Whatever It Takes

Dean and Sam Winchester x Leon Kennedy mini comic with lovely Mr. X

Come on, Mr. X just wanna be friends, don’t be mean to him!

If you don't want to write, I will also accept a Picture of spoons or other eating utensils arranged in the lost dot jPeg hieroglyph

Oh no. Writer accountability? In this economy? I’m obsessed. I need it!! Thanks for offering friend.

I literally just wrote a scene where Claire walks in on Leon… having a deeply personal evening, and I’m embarrassingly proud of it 😂

The bathroom light was on.

Door cracked.

She pushed it open without knocking.

“Leon—”

He jerked.

Straightened too fast, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t—hand dropping, shoulders pulling tight, eyes snapping to hers with a kind of sharp, startled anger that stopped her cold.

“What the hell—”

Then she saw it.

Not all at once.

Just pieces.

The way he was braced against the sink. The way his breathing didn’t even out when he stood up. The tension still locked through his shoulders, down his arms.

The front of his jeans—pulled open, not quite put back together.

His hand, dropping too late. Lingering there like he didn’t know where to put it now.

Leon dragged a hand down his face hard, jaw clenched.

“You don’t knock?” he snaps, voice low and rough in a way she hasn’t heard before. “Don’t you have a fucking brother?”

Claire blinks at him.

“…I thought you were hurt.”

It comes out too fast. Too honest.

That lands.

Just for a second.

His expression shifts—tightens, then pulls back into something defensive, embarrassed, pissed at being seen.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Too quick.

Too sharp.

She nods automatically.

“Yeah. I—yeah.”

Neither of them moves.

The air in the room feels thick now. Too warm. Too close.

Claire shifts her weight back a step, suddenly very aware of the doorframe behind her, of the fact that she is still in the doorway, that she should not be standing here.

“Sorry,” she mutters, not quite meeting his eyes now. “I just—”

She gestures vaguely. Useless.

“I thought—”

“I said I’m fine.”

There’s bite in it.

Not at her.

At the situation. At himself.

There’s a darkness under his eyes that’s not just from tonight but an accumulation of everything they’ve been through.

“Leon,” Claire says softly and holds out her two hands to him, palms up. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.” Leon opens his eyes at the sound of his name, those blue eyes of his stormy and grey. He gazes up at Claire for a long moment before looking at her hands and giving in. He puts his hands in hers and slowly sits up, face scrunching to keep a pained noise inside as she helps him stand.

Taking his hand and threading their fingers together, Claire leads him to the bathroom. Her palms sting from the road rash she received but she holds on tight, Leon’s warmth a grounding presence.

The fluorescent lights inside the bathroom are as bright as a spotlight and the two squint at the onslaught before their eyes, which are so accustomed to the dark, finally adjust. Leon sits on the toilet seat to begin the process of peeling off his boots and gear as Claire turns on the shower, the hiss of the water cutting through the silence.

Leon unbuckles his holders, the metal of the belts and weapons clinking against the tile floor as he sets them down. He hesitates taking off his tactical shirt, knowing his side is going to protest in pain once he starts to lift his arms. He procrastinates by looking back up at Claire, who is now angrily slamming down her soap bottles from her bathroom bag. The shampoo, the conditioner, face wash and even the soap container. Her eyes are distant as she’s doing it, muttering to herself about how she still couldn’t believe the government wasn’t going to actually send anyone tonight. They probably heard Leon was there, and decided that was enough. Which makes it almost worse.

The next bottle she takes out from the bag looks like it’s glass, and Leon calls her name before she can slam that one as well.

“Claire, stop.” Leon’s hand snaps out and grabs Claire’s wrist, just before the glass container reaches the counter. Her instinctual first reaction is to pull her wrist back but Leon holds tight, and once her brain catches up to the situation she relaxes into his hold.

“Sorry, I know, I’m sorry,” she sighs and gently sets the glass bottle down before closing the distance between her and the injured agent currently sitting on the toilet. His hand falls away from her wrist to rest on her thigh as Claire steps between his legs. She can feel the warmth of him through her jeans, and tries not to think about how large his hand is as he gently squeezes.

“Help me with my shirt?” he asks, still tilted slightly to the side as his ribs ache and Claire sighs softly. She reaches up and tucks away a stray strand of his hair.

“You sure we shouldn’t just cut you out of it?”

“No way, these shirts are expensive.”

og re2 leon >>>