Chapter Text
Claire Redfield squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced before she had even managed to wake up. For several seconds, she lay completely still. The headache was the first thing she felt. It wasn’t strong enough to incapacitate her yet. She didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t know where she was. She only knew that her head hurt.
She tried to roll onto her other side, but the mattress beneath her body creaked softly.
Claire frowned. That wasn’t a sound her mattress should have made. Her bed was new. She had bought it several years ago, when the old one had finally started falling apart. It was comfortable, wide, and most importantly, it didn’t creak every time she moved. This one did.
Claire slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, all she could see were blurry shapes. A ceiling. A wall. Bright light coming through the window. She blinked. The image slowly came into focus. And then she froze. This wasn’t her room.
Claire sat up abruptly, and the pain in her head immediately intensified. She hissed and pressed a hand to her temple.
“Damn…”
She looked around. An old desk. An old dresser. A bookshelf filled with books she hadn’t seen in years. Several posters on the wall that she had taken down a long time ago because she’d decided they were childish. A sweatshirt hanging over a chair. Her old sweatshirt.
Claire stared at it for several long seconds. No. That was impossible. She turned her head toward the window. The same curtains. The same windowsill. Even the small scratch on the wooden frame that she remembered perfectly. It was her old room. The room she hadn’t used since…
Claire swallowed. No. It had to be a dream. There was no other sensible explanation. She closed her eyes. Counted to three. Opened them. The room was still there.
“No.”
Her voice sounded strangely quiet.
Claire looked at her hands. They were smaller. Not by much. But enough for an icy chill to travel down her spine. She raised one hand in front of her face. Fingers. Nails. Skin. Everything looked familiar. Just… not quite right.
Claire slid her legs out from under the covers. Her feet touched the floor. She stood up and took a few steps toward the mirror. Her heart began pounding. She didn’t want to look. She really didn’t want to. But she did.
The girl reflected in the mirror had messy hair and sleepy eyes. She had freckles. She had a face Claire knew far too well. The face of fifteen-year-old Claire Redfield.
Claire froze. For a moment, she simply stared. Then she backed away from the mirror.
“No.”
She touched her cheek. The reflection did the same. She pinched herself. Hard.
“Ow!”
She instinctively pulled her hand away. For a moment, she waited. Nothing. She hadn’t woken up. She looked at the spot she had just pinched. Her skin was slightly red.
“This is a dream.”
She said it firmly. As if simply saying the words aloud could force reality back into place.
“It has to be a dream.”
She pinched herself again. This time in the arm.
“Damn!”
It hurt. A lot.
Claire began breathing faster. She took several steps around the room. She opened the desk drawer. Old pens. A notebook. A few little things. Everything was exactly as she remembered.
She opened another drawer. An old photograph. Her and Chris.
Claire at maybe twelve years old, wearing a wide smile. Chris beside her, clearly older, with an arm around her shoulders. Claire picked up the photograph. For several seconds, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.
Chris. A younger Chris. Not the one she remembered. Not the one whose face she carried in her memory. This one still had something he would often lack later. Lightness. Carefreeness. His eyes weren’t tired yet. He had no scars. He didn’t yet carry the weight that would eventually settle into his gaze.
Claire tightened her fingers around the photograph.
“What is happening…?”
She didn’t have time to find an answer.
A voice came from downstairs.
“Claire!”
She froze.
Her heart seemed to stop for a second.
“Claire! Come downstairs, breakfast!”
Chris. It was Chris. The voice came again.
“Claire!”
Claire closed her eyes. For a brief moment, she couldn’t move. Then, very slowly, she put the photograph down.
“Coming!”
She shouted back. And only after answering did she realize that her voice sounded different. Younger.
Claire looked at herself in the mirror one more time. Fifteen years old. Really. She had no idea how. No idea why. No idea whether it could be reversed. But she had to go downstairs.
She slowly opened the door. The hallway looked exactly as she remembered it. The stairs too. Every step. Every creak. Every detail.
Claire walked down slowly. With every step, she could hear the sounds coming from the kitchen more clearly. Plates. Cutlery. A chair scraping across the floor. And Chris.
“Finally.”
He was standing by the kitchen counter. He was twenty-one. A young face. Messy hair. A T-shirt and sweatpants. A coffee mug in his hand.
He turned when Claire entered the kitchen. And immediately, something seemed wrong to him. He frowned.
Claire stopped in the doorway. Chris studied her carefully.
“Everything okay?”
Claire blinked.
“Yes.”
She answered without thinking.
Chris raised an eyebrow. That was the first warning. Claire sat down at the table.
“Good morning.”
Chris stared at her for a moment.
“Good morning?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
Claire looked at him.
“You too.”
Chris put his mug down.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Chris pointed at her.
“Exactly.”
Claire frowned.
“What exactly?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“You’re… weird.”
Claire almost smiled. Almost.
“Thanks.”
Chris shook his head.
“No, seriously. What happened?”
Claire shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Claire hesitated.
“Enough.”
Chris looked at her for another moment.
“That isn’t an answer.”
Claire lowered her gaze. Everything was still spinning in her head. She had to act normal. But what exactly did normal mean?
Normal for her now? Or normal for fifteen-year-old Claire? The second option was definitely more complicated.
Chris walked over to the table.
“Do you have a fever?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Does your head hurt?”
Claire went still.
Chris noticed immediately.
“It does.”
It wasn’t a question.
Claire looked at him.
“A little.”
Chris sighed.
“I knew it.”
He stepped closer.
Claire automatically moved a few centimeters away. Chris noticed.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Relax. I’m just checking.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Claire.”
His tone was calm but firm. Exactly the way she remembered it. And suddenly, she felt a strange ache in her chest. She had heard that tone hundreds of times over the years. Sometimes she hated it. Sometimes it drove her crazy. Sometimes she deliberately did the exact opposite of what he told her, just to see how long Chris could put up with her.
But now… Now it sounded like something familiar. Something safe.
Claire let him come closer. Chris placed a hand against her forehead. He frowned.
“You’re not hot.”
He moved his hand to her cheek.
“Cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
Chris studied her face.
“You look like you haven’t slept all night.”
Claire wanted to answer the way she normally would.
Maybe that’s because someone kept making noise. Or: Thanks, Chris. Nice to see you too. Or simply: Leave me alone.
That’s what fifteen-year-old Claire would have said. But none of those answers felt right now. Instead, she said:
“I’m sorry.”
Chris froze. Claire did too. For several seconds, they stared at each other.
“For what?”
“For… nothing.”
Chris pulled his hand away.
“Okay.”
He said it slowly.
“Now I’m really starting to worry.”
Claire lowered her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Chris sat down across from her.
“Claire.”
“Hmm?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Claire looked at him.
“I know.”
Chris frowned.
“What?”
Claire realized she had said it out loud.
“I know you don’t believe me.”
Chris said nothing for a moment.
“Since when are you so calm?”
Claire let out a quiet scoff.
“I’m not calm.”
“You are.”
“I’m terrified.”
The words slipped out so naturally that it took her a moment to realize what she had said.
Chris immediately became serious.
“Of what?”
Claire opened her mouth. Then closed it. She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t say:
I woke up fifteen years in the past.
She couldn’t say:
I remember things you haven’t lived through yet. Because she didn’t even know whether the things she remembered were still going to happen. This could be a different reality. A different timeline. Or maybe everything was already beginning to change.
Chris leaned slightly over the table.
“Claire?”
“Nothing.”
“You said you’re terrified.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you terrified of?”
Claire gripped the edge of the chair.
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
Chris watched her silently for a moment. Then he sighed.
“Okay.”
He stood up.
“I won’t force you.”
Claire looked at him, surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
Chris stopped. He looked at her. Claire already knew she had done something wrong again.
“What?”
“You said thanks.”
Claire frowned.
“So?”
“Nothing.”
Chris shook his head.
“It’s just… you never say thanks.”
“I do.”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Not without an but.”
Claire smiled faintly.
“But thanks.”
For a second, Chris looked as though he had just regained the certainty that he knew his sister.
“There. That’s more like you.”
Claire laughed softly. And that was when Chris noticed something else. That laugh. It was similar. But not the same. Less defiant. More tired. As if it belonged to someone older.
Chris couldn’t put it into words. But he didn’t like it.
“Eat something.”
He placed a plate in front of her.
Claire looked at the breakfast. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do. It had been so long since she had eaten at this table. So long since she had sat in this kitchen. She picked up a fork.
“Enjoy your meal.”
Chris froze.
“What?”
Claire looked at him.
“I said enjoy your meal.”
Chris slowly sat down.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re my sister?”
Claire felt her heart rise into her throat. Chris looked at her suspiciously. After a moment, his expression softened.
“I’m kidding.”
Claire exhaled.
“Ha. Ha.”
“Exactly.”
Chris reached for his mug.
“You know what? I think you’re actually sick.”
Claire shook her head.
“I’m not.”
“You said enjoy your meal.”
“It’s a normal phrase.”
“Not when you say it.”
Claire smiled to herself. And for a moment, everything was almost normal. Almost. Until Chris suddenly looked at her hand.
“What is that?”
Claire looked down. There was a small scratch on her wrist. She didn’t remember where it came from.
“Nothing.”
Chris reached for her hand.
“Let me see.”
“Chris, seriously, I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
Claire gave him her hand. Chris examined the scratch.
“Doesn’t look bad.”
“I told you.”
“But you’re pale.”
“I’m always pale in the morning.”
“Not this pale.”
Claire sighed.
“Chris.”
“What?”
“Stop worrying.”
Chris looked straight into her eyes.
“That’s a little difficult.”
Claire fell silent.
“You’re my sister.”
He said it so casually, as though it were the most obvious statement in the world. And suddenly, to Claire, it sounded like something much bigger. For a moment, she saw another version of Chris. Older. Tired. The memory flashed through her mind so quickly that it hurt.
Claire lowered her gaze.
“I know.”
Chris smiled faintly.
“Good.”
He stood up and took his mug.
“Eat everything.”
Claire looked at her plate.
“Yes, sir.”
Chris turned around sharply.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t say that.”
Claire frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you sound like someone else.”
Claire froze. Chris stared at her for several seconds.
“Seriously. Something’s wrong.”
This time, Claire didn’t answer.
Chris put his mug down.
“We’re going to the doctor later.”
“No.”
The answer came out immediately. Too quickly.
Chris raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
Claire realized she had just made another mistake.
“I mean…”
“Claire.”
“Really, there’s no need.”
“Your head hurts.”
“A little.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re acting strange.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“That’s subjective.”
Chris gave her a brief smile.
“Okay. That sounds more like you.”
Claire smiled too. And for a moment, she felt relieved. Maybe she could actually hide it somehow. Maybe she didn’t have to explain everything right away. Maybe…
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
Chris was watching her carefully.
“How did you sleep?”
Her heart started beating faster again.
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Claire hesitated.
“Yes.”
Chris nodded.
“Okay.”
He turned away. Took two steps.
Claire looked at him. At his back. At the younger Chris. At the man she hadn’t seen in so long. Because as adults, they hadn’t had much time for each other. And suddenly, she did something fifteen-year-old Claire probably never would have done.
She stood up. Walked over to him. And hugged him.
Chris froze. Claire did too. For a second, she didn’t even understand what she had done. Then she felt his arms hesitantly wrap around her in return.
“Hey…”
His voice was quiet.
Claire squeezed her eyes shut.
“Nothing.”
“Claire?”
“It’s just…”
She stopped.
She couldn’t say:
I missed you.
Because she shouldn’t have missed him. Not someone who stood in front of her every day. But she already knew what it was like when Chris was far away.
She knew what it was like not to know where he was. She knew what it was like to worry about him. She knew what it was like to look at his face and see a man who had been through things this young Chris had no idea about yet. So she simply hugged him tighter.
Chris said nothing for several seconds. Then he pulled away and looked into her eyes. His face was filled with genuine concern.
“Claire…”
“Everything’s okay.”
“No.”
He said it quietly.
“It isn’t.”
Claire felt her throat tighten. Chris placed his hands on her shoulders.
“I don’t know what’s going on. But if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
Claire looked at him. She wanted to. So badly. She wanted to tell him everything. Open her mouth and pour out every single thing she remembered. Every event. Every pain. Every loss. Every moment when she wished she could turn back time. But she’d just done exactly that. She had turned back time. And she didn’t know why. She didn’t know if it was an accident. She didn’t know if she was supposed to stay here. She didn’t know if her previous life even still existed. She didn’t even know if the Chris she knew would remember her.
So instead, she smiled.
Gently.
“I know.”
Chris studied her for another moment.
“Good.”
He let go of her.
Claire returned to the table. She sat down. Picked up her fork. And this time, she actually began to eat. Chris was still watching her. Claire knew he didn’t believe her. And she was right. Because Chris Redfield knew his sister. He knew her sarcasm. He knew her anger. He knew the eye rolls, the slamming doors, and all the little ways fifteen-year-old Claire could drive him absolutely insane. He knew the Claire who never apologized first.
Claire who thought she knew everything. Claire who could argue with him about absolutely anything. But the girl sitting across from him now was quiet.
Polite. Calm. And sometimes she looked at him as if she were trying to memorize his face.
Chris didn’t know why yet. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know that the girl sitting at his table remembered a life he hadn’t lived yet. He didn’t know that, for Claire, this morning wasn’t the beginning of another ordinary day. It was the beginning of a second chance. And perhaps the beginning of an entirely different life.
Claire looked out the window. The sun was shining brightly. The house was quiet. Chris was here. Young. Healthy. Without scars. Without the weight of the future.
Claire tightened her fingers around the fork. She didn’t know what would happen. But this time, she intended to be careful. About everything. Especially him.
And that, more than anything else, should have told Chris that something was very, very wrong.