Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Wood and Warmth
A cabin, in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin is what the president had chosen for Leon when he returned for Spain with Ashley, a slowly bleeding out, nearly dead Luis, and hair matted into thick dreadlocks in the back that even his hour long shower hadn’t been able to remove.
Leon didn’t know who “They” were, but they decided it was the safest. Umbrella had disappeared years ago, at least, it was said that they did, but it could be possible that that disbandment was fake, or that there were still a few loyal employees who would attack on their own.
Luis was in no state to fight back, and Leon was exhausted, and unlike Ashley, neither of them got to retreat to the white house to be guarded twenty-four-seven, and have their safety always guaranteed.
Hiding was their only option, though they weren’t exactly told how long this endeavor would last, or how they would even survive because it was now the dead of winter. Leon knew better than to ask questions. He knew this because last time, when he came back from Racoon City and was “invited” to start training to become a secret agent, his questions didn’t go anywhere. There were no compromises, only threats. Luis wasn’t conscious enough to make a decision either, so Leon agreed on his behalf, even though he was currently passed out in some hospital bed with his eyes closed, staining the white sheets.
Now they’re in a car driving out into the midwest, as Leon tries to ignore the horribly laboured breathing he’s hearing from Luis beside him. It doesn't go well when he attempts to comfort him, he’s learned.
Luis ignores how he sounds as well, he pretends he’s breathing just fine, that he sounds just fine.
“So, how do you like America so far?” Leon asks, trying to lighten the mood, to pull Luis out of the half-consciousness he’s currently in. Luis shrugs, closing his eyes tight, his brows furrowed as he tries to think.
“I don’t know…cold.” Luis mumbles, every jerk and jostle of the van they’re driving in shooting pain up his spine, to his brain, down to his toes. He barely even sounds aware of anything around him, each word is quiet, his lips barely move with every syllable. It’s hard to watch, if Leon is being honest, because Luis has always been this ray of energy, even during their worst moments, even when he, Leon, and Ashley were all near a breakdown, he would crack jokes, he would be the one brightening the room. Now he’s barely moving, barely breathing.
Leon decides that he should probably just shut up. The drive is long, they both need rest, and he’s not sure that he could do anything to cheer Luis up.
Their place of departure from the van is somehow worse than Luis had imagined. He’s not sure what exactly was on his mind, maybe a house in the middle of suburbia, something cozy, but still modern, some place that looked like it had running water and heating.
However, that’s not what they’re met with, they get a cabin, a lincoln-logs, playhouse cabin, with small windows, and a garden out the back that has frozen, peeled over, and died. Leon steps out behind him, carrying both of their luggage, because no matter how many times Luis’ said he was okay to carry that much weight, Leon had refused.
“The doctor said not to carry anything too heavy for a while.” He had said.
They both hurry to the door, because it seems to be, at most, five degrees outside.
The inside is no better than the outside. It feels almost like a fairy tale, a tiny little cottage, nestled between the trees deep in the forest, warm red and off-white blankets and curtains decorating the wooden…everything.
The chairs, the table, the walls, everything other than the fireplace is wood in this house. Leon explores, and Luis sits down in a plush armchair because his wound is screaming at him to rest.
“Theres two bedrooms upstairs, a bathroom, and a little living room, thing.” Leon says as he returns without the bags, to the main room with a thick-backed TV, and a radio. “I already took the bedroom I wanted so I just put your stuff in the other one, sorry.” He smiles a little at Luis. It feels genuine.
“It’s freezing here.” Luis sighs. Pulling a blanket thrown over the left arm of the couch onto his lap. The little cabin doesn't seem to be any warmer than the outside.
“I can get a fire going.” Leon does, there's firewood, the grainy remains of a tree, and a little bit of kindling. It won't last this winter, he’ll have to go out and get some later. The fire is pretty easy to start, making a fire was one of the things that Krauser had taught him and the others early on.
Krauser.
Leon still can’t wrap his head around what happened in Spain, he still can’t believe that Krauser turned into the monster he was. He was never the best guy, he was always a bit morally gray, but helping some hellish cult kidnap a barely twenty-year-old girl, trying, and nearly succeeding in killing Luis…Something happened to him, something had to have happened, it had to have been Los Illumindos, Krauser wouldn't just do that, maybe he was infected with Las Plagas, maybe he fell victim to them, just as Leon had. He hopes, really, hopes. He used to think of Krauser as a friend, someone to lean on. Then he had to kill him, he had to slice his neck with the man's own blade, and he had to watch life fall from his eyes.
He pokes at the wood for a little, makes sure that the fire is actually going to stay, and then he pulls away. It’s a bit strange that they put them in a place like this, a place with layers and layers of snow and freezing temperatures, but it’s a bit nice, too. A new start, something different, something completely disconnected from Spain, something that he can use as a safe space. Change.
“I’m going to take a shower to just-” Leon doesn’t finish himself, he doesn’t need to. Luis feels disgusting as well, he can feel the blood caked onto his back, into several other parts of him, as Leon and his desperate fight to stem his bleeding had resulted in a mess of blood.
Luis nods, and he watches as Leon grabs his duffle bag, and takes clothes from it, before rummaging through a closet until he finds towels, folded up on the highest shelf.
“I won’t be long.” He murmurs, before he opens up the door to the bathroom and steps inside, locking it behind him. Luis closes his eyes and listens. He hears a rustling at first, a bit of commotion from the bathroom, a soft bang and a few curses muttered from Leon. Then he hears the shower turn on, and everything else fades to its sound.
Luis hasn’t been away from Leon in so long. All of Spain was together, all of his healing process was together, the car ride was together, they had barely been separated since they found each other, and Luis has selfishly begun putting more of his weight into Leon's hands.
For the first time, though, they are apart, Luis is sitting in this armchair, shivering, in slight pain, waiting and listening for Leon, he tries to hear any piece of him from the living room, he tries to listen for his breaths, or the soft sound Luis is sure he would make under the warmth of the water, but he can’t hear any of it. The distance between the both of them is too far for Luis’ ears to pick up on any of it, especially not after the damaging shooting that happened in Spain.
The sound of the shower, the water falling morphs into rain, the lack of warmth in this room brings him to Spain, to his home. It brings him back to cold days in his house, with his grandfather, it brings him back to trying to care for a man as his body gave up on him.
“Hey, Abuelo, I have dinner.” Luis had said with the strongest smile he could muster as he walked into his grandfather's room with a plate of dinner, mediocre chicken, cut up into the tiniest pieces, corn, and a glass of water. He didn’t react. His grandfather was dying, there was no way around it, the village doctors had given him weeks, only weeks to live.
He set the food down, he sat on the edge of the bed, and he pushed hair away from the sallow, skinny, old man's face.
“You’ll stay for me right, to meet your great-grand-kids?” He had asked. The room was filled with silence except for the crackling fire.
It rained that day, it rained hard, it almost sounded like hail pounding on the roof, and the next morning, Luis woke up to a horrible stillness in the house, and he woke up to an infected man in the bed of his grandfather.. He had screamed, he had cried, he fell onto and bruised his knees, and then, in his rage, in his fear, he had shot a billet through the skull of the man who meant the most to him. He barely made it out of the house before everything was engulfed in flames.
His abuelo, engulfed in flames, his life, his whole life, his whole family, his everything was gone.
The village chief walked up to him, he had rambled in his ear, trying to comfort him, but he gave up, eventually, when Luis didn’t react to his presence, when he just sat down in front of the burning house, and waited till night. Then he ran. He ran, he ran because he was scared, and because he was nothing, and because he had nothing.
And now, he was alone again, sitting in this living room, away from the only thing, the only person that meant anything to him at the moment, the only person that was keeping him grounded.
He acts on instinct, almost, he doesn’t really think about it before he stands up, ignoring the searing pain in his back, and heads for the hallway. He sits down right by the bathroom, pressing his ear against the door, until finally, he can hear him. He can hear Leon letting out puffs of breath over the shower, he can hear groans of relief, he can hear him breathing, he can hear him living, existing. His heart flutters with feelings that he is not yet ready to face, his body aches for him, and he doesn't know how, he doesn’t know how to stop it.
Leon doesn’t notice, how could he, he just goes on with his shower, seemingly humming along to a song as he goes on washing his body.
He showers for a while, because there is so much grime all over him and the water runs off of his body brown, and Luis just waits outside for him from the hallway, breathes with him, and listens as intently as he can.
He swears he can hear it all, everything, he can hear eyelashes fluttering against cheeks speckled with hardly visible freckles, he can hear fingernails scratching underneath one another to clean what the soap cannot reach. Luis hears hands balled into tight fists, he hears guilt, shame, anger rolling off of pale skin with water, mimicking the dirt, and grime that truly is pasted across his skin, and he hears each beat of the heart that he now knows is much more fragile than its owner lets on.
He doesn't want to lose this, this intimacy, this red-string of love between him and Leon, finding its way through closed doors and curtains, through walls of wood, and plaster. But he hears a grunt from the bathroom, he hears the water shut off, feet padding against wet tile, he knows that this isn’t for him, that none of this is his, none of Leon is his, so he has to leave. He does. He stands, both hands planted against the wall as he shoves himself upwards, struggling with the small movement, and he goes back to his chair, as if this distance that he has created doesn't hurt him
Leon walks out of the bathroom a moment later, wearing a warm sweater, and a pair of jeans, his hair wet, messy.
“You can shower now, if you want.” Leon grunts, keeping his eyes on Luis as he walks over to the couch and plops down, setting his feet up on the coffee table. “I think I’ll make dinner soon because I'm starving.”
“Well, if I was you I think I would take a bath, your stitches could make it hard to stand.” Leon adds as he walks over to the kitchen, and begins rummaging through cabinets, banging pots and pans, and searching for seasonings. “Jesus, there’s barely any food in here…” Leon grumbles, more to himself than anything else. Luis makes the large effort of standing, mirroring what Leon did, grabbing some clothes for himself, a towel, and then heading into the bathroom. He sets his things down, ignoring the tears of pain that are trying to force their way down his cheeks. Then he moves to the shower, he bends down to put the plug into the bath, but a twinge of pain shoots both up his back, to his head and arms, and down his core to his legs at the same time. He lets out a cry.
“Luis?”
“Fine, I-I’m fine…” Luis grumbles, his body still shaking from the shocks of…whatever that was. He tries again, this time going slow, settling first onto his knees, with the help of the vanity, before he even attempts to reach for it. It hurts still, every fiber of his being is protesting the movement, but he slides the plug into the drain, and then turns the knob to start the water.
But that’s the easy part, the thing that he knew he would be able to do. Now he has to step into the bath, he has to slide down into the water, without having anything to grab onto, not having anything to brace himself with. He attempts to, once, and the pain is far too much for him to do it. He grabs onto the side of the shower wall, even though he really can’t. The porcelain is slick, but it's all that he has. He tries to get down onto his knees, but he fails. Miserably.
Before he knows anything, he’s falling, his feet have slipped on the bathtub floor, and he hits his back onto the curved, hard porcelain. He’s never felt pain like this. His screech is involuntary, and in seconds, he hears the sound of footsteps rushing over. Leon is already at the door, and Luis is lying there, naked, in the bathtub in excruciating pain. God, could this get more embarrassing?
“Luis? Jesus, what the hell happened!?” Leon yells as he rushes over to the bathroom, helping Luis sit up in the tub. The water has barely filled it up, Luis knows that Leon can see him, all of him, everything that he doesn’t have. If he does see, he doesn’t say anything about it. “You ripped open your stitches, Jesus Christ.” Luis looks down, and he watches as the water around him turns red, and opaque with his blood
“You think this was on purpose, Sancho?” Luis asks through gritted teeth. Leon mumbles something about how he should be more careful, grabbing a nearby towel to press against the wound now spilling blood on his back. Leon moves quickly, with the dexterity of a man who went several years of training. Training to be first a police officer, and second, a secret agent.
“Just…let me get you patched up, you should wait on the shower until you feel better. You can wait another day. You don’t…smell, or anything.” Leon says, reaching for a small case of things like bandages, needles. Luis tries not to faint from the feeling of a needle piercing his skin, and threading a wound closed.
“Get to bed.” Leon insists, only moments after he has Luis patched up. “I don’t want you falling over again.” Before Luis can protest, there are hands on him, pulling him to his feet, and guiding him out of the bathroom, up the stairs.
“Jeez, be a little gentle, eh?” Luis grumbles beneath his breath as he staggers up the stairs, trying still to ignore his nakedness, in the same way Leon tries to ignore it. He has to lean onto him, onto his other, because the pain is still shooting off in radial waves, because Luis has been finding, these past few days, that there is very little more comforting than the touch of Leon’s skin against his. He closes his eyes on the way up the stairs, because even though he knows he’s risking a fall, without his vision, he can pretend. Maybe Leon wants to place his hands on him, maybe this is more than just a friendly courtesy, maybe this is something intimate, something beyond the line of friendship?
He doesn’t notice he’s in his bed, until he is already there, Leon placing him gently onto his side in the bed, pulling the blankets around him. The thin cotton doesn’t fight off all of the cold, it still bites at Luis’ tan flesh, but he is scared that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be simply asking for another blanket, but spilling everything, his feelings, his love, his…Obsession.
So he stays silent, his eyes squinted shut as he listens to the retreating footsteps of Leon, the slight creek as the door is shut. He listens to his own imagination, his own fantasies about love.
About Leon.