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Leon rubbed his gloved thumb over the wings embossed on his revolver grip, feeling along the grooves of each feather. Each one a reminder of what he was fighting for, of what he had to lose.
It started out as a joke, as most things did.
They had found an angel sticker at a pop-up shop Claire had dragged him into. She hadn’t bought anything else, but as soon as she saw the sticker, she bought it and gave it to him with a grin. “Something to remind you of me.”
Like he needed help remembering her.
“Where the hell am I supposed to put this? My gun?” Leon asked. It wasn’t like he had a lot of personal belongings to stick it to.
Claire slipped her hand into his as they walked along the street. “I don’t see why not.”
“It sticks out like a sore thumb,” Leon argued. “How would you feel if I died because your bright sticker gave away my position?”
“At least you would die being reminded of me, the love of your life,” she grinned, stopping to kiss him.
It was hard to argue with, though he couldn’t imagine his last thoughts being anything but her, sticker or not.
Next time he went on a mission, the sticker was stuck to the grip of his gun. It rubbed off quickly under the wear and tear, but still made him smile during its brief life.
After that, the wings started popping up everywhere: sharpied on the metal of all of his guns, angel stickers plastered over his gun case, an angel figurine left on his nightstand, and in his duffel bag. He even found wings sketched on the tag of his jacket.
Leon pretended to be annoyed, scoffing and rolling his eyes at all of them, but her grin only ever grew, the wings never stopping.
When it came time to get a new gun, it had been a no-brainer to get the wings embossed on the grip. A comforting presence that would actually last, and maybe put an end to the mayhem.
(It slowed it, but never stopped it.)
Now, he sat at a gas station waiting for the tank to fill, and for Grace to finish up inside so they could get back on the road.
Back on the road to hell.
When the gas finished, he got back into the car and pulled his glove off, allowing himself a few peaceful moments to run his thumb along the feathers without the barrier, feeling more whole, more at peace than he had in days.
I wish you were here.
I hope you stay the hell away from all of this.
Leon pulled at his collar to check on the patch of scaly, dead skin blooming across his neck and shoulder before quickly moving it back. Not wanting to face reality. Not wanting to know what would happen if they didn’t figure something out.
The car door opened abruptly, and Grace slid into the passenger seat. “Are you planning on shooting something in the gas station parking lot?”
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Leon put his glove back on and slid the gun back into its holster, not missing Grace’s gaze on the dark wings. “Not if I can help it.”
She nodded, staying quiet as he started up the Porsche and got back on the road. The same path he’d driven nearly 30 years ago.
Memories bubbled up the closer they got, and he tried to force the worst of them away. Instead, grasping at the only good things to come out of that night.
Fingers clasped around the wrought iron separating them.
Flirty smiles in the middle of the apocalypse.
The three of them in dingy motel rooms.
Sherry asleep on his shoulder.
His and Claire’s first kiss.
“You said you were here… when it happened?” Grace asked as they passed the ‘Welcome to Raccoon City’ sign.
“Yeah. I was.”
Forgive me, Claire.