody!” He tried to gesture, though that only resulted in some of his spikes tearing through the blankets he had wrapped himself in; Ethan was once again faced with the sobering reality that yeah, he was a monster , and his agitation drained away a little. “I know I don’t look the part, but you have to believe me. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“I want believe you, in that you don’t want to hurt anybody.” Chris’s firm response took Ethan aback. “But that doesn’t make you any less dangerous.”
Frustration quickly grew in Ethan. How could Chris still believe Ethan to be dangerous when the soldier knows that he doesn’t want to hurt anybody?
“You might be contagious, or you might be unstable. We can’t know for certain right now---so until we figure out, you’ll have to stay in here.” Chris continued, and Ethan had to admit he couldn’t argue much with that.
“How long?” He sighed in defeat, already dreading the answer.
“I’m not too sure.”
Ethan looked around the relatively empty room before turning back to Chris.
“Can I at least get a computer or something?”
The look that Chris gave him in return most definitely said no.
Ethan did not get a computer. However, he had received a hospital gown and a book, so currently the monster found himself finally dressed while idly reading through a compilation of poems. To be quite honest, Ethan wasn’t the biggest fan of poems; they were a little too abstract and nonsensical for his tastes. However, considering that this was the only book he had been given so far, he really didn’t have much to choose from.
He had no idea how long it had been since he had spoken to Chris, which was fair; one’s sense of time did get rather convoluted when locked up in a room with no way to contact outside. Some time prior---Ethan guessed maybe ten minutes ago---a person in a hazmat suit had tossed a hefty slab of raw meat into his cell. He had been hesitant to eat it, considering that it was raw and on the floor , but god he had been starving .
All that remained of the meat now was a streak of grease on the floor where it had landed.
The observation room had, thankfully, remained empty for the time being, though the fact that it was there at all still unnerved him. Ethan found himself looking to the window every so often in case somebody had suddenly popped in to watch him; in some moments, he almost wished Mia would appear there. She never did, but Ethan still held onto the hope that maybe they’d let her talk to him.
Speaking of “they”, Ethan still had no clue who “they” were. Chris had left before the question had even crossed his mind, and the hazmat guy clearly didn’t seem interested in talking to Ethan.
This was surely going to be a great time.
Ethan was sure it had been several days since he had been picked up from Dulvey and put into here. He had eaten a few times since the first and practically slept like a log afterwards. When he woke up, there were a few additional books and several newspapers left by the door, along with some more raw meat.
Now that Ethan didn’t feel like he had been fasting for several days, he found himself a lot more reluctant to eat the food he was given. He also had a lot of time to reflect on the stuff he had eaten at the Baker’s ranch and vomited in the bathroom, which ended up with him having to be tranquilized while an entire decontamination team came in and remove all traces of the mold and half-digested meat that he had thrown up. They’ve kept a closer eye on him since then; several people now occupied the observation room, which naturally meant that Ethan had withdrawn into the bathroom.
Sitting on the hard concrete was, quite literally, a pain in the ass, but he’d certainly take privacy over personal comfort in this situation. He was beginning to have suspicions about the mirror being two-way, but he was determined to at least pretend like he could have a space to himself here.
Currently, Ethan was flipping through a recent newspaper detailing the events in Dulvey; there hasn’t been an official statement yet, which left him more than a little morbidly curious about how the situation would unfold.
Ethan had to admit that it was a bit surreal to read about the place he had been in only days(?) prior---it really solidified that, yes, this did happen, and yes, it wasn’t a nightmare.
He set aside the paper, sighing to himself. There wasn’t really much of interest in the newspaper besides the article he had been skimming through; the rest of it was either passages on local sports or farming, and frankly Ethan cared about neither.
He was about to reach over and grab a shitty romance novel that the hazmat people had given him when an odd sensation rippled through his body. It felt almost like goosebumps rolling across his skin, but he doubted that he could even get goosebumps anymore; he looked down at his arm to see what could possibly be the source of the strange feeling.
His skin seemed to almost move on its own---Ethan’s stomach twisted in disgust as he watched the dark mold almost pulsate. No, wait, his stomach wasn’t twisting in disgust, his organs were shifting inside of him.
Ethan let out a startled yelp at that realization, the snapping of his arms accentuating his terror. What was happening? Was he going to become something even more horrific? He tried to distance his mind from his body, but the painless sensation of his feet cracking had him reeling back into reality.
It felt like he was being put into a hydraulic press, except there was no pain; Ethan could feel his legs shorten, his knees weaken, his arms shrink. He cringed when his teeth began to push back into his skull, putting an uncomfortable pressure onto his jaws. Claws receded, dulling into harmless nubs. Teeth flattened and straightened out, losing their irregular jaggedness. Keratin armor sank back into flesh, spikes breaking loose from their organic shells to curl back into his skin like a mushroom growing in reverse.
He sat there for a few seconds, stunned and disoriented and his skin feeling too tight. Eventually, he mustered up the courage to lift a shaking arm.
Healthy pink skin. A normal, proportional arm. Dull, soft hands. Nails, a little longer than he would have liked, but still nails . No gnarled, boney claws, no dark and grotesque mold for skin, no unnatural spikes jutting from his arm. Just a normal, human arm with a normal, human hand.
“What the...?” Ethan choked out, turning his hand over. No abnormalities; it looked almost exactly like how his hand had looked before he had left for Dulvey. Turning to the mirror, Ethan was met with his own human visage. He stared for a moment, shocked, before his lips slowly curled into a smile. His teeth were no longer vicious canines the length of his fingers; they were small and pearly white, completely and utterly normal, and Ethan let out a bubbling laugh. The sound didn’t force its way from his throat, it didn’t come out as a raspy cough. It was his voice, his laughter.
He was himself again.
Ethan laughed and laughed and laughed until he cried, delicately cradling his own face in his hands as he refamiliarized himself with it.
He was himself again. He wasn’t a monster anymore. He could smile and frown and laugh and cry and-- and... he wasn’t stuck like that forever, he was human .
Ethan sat in the bathroom in a lightly ripped hospital gown, human once more.
It’s been a few weeks since he had returned to normal, and since then some of the people here had begun to treat him a little more humanely. A lot of the hazmat people still didn’t talk to him much, but now, instead of tossing raw meat into his room like he was a wild animal in a pen, they set trays of food and drink on a table by the entrance.
Some of the scientists in the observation room would ask him questions about Dulvey through the intercom, and he’d answer to the best of his ability. He usually left out the worst details, though; he didn’t want to remember everything.
Chris would drop by every once in a while to give him updates on his situation, and each talk with the man would leave Ethan in high spirits---things weren’t as hopeless as he had initially imagined.
Despite all this, however, Ethan concluded that the best part about being human again was being able to talk to Mia.
Every once in a while she’d walk into the observation room, escorted in by armed figures, and they’d talk through the intercom. They’d reminisce about things before Dulvey, he’d crack some jokes, she’d laugh and tell him that they were terrible, he’d laugh back. She might say he looked funny with a side shave (for the hair on the right side of his head had begun to grow in again), and then he’d teasingly respond that she no longer loved him.
Sometimes, she’d come to the room crying and apologizing. Ethan would do his best to comfort her from the other side of the glass during those visits, but often it didn’t seem to be enough.
He hoped things would go back to normal soon.
A few months of being restricted to his padded cell passed, each day monotonous but not entirely unpleasant (with the exception of the occasional argument). Ethan would read, eat, and talk with some scientists through the glass.
The door opened, and Ethan was ready to thank the hazmat person for his meal when Chris walked in. He casually tossed a bundle of clothes at Ethan, who clumsily caught the unexpected projectile.
“Get dressed, you’re going to be escorted for some debriefing soon.”
Then he left, just like that. Ethan stood dumbly for a few moments, still holding the clothes before he suddenly whirled into motion, practically leaping into the bathroom with a grin on his face.
The clothes consisted of a T-shirt, boxers, and a pair of jeans with a belt; though they weren’t the most comfortable, Ethan was happy to wear something that wasn’t a hospital gown.
He had left with some armed guards for debriefing a few minutes ago. The entire walk so far had passed in silence; Ethan was more than a little anxious.
It felt awkward walking down the sterile white halls barefoot while being escorted by heavily armed security---even more so when the strangers they passed gave Ethan strange looks. They weren’t outwardly malicious, though; rather, they seemed to be observing him, like he was a bacteria under a microscope. The anxiety of the whole situation almost had him wishing to return to his cell.
Eventually, they arrived at a smaller meeting room. The security team that escorted him remained outside as Ethan entered.
“Close the door---we’re going to be discussing confidential topics.” Chris’s words had Ethan pausing at the doorway before hesitantly closing the door behind himself.
“Ethan.” Chris said, and Ethan’s attention was drawn to the man near-immediately. “I’ve got some good news for you---you’ve been cleared of all pathogenicity.”
Ethan sighed in relief at that; that meant he wasn’t contagious, which meant he was probably going to get out of here soon.
“But,”
Ethan’s blood turned to ice.
“as it turns out, you’re still a bioweapon. Though you may look and feel human right now, you can revert to your high-energy form when put under enough stress.”
“What?”
“The form you arrived here in.” Chris clarified, and Ethan’s gut sank.
“Oh.”
“You can still pass remarkably well for a human, so with a little bit of training I’m sure we can reintegrate you into society at some point. The main issue is the fact that you were present for part of the Dulvey Incident---that and your status as a bioweapon will make you a big target for bioterrorist organizations like the Connections.” Chris paused for a moment to take a breath. “That’s why we’re placing you into witness protection in Romania.”
“What?” Ethan leaned forward, eyes wide. “No, you-- what about my family? What about Mia?”
“Mia’s going with you. As for your family, they believe you are dead.”
“But I’m-- I’m not dead! You can’t do this to my parents and-- my sister, you can’t--”
“Ethan.” Chris’s tone was stern as he cut the blonde off. “We’re doing this for the safety of you and your family. You have to understand that the more people who know about this, the more loose ends my team will have to manage if anything goes wrong, and right now we can’t afford that division of labor.”
Ethan wanted to scream, to shout, to dig his nails into his scalp, but all he did was lean back into his seat with a sigh of resignation. He was tired of being angry.
“When are we leaving?”
Ethan hauled himself up onto the jet forlornly, sparing one last glance back before entering. He had nothing with him except for the clothes on his back; he wasn’t allowed to take any of his belongings from his home in Texas.
Mia was also here, so Ethan opted to sit next to her; she gave him a light smile, and though his anxiety was still present he could feel it ebb away a little. This was the first time they’ve been in the same room together in three years (not counting anything that happened at Dulvey because frankly that shitstorm was a nightmare and Ethan didn’t like thinking about how the actual first time they’ve been together in three years resulted in his hand being stabbed and sawed off.)
(Yeah.)
Ethan ignored that particular thought, instead opting to hold Mia’s hand. Neither of them said a word as the jet took off, the ground getting farther and farther away with each second.
Part of him wished he had never gone, that he had never read that email, that he had just stayed in Texas or called the authorities or something that wouldn’t have ended up like this . But sitting here, next to Mia, looking at her reassuring smile, Ethan decided that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.