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The injection hurts every time, but somehow you always forget the extent of it. You’re regretting not being able to recall it, to think that maybe this time it wouldn’t be so bad. That is, you would be regretting it if you had any room in your mind to process something other than the searing pain creeping into every vein in your body, burning you alive.
You’re curled up in the corner of Wesker’s study, your knees tucked to your chest, clawing at your arms until you draw blood. You cry silently, hold back sobs, the attempts to suffocate them only adding to the pile of awful you feel.
“I want to die…” you say. “I can’t do this, I can’t…
“You can. And you will,” Wesker says.
Wesker sits on a couch across the room from you, staring you down with an expression that isn’t scrutinizing or pitying. You know he’s
right, but that does little to help now.
“The virus shouldn’t take long to settle now.”
It doesn’t feel like it’s settling. It isn’t the first time you’ve gone through this, and it won’t be the last. You’ve had a fragile immune system since birth. Without the symbiosis of the virus, you probably would have been dead by 25. That meant the injections were necessary, Every month for the rest of your life.
You try to fight your urge to seek comfort from Wesker, afraid he’ll see your desperation as weakness. But eventually you can’t take it anymore. You crawl across the floor to the couch where Wesker is sitting. You lean against it, cheek against his leg. Only moments later, Wesker gets up and exits the room without a word.
Idiot, you think to yourself. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He left you alone as a punishment for this behavior. He must have. You can no longer hold back your crying. You scream into your sleeve, gasping for air in between sobs, when suddenly the door opens again. Wesker is standing there, holding a syringe.
“I brought you something for the pain.”
He sits back down on the couch in front of you, and gently takes your trembling arm, moving it away from the skin you’ve been clawing at. He sighs.
“We’ll need to take care of that later… just hold still for me, now.”
He finds the rushing pulse on your wrist, and injects the contents of the syringe. Compared to everything else, you barely feel it.
There’s no change at first. But after a few moments, a warmth starts to creep into your veins. It spreads throughout your body, not curing the pain, but numbing it just a little.
“Thank you,” you say, voice still slightly choked by tears. Wesker stays silent.
You’re prepared, maybe, for him to leave again. For him to chastise you for showing weakness, or worse, for him to stare at you coldly as you sit there, shaking. But instead, he puts his hand on your head, running his fingers through your hair.
“Shhhh….”
Your body relaxes a little bit, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s nearly as effective as the painkiller was.
You sit there on the floor until the pain and tears finally begin to subside. You’re left a shaking mess, still plagued by a lingering soreness. The pain has sapped your body of any energy it had before.
“You did well,” he says
“I’m sorry for crying.” Your voice comes out as not much more than a whisper. “I couldn’t control it. I tried, but... I’m sorry.”
Wesker sighs, and slips out of his coat. He moves into a lying position.
“You’re still only human. You did well.”
After a few minutes you pull yourself back up, standing over Wesker.
“Go on,” he says. He removes his shades and slips them into his pocket. You realize for the first time how tired he looks. Without his glasses, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. “You can barely stand. Lie down.”
You crawl onto the couch, into Wesker’s waiting arms. He helps to lower your head onto his chest. The remaining pain is still there, but all the leftover worry seems to seep out of you and float away as you let your body settle into his. He puts an arm over you, leaving one hand in your hair again.
“You’re shaking, you poor thing…” He says. There’s a slight change in his tone. Teasing, but more affectionate than you're used to.
“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”
You can’t bring yourself to speak anymore, so you make a quiet “Mm” sound. You feel his heartbeat against your cheek, and it helps to slow your racing pulse.
“So am I.”
You used to fear Wesker, like everyone else does. Sometimes you still do. But in a different way, now. You aren’t afraid of him hurting you the way that you know others are. When you’re alone together, he allows you to see a version of him that no one else gets to see. A version of him deemed far too human to be known by the rest of the world. You know that if someone were to have walked into his study and seen him like this, vulnerable and letting his pet project nap on him, he’d have them killed before anyone else could hear about it.
He’d never admit it, but the truth is that he needs you just as much as you need him.
Your eyes close, and you let out an exhale. You know you can’t fall asleep, it still hurts too bad, but you’re too exhausted to keep them open anymore. You’re not sure if Wesker knows you’re still awake as he sits up slightly, and places something heavy over your shaky body. You know without looking that it’s his coat. It has the same smell that he does, a smell that you’ve come to know well. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and places a kiss on your forehead.
“You have no idea what you mean to me.” He murmurs to himself.
But you do. You’re the last thread connecting him to humanity.