Chapter Text
A month ago, Leon Kennedy had been a police academy graduate, ready for a new life. A fresh start. A job offer in Raccoon City.
A week ago, he’d received a phone call: stay away.
A day ago, he’d set off for Raccoon City. If the RPD was going to renege on their offer, he wanted to look Chief Irons in the face.
Last night, he’d stopped for gas and ended up in Hell. Last night, he met Claire.
This morning, he wasn’t just responsible for himself anymore.
Leon, Claire, and the little girl Sherry Birkin had walked about 5 miles from the wreckage of the Umbrella train on bloody and exhausted feet, through the mountains, before he watched Claire hotwire a car left overnight at some dirt-road bar with the kind of prowess that suggested it was not her first time.
It wasn’t the kind of ride Leon would have preferred, but beggars can’t be choosers, and frankly, he was just glad to sit on something that vaguely resembled cushions.
As they drove, Leon watched the road, and just as closely he watched the rearview. He didn’t know if he was more terrified of them being completely alone- of the virus having wiped everything out- or of someone tailing them. Some unmarked black car, come to take them- take Sherry- away.
But Sherry was all smiles as they drove through the twisting roads- she would hum, she would ask questions- and Claire would play along every step of the way. When Leon wasn’t watching the rearview mirror and the road ahead, he was watching her.
The way she’d start to nod off until Sherry, fighting sleep, would ask where raccoons live, or what the tallest mountain in the world was, or what “Why Two Kay” was all about.
Claire would just open her eyes, smile, and answer, always shooting Leon a playful look afterward, like, “kids, right?”
They drove for an hour, long enough for the girls to fall asleep, until they pulled up at Snyder’s Grove. As the sun was rising higher in the sky, bathing the small town in striking light, illuminating every storefront canopy, every car, every sidewalk planter, Leon slowed to a cruise, his right hand finding his pistol, holding it tight.
Cars passed by. Storefronts opened for the afternoon. People waved. Everything was normal in Snyder’s Grove. Eighty miles east, the world had ended.
Putting the car in park outside a quaint little motel that the faded sign out front proclaimed was “Deb’s Inn”, Claire jumped awake, snapping her head to Leon, her blue eyes wide.
“Hey,” Leon smiled, “You’re safe. You’re okay.” He wanted to reach over, to reassure her, but he stopped himself. Leon realized, then, that even if he wanted to, he was still clutching his handgun.
Claire’s gaze flicked down at his pistol, then she looked at the motel’s small two-window office.
“Gonna use that to ask for a room?” She smirked.
“Nope,” Leon shook his head. Setting the pistol on the floorboard, he reached into one of the pockets on his muddy, blood-soaked pants. Through it all- the police department, the rancid sewers, the overgrown lab- it was still there. His wallet. Prying it open, it seemed luck was on his side: A crumpled-up fifty and three twenties.
“Velcro,” Claire observed with a hint of condescension. Leon arched his eyebrow at her.
“I’ll be back.” Leon motioned to get out. His arm was screaming, still wrapped in gauze.
“Hey,” Claire stopped him, “go in looking like that, and they’re gonna call the cops. You look like you just robbed a bank.”
“And stole a car?” Leon couldn’t resist. Claire feigned offense at that.
“It was donated,” She smiled, “the owner just didn’t know it.” By that time, Sherry had stirred awake.
“Hey, Sher? Can Leon borrow that vest for a second?” Claire asked.
Sherry smiled, and wrestled out of the sleeveless red vest Claire had given her. Trying to look nonchalant- or as nonchalant as someone slipping off a blood-stained and tattered police vest could- Leon squeezed into the vest in an attempt to look more “disheveled” than “dirty runaway”.
As soon as he shut the car door, Claire bounded out after him.
“Hey! Wait, hold on. How much of a discount do you want?” She asked.
“What?”
Claire tilted her head back at the car where Sherry, peeking between the seats, smiled with delight.
The woman at the counter, whom Leon could only assume was Deb, was in her mid-50s and ashed a cigarette into an alarmingly full ashtray as she flicked through that morning’s paper. A talk show was on the lobby TV, naming this year’s most popular Halloween costumes
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Claire asked with a hint of whimper, Sherry in her arms, eyes wet from the water bottle Claire had dabbed around her face.
Immediately, Deb’s eyes lit up, then softened. “Oh heavens, are y’all okay?”
Before Leon could speak, Claire took over.
“Our car broke down in the mountains, and we barely got into town. We’re on our way to Nebraska to see my sister and,” Claire put on a theatrical stammer, “We don’t have a lot of money, we just need a place to rest, our daughter is so exhausted, just a night-”
“Dear, dear,” Deb put out the cigarette with haste, “take 17. We just fixed it up, you just give me what you can and get that little angel all cleaned up.”
Leon opened his wallet, “I have-”
Claire plucked it from his hands. “We only have twenty; is that okay?”
Deb thought about that for a minute, chewed her lip, and then smiled.
“Sure thing, sweetheart. It’s always good to help a neighbor; that's what we talked about in church just the other day, you know? About opening up our doors and our hearts,” Deb spoke softly as she pulled out the worn guest registry.
“Sometimes it’s hard,” Deb grabbed a pen, “sometimes we get spurned, you know? Like that ass-” she cleared her throat, “-unsavory gentleman a few weeks ago that trashed our suite. But you know, not all folks are bad. They aren’t all liars. Sometimes, they surprise you.”
“Exactly,” Claire nodded, “yes.”
Leon watched as she leaned over the counter and signed: Mr and Mrs. Elza Walker.
The two hugged, then Deb hugged Sherry. Leon gave her a handshake, which the old woman was just as perplexed by as Claire was.
The Missouri afternoon was cool. Fall was rolling in. Leon admired the changing season around them as Sherry and Claire walked ahead, room key jingling.
The trees were burning red and orange beneath the autumnal sun. Red like Claire’s vest…like her hair.
Red like that woman’s dress.
“Leon?” Claire asked. Leon snapped out of it, turning to her as Sherry raced into the room, squealing with delight.
“I get a bed!” Sherry shouted from inside. As she did, Claire gave a toothy grin and a shrug.
The motel room was nicer than he expected- faux wood framed, a TV atop a modest little cabinet, bedside drawers, and…two beds. One already claimed by the bright smile of a little blonde girl who was spread out, soaking up the comfort.
“Can I watch TV?” Sherry asked, looking to Claire. Claire, for once, didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she looked at Leon, as if for his input.
“I…” Leon looked from Claire to Sherry, “Yeah. Just nothing scary, alright?”
Claire smiled at that, and Sherry nodded.
“Look,” Leon walked with Claire over to the furthest bed, “about the beds, I can take the floor; we can nap in shifts.”
“Hm,” Claire thought on that for a moment, “the bathtub? I can make you a little bed in there?”
Leon’s entire body was in pain, and every minute he spent upright, the more he could feel last night’s wounds coming back with a vengeance. But one night sleeping in a bathtub wasn’t going to kill him- well. It might. But at least it beat being swallowed alive by a giant fucking sewer crocodile.
“Leon,” Claire said with a smile, “I’m fucking with you. We can share. We’re both adults.”
“I, yeah, that’s totally-” Leon felt his face flash hot. The sound of static from the TV made him flinch, but it was just the cartoon Sherry found coming on.
“I mean, I don’t usually do this on the first date,” Claire beamed, sensing his discomfort, “but exceptions can be made, right?”
As Leon was calculating his response, Claire pulled his wallet out of her jeans, having pocketed it in the motel office.
“Also,” Claire’s voice rose an octave, “I think I can safely say we all look- and smell- like shit.”
Sherry giggled at that.
Claire’s ratty black tank-top was singed and still covered in gunk; her jeans were dark around the knees, frayed and ripped all over. Her smile was the cleanest thing about her- her full cheeks were caked with dirt, and her hair was slick with grease.
Leon was no looker himself: his white tee was several shades darker than it had been, his boots were caked in mud and gore.
“I spotted a thrift store across the street,” Leon said, moving to the window, “looks like it’s open.”
“Good,” Claire beamed, “then you can handle the clothes. I’ll get Sherry and I washed up.”
Leon turned back to her, nodding. A siren on the cartoon blared for half a second, and Leon watched Claire’s shoulders tense. Her eyes widened. She shrugged it off quickly and blinked it away.
“Don’t get lost out there, city boy.” Claire handed him the wallet, their fingers brushing.
“You’re a hard enough man to keep track of as it is.”
As Leon stepped out the door, he shot one last look back at the two girls. Sherry was nodding off, trying her hardest to watch the cat and mouse on the TV. Claire’s demeanor softened as she met his gaze.
It was the look she gave him at the fence outside the police department. The look that said she knew he’d come back. Leon smiled at her and nodded.
She seemed happy with that.
“Can I help you, son?”
The shopkeeper was an older man with a patchy beard and thinning dark hair. Leon froze.
“You’re a cop, you’re supposed to know something- how did this happen?!”
He could feel that cold rain. The smell of gunpowder and metal. Ada’s red dress. The little girl- that little girl and her father. The thunderous crack of the gunshot. Did the man in the gun store kill her…or himself? What if Leon had gotten to the city just a few hours- a few days- earlier?
Could he have saved them? Could he have saved that little girl?
“Son?” The man asked again, concern in his voice. Leon took a breath.
Leon was in the store. He was in the store, and it smelled like mothballs- like old clothes. Like home. The sun was out; it was filtering in through the windows. Warm, even in autumn.
“Passing through,” Leon said, forcing a smile, “just…been a long day. My wife and kid, we're staying across the street.”
“Are you okay?” Asked the man, tilting his head.
His pulse quickened at those three words. His stomach knotted.
“You look like you’ve been through hell. If you’re in some sort of trouble-”
“No,” Leon said quickly but politely as he could manage, “no. Thank you. I’m fine. Tired.”
“Of course,” The man nodded, “take your time. Girls’ clothes are on the right, ladies’ clothes are towards the back, menswear in the middle. We got the fall stuff out- you never know around here, though. One day you’d be wearing a jacket, the next a t-shirt.”
Leon allowed himself to laugh, “Yeah. Never know what difference a day can make.”
He’d filled up a basket with two sets of clothes for each of them- or as best as he could. It’s not like Claire had given him her measurements. Was it a compliment if the clothes he got for Claire were too small? It was, right?
At the counter, the song on the radio began to fade out, leading into a commercial:
“Safesprin, from Umbrella-”
Leon shuddered. The labs. The harsh, white, sterile halls. The blood streaking across the floors, the walls. The scientists, jaws missing, teeth darkened with chunks of meat. The screams. The darkness. The monstrous abominations of flesh stretched and tearing across organs and bone- the teeth.
That woman in red. His shoulder was on fire now- the bullet he’d taken for Ada. Thinking about it- about her- somehow made it worse.
His jaw was clenched so tight he thought it would break.
“A bit of advice, son?” The man spoke up after Leon had handed him a wad of bills in his wallet, grabbing the plastic sacks in a hurry.
“Yeah?” Leon’s voice nearly cracked. His mouth was dry, now.
“Hold that wife of yours tight. I think you could use a little comfort.”
Leon stopped- the memories were washed away. Bathed in something else now.
Back at the motel, Leon entered as quietly as he could. Sherry was wrapped up in her bed sheets, hair in a towel, sound asleep. He could have jumped through the window, and it probably wouldn’t have woken her up.
The shower was running, and steam was rising from the bathroom door. An open trash bag in the corner was filled with their clothes, and Leon gently placed Sherry’s new wardrobe on the girl’s bed and laid his and Claire’s out on theirs.
“It’s funny how those memories they last,” Claire was singing softly through the spray of the shower.
“...like strawberry wine and seventeen…”
Leon sat on the edge of the bed and listened. Her voice, beautiful, came and went between hums and words. For the first time since they’d met at that gas station outside Raccoon City, he realized how young she actually was- how young they both were.
Claire wasn’t that woman now, the one who’d fought through a city of monsters. Who faced death itself.
Right now, she was just a nineteen-year-old girl singing in the shower.
As Leon listened to her sing, for the first time since Raccoon City, the knot in his chest loosened.
Just a little.