#tjwrites

Of course, the critical thinking part of your brain tells you you’re being ridiculous. You had known him only for a matter of hours, but those hours spent together had come after the most hellish and hopeless week of your life. He was a beacon of hope in the impenetrable darkness of Raccoon City and whilst you had left the city behind you six years ago, the gloom had followed.

At first you had been relieved, simply to survive, but it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in. The words you spoke to Leon echoing in your memory ‘Why me?’

Days were spent keeping as busy as possible. Nights were spent avoiding sleep. 

After a couple of months, you decided it was time to actively join the fight against Bio Terrorism. To make a difference. What you experienced during the outbreak couldn’t be for nothing. 

“As I’ll ever be.” You’d barely gotten any sleep last night, but new intel had given you a location for an active lab, potentially run with Spencer’s involvement. It was an exciting possibility, for sure, but a dangerous idea to go chasing him. Even more dangerous to be going with the last remaining members of the S.T.A.R.S Alpha Team, whom he wanted dead.

“We’re just investigating, no need to worry just yet.” Redfield responds. 

“Investigating with top of the range body armour and big-ass guns.” You quip.

“Precautionary.” 

“They’re never just precautionary.” You mutter to yourself as you follow him out of the car to the rendezvous point. 

The sun is setting on the approach to the library, a grandiose building that stands out against the almost two dimensional storefronts that surround it. “Is this supposed to be discreet?” You ask Chris, alarm bells ringing almost immediately.

“Rook. Do you read me?” Barry’s radio transmission breaks through your analytical gaze. Rook was your call sign and another unfortunate reason the Rookie title stuck.

“Bishop. I read you. What's your status?”

“The front door was open.” Barry hesitates, you look at Chris. “It's quiet. Too quiet.”

“Stay vigilant. Over.”

“Someone knew we were coming.” Chris affirms, eyes trained on the rooftops.

“And they didn't even have the courtesy to roll out the red carpet for us, shame.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” 

You follow Chris through the worn white door, the creak signalling your arrival to not only your friends but possibly everyone in a two mile radius.

“Woah.” You say under your breath, walking past a decorative table, a stray book placed face down on its dusty surface.

The inside is just as luxurious looking as the outside. The floor and the shelves seem to be made out of the same rich mahogany wood. The shelves seem to go on forever round the outside of the room as well as upward, over two floors. The stairs are lined with a plush green runner, worn only in the middle from light usage, a heavy contrast to the clear aging of the rest of the building

Chris signals for you and Jill to check upstairs. You nod, pistol ready, leading the way with Jill in tow. You use the carpet to your advantage, softening the approach of your footsteps in the event of company - but so far, no such signs.

At the top of the stairs, you notice a picture of a man with two greyhounds. An unusual decoration for a library, giving you pause. The plaque reads ‘Professor Norman, Florence and Siera’. You narrow your eyes at the gentleman, a familiar suspicious look to his eyes. At face value however, you're struggling to pinpoint a name beyond the given ‘Norman’. John? James?

You move onwards, putting a pin in your bad memory, following the railing, past the shelves, casting a glance down to the lower level. 

Chris comes out from beneath you, shaking his head to signify no present company. As you turn to continue, Jill gets your attention by clearing her throat and nodding her head towards a door, cracked open only slightly. Unusual amongst all the other shut doors in the room, closed for appearances if nothing else. 

You reposition your hands on your gun before approaching the door. You push it open with your foot and aim your gun at the doorway.

Whilst expecting someone to be behind the door, you were not prepared for who you saw pointing a gun right back at you.

You blink. Dirty blonde hair. Blink. Blue eyes.  

“Rookie!” Chris’ shout from below is meant for you, no doubt, but if anything were to confirm the identity of the man in front of you, it’s the way he responds to the call - his head turning sharply to the lower level. 

It feels like years pass in that moment alone as he pauses before turning back to look at you.

The hidden entrance to the Police Station was not the last time that you saw Leon that night.

He had been retracing his steps to find substantial evidence of Umbrella’s involvement in the outbreak and found himself, once more, in the parking garage under the Police Station. He noticed the way the chassis of the cop car moved as he walked near. He knew it couldn’t be Infected, they wouldn’t be so concerned with being seen. When he opened the door to see you curled up on the back seat of the car, he was frustrated you had not made it out, but was selfishly glad to see you.

He got in the car beside you and shut the door gently. “What are you still doing here?” He whispered. He was scared. You both were. All of your strength was falling away in front of you with the things you had seen and heard. You told him about the little girl you met on the way down from the Police Station, and the mutated creature that had followed. The eyes on its limbs haunted your memory as you relayed everything to him. “Hey, hey.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s okay.” He said. You hadn’t realised that you were crying. “I’m here.”

He drew you into his chest in a hug, smoothing his palm over your back, up and down, slowly. “There you go.” He felt emotion catching up with him as he listened to your sobs. “I’ve got you.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The feeling of his lips drew you out of the safety of his arms momentarily. Looking up at him, wide eyed, he only wanted to take the pain away.

He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not but he did it. He kissed you like the world was going to end, because maybe it was. His hands held your face steady as he chased your lips with his own, moving in synchronicity. He pulled you towards him then, so fiercely that you had no choice but to move up and over him, onto his lap. 

You winced, a complaint from the wound on your side. He flinched, afraid he had made it worse. “Can I take a look?” He asked, but you hushed him with another kiss before pulling your shirt off. “W-what’s that for?” 

“You wanted a look.” You smiled.

“You’re impossible.” He laughed, his thumb coming up to the edge of the injury in a thoughtful assessment. It was a little red, but it would do.

“You’re impossibly cute.” You teased him.

“You think?” He looked up at you earnestly and you kissed the question off his lips.

You found yourself moving against him easily, in rhythm with each caress of your tongue against his. As you continued to rock against him, both of you began communicating in a mixture of light breaths and heavy sighs. He groaned into your mouth as you hit his clothed cock in a particular way that set him on fire. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah?” You moved again, slower, feeling him the same way he could feel you, right where you wanted him. His head fell to the side, inviting you in.

You littered kisses on his skin, light and lovely, in admiration of his strength and softness barrelled into one. 

He sat up, his eyes clouded with arousal and frustration as he kissed you forcefully before leaning back. “God- this is so-” His kiss-swollen lips sparked amusement too joyful to suppress - your laugh broke through his frustration, making him laugh too. “Sorry, I just mean-” He leant his forehead on yours. “I wish we had more time.” You licked your lips, savouring the taste of him. “And a bed.” He groaned.

“I wish we had more time too.” You moved your head away just slightly, looking up at his beautiful downcast expression. “But let’s make do with what we have.” 

They’re all the words he needed to remove only as many clothes as necessary to be inside you. The car rocked and your limbs knocked in haste, fear and lust.

He kissed you as you leant back in the back seat, hovering over you in the tight space. With all the preamble, you were already wet for him. He slid his cock inside of you with ease, and both of you breathed a sigh of relief. All of this was far from over, but the safety you found in one another was enough to let the walls crumble, if only for a moment.

His hips fucked into you quickly, a surprise that coaxed a sultry moan from the back of your throat, and only spurred him on more. Leaning on one arm, he used the other to wedge between you and the car seat, splayed across your back to draw you nearer. He began kissing your neck and whispering words of worship into your ear.

How beautiful you were. How strong you were. How capable.

The closer you got to the crescendo, the closer you were approaching reality and fear that awaited you. Leon came before you could process the tears that had begun welling up in your eyes. You kissed him through his high as he shuddered and moaned into your mouth until he was spent. 

Whilst his thrusts slowed, he still tried to carry on to get you there too, but the moment had passed for you. “Hey-” You squeezed his forearm. “It’s okay.” Your eyes were glassy with tears as he slowed to a stop, kissing the tears away at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes bore into yours as he watched the conflict in your face. “Is there anything-” You shook your head. He pulled out of you and wrapped himself around you as best he could within the confines of the cop car. 

“You've got a city to save.” The words spoken into his chest were the last thing you ever wanted to say, but if you didn’t let him go then, you never would have.

Your jaw is locked half-open and unmoving. Suddenly you feel twenty one again, scared and excited all at once, your heart hammering against your chest. You try desperately to drink in his face, to quench your thirst for the memory of his outline, because what if this moment is as temporary as the last? 

His brow sits low atop his features, fixed in a permanent frown, so different from the smile you remember. His features are sharper than they used to be, from his nose to his jaw, a face of marble with blue and purple hues painted under his eyes. Stoic and serene as though chiselled by Michelangelo. Not to mention his build. His arms, on show in a blue t-shirt, are substantial, to put it lightly. His hair is blonder, brighter perhaps from exposure to the sun, or maybe he dyes it. It’s longer too, it suits him, but god do you want to push it out of his beautiful face.

“Leon Kennedy.” He says, eyes locked on yours. You’re searching his eyes for any sign that he knows who you are whilst he silently hopes you already remembered his name.

“USSTRATCOM?” Chris’ voice calls up from the lower floor, taking Leon’s attention off you for long enough that you allow your unaffected mask to slip. 

“How’d you know?” He lowers his gun. You do the same.

“Chris Redfield. I know about you.” 

Leon barks a not-so-kind laugh in response.

The group reconvenes at ground level, less raised voices and cause for suspicion that way. 

Leon reveals his team received a tip regarding bioweapon activity here but so far, he hadn’t seen anything more than dusty shelves. “Similar to what we heard.” Chris affirms.

“Are we not considering the possibility of a set up here?” You ask him.

“With what outcome?” Leon aims his question at Chris. 

A pain twinges in your chest. Your past intertwined was beginning to unravel. He’s standing against the wall, his arms folded, guarded. He’s deep in conversation with Chris but you can’t bring yourself to listen anymore.

The book on the table catches your attention again. Though the library is old and dusty, everything seems to have a place. Except this.

You pick it up and turn it over in your hands. Jack and the Beanstalk. Jack. 

It’s Jack Norman in that photograph. University lecturer and founder of Il Veltro.

“Were these guys here when you arrived?” You catch Leon’s question through the muddle of your connecting thoughts.

“Get down!” Chris shouts, just as bullets begin firing through the glass.

You curse as a bullet clips your shoulder, forcing you swiftly to your knees. You just know there has to be something else. Something more to this place. You screw your eyes shut, fighting off the fear that tries to overtake you in moments like this. You try to focus on something else, anything else to stop the pending panic attack.

Jack and the Beanstalk. Jack Norman. The green stairway, like a beanstalk. The picture at the top of the stairs. With the greyhounds. 

“Cover me!” You shout, pressing your free hand to your shoulder in a bid to find relief for the pain, making your way up the stairs, two at a time. Bullets are still flying in and out of the windows. Barry and Jill taking one side whilst Leon and Chris take the other.

Lifting the picture off the wall you find a keypad sitting in a recess that had been hidden by the frame. Four spaces, underlined, indicate a four digit code. You can't be sure how many attempts you have to enter the code, or what will happen if you enter the wrong one, but you have to try.

Your first attempt is wasted on the publication date of the book in your hand. A disappointment to say the least. 

You discard the book as you try to think of some other connection to Veltro.

The door smacks open, no one is yet visible in the frame of the doorway, but you know they are there. Chris and Jill fall back in unison, aiming at the doorway as they walk backwards up the stairs towards you; towards higher ground. 

“It’s Veltro, Chris!”

“What? How’d you-”

“I’ll explain later. What’s a good four digit code for these fuckers?”

“Something to do with Dante? They love that guy.” As he reloads his shotgun, a grenade is thrown into the entryway of the library.

“Get out of there!” Jill’s plea is aimed at Barry, specifically, and he follows his orders with no hesitation, climbing the stairs.

“Kennedy.” Chris’ voice is commanding - it’s the reason he has taken the lead on all missions since before the BSAA - but Leon doesn’t listen. 

The grenade begins to emit a smoke shield as three men approach, clad in gas masks, of course.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Leon grumbles. As the smoke begins to swirl, you can still make out the shape of his body as he takes his knife out of the sheathe on his belt and runs towards the front man, lunging at his neck. The man is too slow to move, his vision likely obscured by the small goggles in the mask. As such, he takes the hit, falling back into the men behind him.

He clutches at his neck with a howl. Leon turns his body away from him slightly before swinging his leg up into the air and kicking him in the centre of his chest, sending him falling to the ground, between the two men who still stand, for now.

He throws his knife into the air with a spin before grabbing it and plunging it into the neck of the man on the right. But as he does that, he uses his left leg to wind up another powerful strike to the man on the left.

As the man on the left falls to the floor, Leon reaches for his pistol and fires a shot to his head before yanking the knife out of the guy on the right.

When Leon turns back to face you all, his expression is unchanged. Something about that whole performance makes you want to kiss him, passionately. You turn back to face the keypad in the wall.

“What?” He asks as he walks up the stairs, aware of everyone’s eyes on him, except yours.

“What was that?” Chris’ question was meant to convey disappointment, but you knew he was impressed. You’d heard it before.

“Efficiency. We now have less of a time crunch for whatever the hell this is.” 

“Whatever the hell-?!” You turn to cuss him out, but think better of it. Breathing out slowly. “Well, any suggestions for whatever the hell this is would be appreciated.” You can’t help the way you speak through gritted teeth. You’re not sure if it’s the pain in your shoulder or the pain in your ass (Leon). “I already tried the publishing date of Jack and the Beanstalk….don't ask.”

“Something to do with Dante, specifically the Canto, I think.” Chris amends his earlier thought.

“What about the publication date of that?” Barry suggests.

“It’s too vague, I couldn't narrow it down for sure.” You answer. “1300’s or something?”

“Try that.” You resist the urge to remind Leon about his manners and key in 1300. It beeps joyfully. “There you go.” His soft, patronising tone appeals to a part of you you don’t care to think much about, as a neighbouring bookcase moves out of the way to reveal a hidden room. 

But just as the doorway opens, more people arrive outside the library. “I don't think they're here for their selection of contemporary works.” Leon remarks as he prepares his gun once more. You would laugh if he wasn't suddenly so infuriating.

“You two go on ahead.” Chris orders, stopping Leon in his tracks as he looks between you. “We'll handle this and be right behind you. Radio on up if there’s any problems.”

“I can think of at least one.” Leon mumbles. You choose to ignore him.

Chris, Jill and Barry move out, back towards the door, whilst you and Leon take the ladder down the hatch in the centre of the hidden room. It's probably twice as deep as the library is high, but a pretty low stakes journey, which is good, because your shoulder is starting to ache.

You try to shrug it off as you aim your pistol at the first door. 

“I’m not sure this was a complete set up.” You say more to yourself than Leon. “I think something is definitely going on here but they thought they’d get us before we’d find whatever it is they’re hiding down here.”

“We won’t find out if we keep standing here - you need me to take point?”

“Be my guest.” The interaction feels bitter, the action selfish. But as he walks through the door, focusing his attention on scanning the room, he uses his body to hold the door open for you to follow. 

“Thanks.” You mutter.

Leon heads for the computer situated at a desk in the far corner, whilst you work on opening up the lockers. Nothing. Bullets. Nothing. “There’s usually something better in these things.” You lightly kick the last locker before turning back to Leon.

“At least it isn’t a body. I’ve found one of those before.” He says as he flips through a notepad on the desk.

“Looking for a password?” You ask, looking over his shoulder.

“No, his grocery list.”

A noise erupts from the room next door and both of you stand up straight with your weapons aimed at the door. Except you can’t stand up all that straight with the wound on your shoulder.

“You’re smart.” Leon appraises, unusually.

“Yeah, and you’re a smart ass.” He laughs like he means it. His tongue dampens his lips as he regains composure.

“But when were you going to tell them you got injured?” You turn your head to look at him whilst he stares down the door.

“What are you talking about?” Your brain immediately turns to the injury on your abdomen, the one that he helped patch up, the one that never quite healed right.

“Your shoulder.” The noise on the other side of the door gets closer.

“Oh I-” You swallow. “It’s fine. I’m capable, I-”

The door crashes open, and the frame around it crumbles.

In the hole in the wall stands a frog looking creature, vaguely non threatening till it shows its long claws and sharp teeth. You switch immediately to your shotgun as Leon fires his pistol at his head, unfortunately ricocheting off reinforced layers of scaled slimy skin. 

You pump the shotgun and aim for the softness of its underbelly, just as it leaps towards you, claws first. One shot and it flies backwards towards where it came from, another and it stays down.

“Look at you, Miss Capable. Aren’t you impressive?” You blush, your body and memory betraying you. “But I still think we should take a look at that shoulder, don’t you?”

I gave myself a hard time for this one, I hope I haven't left evidence of the 24th draft and I hope you enjoy this continuation of my lil Leon Kennedy Series <3 also Noah Kahan title bc emotions!!!

feedback, reblogs and all that stuff appreciated, have the best day

As a result, the first signs of infection had been overlooked.

Almost everyone you had come to know in the past week was dead. The Lieutenant was your last remaining companion, your last hope. In the time that had elapsed since the outbreak, he had remained composed, as you suppose a Lieutenant ought to. Even up until the moment not thirty minutes ago when one of them tore a lump out of his side. 

He spoke calmly whilst he told you to get somewhere safe, his palm pressed against the wound, discomfort clear on his tired expression. He told you he would find you if he was still coherent in a couple of hours. You didn’t know much about medicine, but didn’t suppose you needed to to understand that, simply from blood loss alone, he may not make it.

But now, you’re hiding in a nearby office, your knees tucked up under your chin, your arms wrapped around your shins, and your neck is hurting from the angle at which you are holding your head to avoid the underside of the desk that you are sitting under. 

The floor is tiled. Likely a choice made for easy clear up as opposed to a comfortable place to take refuge in some sort of apocalypse. The glacial temperature of the tile beneath you travels through your bones, bringing on an intermittent shiver. A discomfort worsened only by a pencil in your back pocket, your primary weapon of choice.

Just as no outside light reaches the room, nor does outside air. Your chest heaves with a laboured breath, unsteady, bordering on panic. You try to stop the fear that slithers up to your throat from the pit of your stomach. You can hear them in the distance, whatever they are. 

Their groans reverberate around the long winding corridors in time with a slow, heavy walk. The sound seems to draw everything in closer around you. 

But a new sound pierces through the white noise of walking corpses as the door to the office creaks open.

You clamp your mouth shut and breathe through your nose in an attempt to conceal your presence for as long as possible, just in case. 

Your choice of hiding place was commendable, so you thought, except for the part where you had no visibility of those entering or leaving the room. Especially problematic with two entry points. A chill, once again, moves your body involuntarily. You listen intently for any acknowledgement of your presence, but all you hear is a sigh.

Combat boots tread a path slowly into the room, but not like the other footsteps you have heard in the halls of the police station. These strides have purpose and consideration. 

A torch light bathes the room in a fresh coat of luminescence as it moves steadily across the walls. Careful and calculated, this person might just be the help you needed days ago.

Just as you consider making him aware of your position, a loud, wet gargle erupts from somewhere nearby. “What the-!” The light moves sharply in the other direction and it sounds as though one of the doors bursts open.

Gunshots ring out and your hands move to cover your ears as you cower further back under the table. The altercation ends with a blood spatter - far more audible than you once would have imagined - followed by the sound of a body falling to the floor. 

The slow footsteps resume their leisurely pace around the bank of desks until they stop in front of you. “You can come out.” The voice assures. You hesitate. “The coast is clear.” You crawl out from underneath the desk, exuding not an ounce of grace as you stumble on your unused legs, cursing as you fall forwards. “Woah there-” The man catches you in one of his arms, the other holding his pistol well out of the way. “Are you okay?” He’s warm - a contrast from the ice cap you feel as though you've been sitting on for hours. The regularity of the question sits uncomfortably against the brutality of all that you've witnessed in the walls of the police station. You look up at him as he lowers his gun but not his defenses, and his eyes throw a net of assessment over the room.

He looks a similar age to you, twenties, somewhere. But you can’t quite place him. His considerate words and soft gaze feel new and welcoming, but his tense jawline and scrutinising stare feel well practiced. 

“Can I get back to you on that one? I’m- I don’t know.”

“You raise a fair point.” He tries to set you back from him a little, checking to see how you fair on your own two feet. Once he’s sure you’re steady, he lets go of you. He wears all blue, with R.P.D printed on his chest. “How about the basics? Think you can tell me who you are and what’s been going on?”

You tell him your name, what you were doing when the outbreak happened and how you ended up at the Police Station, specifically in this office. You tell him how the first infected were undetectable and mistaken for the disgruntled populace.  “Perfect, that’s a lot of great information. Including your name.” His words are playful, even as he seems to concentrate on swapping out his pistol for the gun on his back. You smile. He notices. “The name’s Leon.”

“Leon?” He stops what he’s doing and looks at you carefully, as though he should remember you from somewhere with the way you repeat his name. “Like, that Leon?” You point up at the handmade sign that hangs haphazardly from the ceiling.

Neither of you can see the words from where you now stand but it was clear as day when you first walked in the room.

He smiles in a sad sort of way, admission in his eyes. “You’re the Rookie they were talking about.” You say more to yourself than to him. The realisation stings you, you can only imagine how it makes him feel as he swiftly redirects.

“If anyone’s the Rookie, I think it might be you.” He forces a laugh as he hands you his pistol now, grip facing towards you, his hand wrapped strongly around the barrel.

“Wha-”

“I can do my best to protect you but you've really gotta be able to look after yourself. If something happens…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, moving the gun in your direction again and this time you take it. “C’mere.” He walks a few steps towards the corner of the room and you follow. “The first thing you check is the safety is off before you shoot. Then, aim towards that wall over there for now.” You nod and raise the gun towards the door, both hands clasped on the gun. “A good couple of ground rules, treat the gun as if it’s always loaded and keep your hand lower on that  grip because that slide will come back when you shoot…oh and only put your finger on the trigger if you’re ready to shoot.” 

“Okay.”

“Do you want to check if the gun is loaded first?” It wasn’t sarcastic or belittling, just a gentle nudge towards gun etiquette. “You just need to eject that…yeah, and see what's there.” It’s empty. He fishes into one of his pockets. “Load up these 9mms, push the bullet down and back with the tip facing out that way, yeah, you got it, it’s obvious when someone shows you how.” He smiles. You’re a little unsure of yourself, but you’re doing it. “Now you need to put that back into the gun, give it a slap; it’ll make it easier, especially if you have to do anything quickly.” You try not to think about that. “Aim up at that hat on the coat rack.” You turn at the waist, afraid to move your feet. You mutter a vague commitment to your aim. “Can you see the hat between the front and rear sights?” You turn your head towards him and grimace. “Okay, okay.” He smiles. “You got this far, I will give you some points for that.” He comes up behind you. Closer, you can hear the remnants of his laughter and smell whatever cologne he must have put on this morning, before he knew any of this was happening. “There’s two little bumps here.” He points with his right arm around you. “That’s the rear sight, and this one at the front.” He points with his left to the one further down. “That’s the front…funnily enough.” You giggle. 

You're attracted to Leon in every sense of the word. The need to be close to him in this environment was survival instinct as much as desire. “So, line up the hat between those two.” He steadys his breathing as he uses his hands to move your arms. “Unless your legs are glued to the spot, I would recommend moving them where possible and not just twisting from the hips, you’ll have a better formation.” You nod, following his instruction. “Then…” You can feel the breath on your neck, slow and warm, heating up your skin. “You just need to pull the top back to load up that mag into the chamber.” You’re frozen, he can tell. “Take this hand…” He pries your left hand from the gun. “Relax.” He pushes his thumb into the centre of your palm, forcing your fingers to give way under the point of pressure. “And then, grip here…” He places your thumb and fore finger at the back.  “And pull.” He almost whispers, as he steps back as though allowing you to claim credit for remembering what he told you moments before. “Then shoot.”

When you pull the trigger to hit the hat off the stand, you’re taken aback by a few things. 1. The vibration through your body. 2. The ring in your ears. 3. “Atta girl.” 

You try not to choke as your brain processes the praise.

“You got it! My last piece of advice comes from the way you’re sorta flailing that thing about right now. Don't point it at anyone's head- well… unless they're those things. That seems to be the way to stop ‘em.”

“That'd stop most people.” You affirm. His eyes brows raise in amused acknowledgement. Keeping up your spirits in an emergency situation was positive. 

“Let’s move out.”

As you follow Leon, you do your best to maintain the correct form, imitating him as best you can, crouched somewhat, gun positioned upright but a safe distance from your face. You keep close, but remain behind him as he leads the way through the dark walkways. He explains, quietly, that he had it on good authority the station used to be a museum and there was a way out under ground. He had two of the medallions required for the statue, but there was still another one remaining.

The floors are impossibly  wet from the rain cascading in through smashed windows. Decomposing bodies line the walls. You’re afraid to say you recognise some of them, despite their rotting skin and sunken features. One of them was the first girl you sat with at the station when everything began.

Leon leads the way up the stairs: the pair of you have been shrouded in silence for what feels like hours until this moment as a body falls down from directly above. Leon grunts as it narrowly misses his body but you can’t help the yelp that leaves you. You slap your hand over your mouth apologetically. The body on the ground groans in that horrible way you have come to recognise as the infected. Before you can raise your gun, Leon raises his boot before bringing it back down on their head. He smiles reassuringly and you drop your hand with a steadying swallow of your fear (or at least an attempt). “You don’t have to be quiet- I figure these guys are coming at us no matter what so by all means, scream if you want.” You chew the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to comment. “Come on, I think I saw something on this level before.”

At the top of the staircase, two bodies stand facing away from you.

From this angle, you consider that they look like ordinary people, survivors even. With the light coming from behind them and no discernable features, they could be anyone. But you can tell from the way that they sway on the spot, the way that they aren’t panicking like you are, or even prepared like Leon is. 

Whatever was happening here was shedding people of their humanity in all forms. 

They were zombies.

You were afraid to think it, nevermind say it. It felt ridiculous to think that it was possible. You’d seen films about this type of thing happening but you didn’t think it was- “-Rookie? You with me?” Leon’s whisper snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry.” You whisper back. “No need to apologise. You wanna take that one on the right and I’ll get the one on the left.”

“What if I miss their head?” He looks quizzically at you.

“You think I hit them in the head everytime?”

“Yes?” You answer simply, he laughs softly and shakes his head. 

“Just go for it, if you miss, I’ll step in.”

You quickly run through the demo Leon gave you back downstairs in the office. The safety is off, the gun is loaded. You raise the gun and do your best to line up the sights. You feel your body tense before you pull the trigger. To your surprise, you hit the right zombie, but it’s more of a skim along the side of their neck. Leon fires at his designated target and they crumple to the floor instantly. He reloads and turns to fire at your zombie who has barely shuffled around in the time it takes him, damning them to the same fate. “See, all good?” 

You resume your path towards the top of the building, entering through one of the twenty something doors of the same kind, into an attic-like space. Old sheets are strewn about as if to protect what’s underneath from the same dusty fate that has befallen most everything within your sights. 

Something reminiscent of a cage is at the far side of the room, adding to the feeling of unease within your chest. Leon picks up a piece of paper resting on a crate and mumbles something before cramming it in his pocket.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, there’s just something really not right here.”

“What clued you into that one? The cage? The statues with medallions to enter a secret entrance? Or the living dead?”

“Yes.” He says, deadpan, as he approaches the cage. Explosives are affixed to the front. He frowns as he concentrates, you can almost see him thinking. 

He pulls something out of one of his pockets, a piece of handheld machinery with a number of wires. He sets it on top and connects it to the explosives. “You’re gonna wanna step back for this.” You both retreat to the other side of the room and watch as it’s triggered, blowing a hole right through the locked door.

“Would you look at that? You’re not just a pretty face.” You say, unthinking as your ears ring in the aftermath of the explosion. He looks shy as he avoids your eye. A fun contrast to the way that he has conducted himself throughout all of your interactions thus far. Leon reloads his shotgun once more. 

“Whilst I may have said that making a noise isn’t an issue…that may have just garnered us some unwanted attention.” You don't have time to panic as he produces something else from his pockets. A notebook. He isn’t looking at you - his eyes trained ahead. “There’s a page with picture codes on. You’re looking for the maiden statue code. I’ll keep a look out.”

You take the book before making your way into the cell to find the statue at the back, half draped in cotton sheets and plastic. You leave the gun in your possession atop the flat base of the statue and leaf through the book to the crudely drawn images of statues and medallions. The panic is visible in the pen strokes, but the emblems are legible. Something you wish that could be said for the dials - they look worse for wear.

“Shit.” You’re not sure if it’s you or Leon that curses into the open air as a clicking sound vibrates around the room. There's moisture in the air that means the wooden floors and doors seem to dampen the sound somewhat, but you heard it clearly. Whatever it was.

“Leon?” You ask, though you’re not sure you want to know the answer to whatever it is that you are asking.

“Don’t worry.” It’s the closest he’s come so far to sounding panicked. Even though you’re expecting it, the gun sounding off causes you to jump - your hand flying to your chest with a yelp.

“Concentrate on the dials, Rookie!”

The pencil in your back pocket calls to you as you study the indentations.

Skipping to the back of the worn notebook you find a blank page and use the flat side of the pencil to take a rubbing of the dials. Not every dial is as hopeless as the first few, but it’s a useful tool nonetheless.

The next shot you hear sounds different, higher pitched and in quick succession. A machine gun? You wince through the piercing sound and finally string the symbols together in accurate synchronicity. As you turn the dials, the scraping sound is almost completely drowned out by the sound of Leon’s target. 

The medallion in the centre of the statue is freed and drops into your hands with ease. You release the breath you were holding and peek your head out from behind the statue to see the creature drop to the ground from its place on the ceiling.

You step backwards, uneasy at the sight of it on all fours, skin shining under the fluorescent lighting. With its teeth bared, it looks something like an inside out wolf, combined with a snake?

You feel your heart in your mouth at the risk to your new friend, but the feeling only worsens as you stumble on some police station paraphernalia and you lose your footing.

Leon calls out your name as you hit the floor. 

You’re not hurt but you are in shock. As though the physical sensation of your insides rattling around their enclosure has performed existential CPR.

The gun shots stop, and Leon has appeared, kneeling beside you.

“What happened?” You can’t answer. You simply stare back. 

You feel the force of fear keeping your eyes open wide, and tears are building up fast.

As Leon looks down at your ankles as if to assess for damage, this provides the perfect opportunity for you to tell him you’re fine, but instead you just watch. You watch as his brow furrows in assessment before his hair falls lightly over his face. A picture of thoughtful concentration. A picture disturbed by an inhuman force pulling him backwards and into the air, driving a wheeze from Leon’s chest, audible only for a second.

“Leon!” You shout desperately, arms reaching out as though you stood a chance of grabbing him.

“Be that as it may,” He elongates his words with his devastatingly dreamy voice and drags his eyes back to Chase. “I’m still confused.” Chase turns around to look at you now.

“What are you looking like that for?” His words take a bulldozer to the exchange but bring you back to reality.

“I wasn’t expecting your friend to be so…young.” His eyes narrow.

“Right, cause I’m old as shit.” He turns back. “How ‘bout this?” He folds one arm across his chest, placing his chin in the crook of his elbow, his other arm outstretched. “This jog your memory?”

“Track Star? Holy shit!” He returns the earlier hug with more gusto this time.

“Yeah ya fucker. Why are you accepting hugs from old men you don’t know?” They both laugh, whilst you and Blazer look on with fond smiles, though she at least has the benefit of knowing his name. “Oh, by the way,” They break apart for the second time in under a minute. “They call me Chase around here so, keep it, you know, hush. This one’s an exception, she’s too clever to sneak anything past her.” He points in your direction.

“Got it.” Robert nods before looking back at you again. “Are you someone else from my miserable past that’s caught up with me or are you someone new and exciting?” The question brings the feeling of a spark into your chest.

“I don’t know about the exciting part.” You approach with your palm aimed in his direction. “They call me Electra.” His beautiful brown eyes flit between your face and your hand.

“If I touch you, will it kill me?”

“That all depends.” You grin.

“Robert.” His hand connects strongly with yours, and you wonder if he feels the static buzz between you. “Robert Robertson.” His shake is powerful and his energy commands your attention.

“The Third.” Chase mumbles. “He ain’t that special.” A beat. 

“Let’s get you acquainted with your team of losers.” You glare at him as he moves Robert out of your handshake and into the seat in front of the computer. 

“So this Z-Team, my team…this is The Phoenix Programme you were talking about?” He looks toward Blazer. It’s at this point you feel as though you should excuse yourself.

“That is correct.” Her words are chirpy as she folds her arms across her chest. 

“Your own motley crue of dangerous fuck-ups.” Chase says as he double clicks the icon on the desktop that opens up the Z-Team profiles. 

Being reduced to a hero-for-hire in a catalogue of ex-crime-doers was always going to feel strange but there was something extra uncomfortable about having this part of your identity revealed to him in this way.

"Electra, you're-"

”-running late for my shift!" You try to sell a fake laugh. "It was nice to meet you Robert Robertson.” You smile almost falsely splits your face in two as you quickly make for the door, the walls beginning to close in. "Speak soon!"

-

“Hey team, this is your dispatcher, Robert Robertson, I’m starting my first shift-” You would be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered what he might sound like over the intercom, but the introduction is cut short by the chorus of cackles from your team mates.

“Tell me that’s not your real fuckin name!” Prism can hardly pull herself together for long enough to get the words out.

“Are you stuttering, bitch?” Flambae jabs over the chatter on the channel.

“I saw him in his underwear.” Invisigal laughs.

“He packing much?” Prism loses her original focus.

“No, but he’s got a lot of bruises. Which I am into.”

A prickly feeling begins to replace the sparkly one that was born in his company.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Chase joins the channel. “Let me remind you these calls are fucking recorded for training fucking purposes, so keep the fucking line clear before we send your stupid fucking asses back to whatever fucking cell we pulled your stupid fucking asses out of, aight?”

And no-one answers back. In fact, before anyone else can make another comment about Robert Robertson’s name, a sound goes off, signalling the first distress call. 

The shift is a lot smoother than some of your previous ones; although brand new to the role, he has an eye for this.

When someone’s cat is stuck in a tree, he sends Golem. When a fire needs putting out, thanks to Flambae, he sends Punch-Up who uses his whole body to smother the flames. Not only this, but Robert appears to be overtly tech savvy when it comes to hacking toilets and museum security systems.

He might at least last two weeks.

It’s not until the end of the shift that trouble brews. Robert asks you to attend Granny’s Donut shop but Visi’s adamant she should go, despite being banned. She says it’s the reason she should go, so that she can prove herself to Granny.

The team laugh and roll their eyes, Visi is as delusional as the best of them but deserves a chance like anyone else.

The humour of the moment dissipates however, when Visi’s tone gets serious. “Can I get eyes down here please?” Then the line falls silent as they switch to a private channel.

-

There are raised voices coming from the break room when you return from your shift. You can see Visi and Robert - more specifically, Visi screaming at Robert.

“-Feel bad? Good. Fuck you.” And her fist connects with his face.

You blink as both he and his chair plummet to the ground in a clatter.

She huffs as she flees the scene and Sonar steps into view. You’re trying to make out what they’re saying but you’re too far away to tell.

Your legs carry you closer to the scene and the unfortunate smell of microwaved vermin? It’s only when Sonar passes you with a mouthful of Twinkies that you shake yourself into sentience and make your way to Robert, shutting the door behind you for his sake.

“Electra.” Robert says in a deadpan drawl. “So glad you could make it to the party.”

“How hard did she hit you?”

“Yes.” You chuckle.

“Can I help you up?”

“Please.”

You extend your hand down towards him, much in the same way as your earlier handshake. He 

clasps his warm hand around yours and within moments he is up from the floor. “Thanks.” 

“You want to talk about that?” You point to his nose, blood cascading from his right nostril.

He self consciously dabs at his nose with the back of one hand as he uses the other to pick up the fallen chair.

“Fuck.” He groans. You walk to the sink and drag a few paper towels from their place in the dispenser, walking back over to place them in his hand. “Would you believe me if I said it was a reaction to the dry air?” 

“I could be persuaded.” 

“I am so very sensitive.” He holds the towels to his nose. “To the air, I mean.” 

“I hear ya.”

“Robert, we need to talk.” Blazer appears in the doorway and you wonder if this call is business or pleasure; not that it really has anything to do with you. The zapping feeling in your fingertips disagrees.

“Hi- Blazer,” He scrambles to take the tissue away from his nose. “Sure.” And away he goes, a momentary glance in your direction.

“He’s cute, ain’t he?” Malevola’s smile can be heard as she enters the room. “A real mystery though.”

“Do you really not know anything about him?”

“Nope.” Malevola answers as she walks past you to sit in the seat opposite. “Although I heard he spit in her mouth the first day they met.”

“Isn’t she dating Phenomaman?” You ask, slightly perturbed by the way Malevola describes the encounter.

“What’s a little saliva swap between friends?” She reads your silence for what it is - disappointment. “Electra, are you crushing on the third Robert Robertson?” You know you are blushing with a familiar heat in your face, now unable to meet her eyes. “Well, I never.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Malevola’s gaze passes you.

“Where is that loser?” You know it’s Visi, and you know she's asking you.

“Blonde Blazer called him into her office.” You turn around to look at her, resting your arm on the back of the chair.

“Of course she did, that asshole is probably going to rat on me.”

“I don’t think he will.” You say.

“Oh and you know him so well, Electra?” She spits. You know she doesn’t mean it, she’s panicking about the mission and what might happen. 

“No, I just don’t get that vibe.” You shrug. 

“Well I’m glad we settled my future in the team on vibes.” She sighs and leaves the room almost as quickly as she entered.

“I think that love triangle you're in might be a love parallelogram.” The half demon mutters out the side of her mouth

“Malevola!” You hiss. “It’s hardly love.” You grumble.

“You had the saddest face when I told you he was already getting freaky with Blazer.”

The way it moves behind you is unnerving through sound alone. It’s a big creature, you’ve seen it, but it is light on its feet, all four of them. It seems to weave from side to side and only runs in short bursts, likely an energy preservation tactic. One that you cannot afford to adopt. 

As you run down the staircase, your legs almost move on their own, your knees acting like the well oiled chain of a bicycle as you float down the first two sets of stairs. When you reach the next floor, you hesitate, but the hesitation is just a fraction of a second too long, and as the sound of its sharp wet tongue whips through the air, something pierces through the skin of your hip. You inhale sharply and scream.

Leon is applying first aid spray to his wounds when he hears your scream, almost dropping the can. He tries to angle his head to identify where the sound is coming from. You didn’t get far.

He pulls himself to his feet, wincing. He has to keep as much attention off himself as possible and that means keeping noise to a minimum, despite how much he wants to yell out in frustration. You’re not even a cop. You’re a civilian who put yourself in harm’s way for no good reason. He has to find you.

You snap your mouth shut, for fear of bringing anything else your way, and fix your hand against your side, the same way the lieutenant did when he was hurt. You think of him in the open space of the main hall, is he still human? Is he alone? But you can’t dwell a moment longer as you peel off towards what looks like a woman’s shower room. You know this is no longer the way you came but you hope there’s somewhere safe nearby that you can hunker down.

You stagger through the door and over the rubble of an internal knocked down wall, taking care not to cause yourself anymore damage.

As you come out the other side, you see wooden boards propped up in the space where two walls of the Police Station meet. They’re stuck together haphazardly with black and yellow tape, traditionally used to warn others of a potential risk to life - the irony is not lost on you.

The boards themselves are not substantial enough to use as a shield, notwithstanding the fact that you have no interest in being at close range with this thing. But perhaps throwing it might give you an advantage, so long as you hit something, or put an obstacle in its path at the very least.

There’s not much time at all between reaching the boards and turning to throw them behind you. You are however very quickly reminded of your physical condition, as the act of turning only exacerbates the existing pain floating in your abdomen and stretches it down the front of your legs. You double over in agony as the boards launch towards the window. You’d call it perfect execution, were it intentional.

You look up to see that the crash has caught its attention. It screeches before altering its course for the window.

It can’t see.

You had been so preoccupied with its size and strength that you had not paid any mind to its facial features, or lack thereof. Internally, you jump for joy. In reality, you back away round the corner slowly, eyes focused on the threat until it's out of sight. But you don’t leap into action just yet. You turn, even slower still, to see a door off to the left with a sign that reads S.T.A.R.S.

It is as good a place as any. Out of earshot, away from the main path through the station, it was perfect even. You turn the handle as quietly as you possibly can and slip into the room, hoping that nothing else was inside. 

A quick peer around the edges of the room and you are in the clear, though you don’t know how long for. You discard your gun on a nearby desk and put your hands in your hair, cradling your head. 

You think you might cry. For the first time since this all began.

You’re going to die, you tell yourself. You’re not sure if you can feel your legs or not. The throbbing in your head feels like a fog horn is going off mere inches from your face. Your body is shaking and suddenly you feel cold.

Tears build up over the surface of your wide, weary eyes. You don’t know who is left to miss you. You don’t know who you have already said your last goodbye to. Maybe everyone, you think, as you look down at the blood seeping from the exit wound on your skin, hands already covered in blood from your attempts to hold yourself together, physically and metaphorically.

You swallow thickly as you try to search through your pockets for something useful, only to discover that the medallion is missing. 

A strangled sob leaves you as you fall to the floor.

As Leon listens out for movement beyond the attic, he can't hear anything out of the (new) ordinary. The shuffling of feet, the groans of the undead. Making his way out into the hallway, the sounds are clearer, but there is no sign, nor sound, of you.

He decides he’ll preserve his ammo, but he keeps his weapon ready, just in case. The majority of the zombies are easy enough to dodge, especially in fewer numbers, and after clearing some of them earlier, he was confident it was possible to avoid firing the gun at all. Unless of course he ran into that thing again.

He’s nimble, he has that on his side. So it’s no surprise that he descends the stairs and makes his way down the hallways and through the office to the main hall with no problems.

The real problem arises when he walks around one of the marble pillars to see Lieutenant Marvin Branagh standing with his mouth hanging open, swaying from left to right, no longer concerned with the wound to his side.

His neck no longer seems capable of keeping his head up, appearing as though it’s almost completely severed, swinging at the sinews. 

Leon hesitates. 

When he had parted ways with the Lieutenant earlier, he had been warned that the next time they met, Marvin was unlikely to be himself. He told Leon, with great certainty and no discernable trace of fear, to ‘aim for the head’.

He’d picked up on the cues but still couldn’t grasp the reality of the walking dead. 

The concept of shooting with intent to kill was new to him. At the gas station, even then, when he first encountered the crazed undead, he found himself aiming for their knees, giving them verbal warnings and reprimands.

Now he knows, there’s no other way.

He stands back, the Lieutenant or…whatever he is now…still not aware of his presence. 

Leon takes his rifle and lines up the shot. It’s closer range than he would like with a rifle, but much cleaner than a shot gun or machine gun. Marvin at least deserves that.

Leon screws up his face as he swallows, lining up his sight with the central point of its head. 

Of Marvin’s head. 

The humanisation of these creatures and the dehumanisation of Marvin are at odds. 

Does thinking of this man as someone he once knew make it easier or harder?

His index finger flexes over the trigger as he utters a silent apology and braces for one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. 

You think you might be dead when Leon finds you. You don’t know how long it’s been - minutes, hours? Either are possible. “There you are.” He breathes out as though he’s been looking for a lifetime. You try to warn him something is out there but you can’t speak. Only a garbled noise leaves you. “Hey- heey...” His words are soft as he comes down onto the floor and puts his arm around you, leaning you into his frame. His eyes scan over you, lingering on your side, before coming back up to your face. “What happened here?” He whispers.

He moves your head back and cradles it with his hand, looking down at you intently. There’s blood all over your fear-formed face. He quickly deduces it's yours from the blood concentrated at your hip and on your hands. “Can I?” His left hand hovers over the edge of your shirt and you nod weakly. He tries to be careful as he peels it back, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he assesses the damage. 

When you open your eyes after one very long blink, you find yourself off the ground, cradled in Leon’s arms, against his chest.

“Where are we going?” You mumble into his neck. He clears his throat to thwart off the physical reaction he’s having to that. 

“There’s another office in here. Added layer of security.”

The act of picking you up and carrying you through to the other room is easy for him, of course it is. He shows off just how capable he is, as he shuts a door behind you with his foot as one small exhale through his nose.

He deposits you on the floor at the back of the room, propped up against the wall. “Does it hurt?” 

“A little.” 

“A little pain is good.” He opens up his pack to offer you the remnants of a herb mix he made earlier. It was selfish of him to use the last spray he had, he thinks. It would have been much more effective on a wound like yours. “Just eat these, it will take the edge off, and I will try to find something to get it covered up.”

You’re not sure you’ve eaten herbs like this before. The sensation is unusual, not pleasant but not the worst thing you’ve ever eaten. You don’t need to ask before Leon produces a canister of water. 

Leon finds everything he thinks he needs in his immediate vicinity. Bandages for the wound, more herbs and a pack of hand wipes, carelessly discarded in the bottom of a desk drawer.

He gets down on one knee in front of you. 

“Bit soon for that, don’t you think?” You ask playfully, pleased to see the smile it plants on his face.

“Too Soon is my middle name.”

“Leon Too Soon…what’s your last name?”

“Kennedy.”

“Leon Too Soon Kennedy.” You smile.

Leon prepares his apology as he takes a wipe from the packet with one hand and draws your t-shirt up with the other. It stings, oh god does it sting. But the tenderness with which Leon moves the material around the edges of your injury almost makes you swoon. The butterflies brewing cause you to tense your stomach, resulting in another swell of pain. Perhaps well worth it to feel something other than dread.

He applies the dressing to the wound and gathers together the bandages in his hands before reaching his right arm around you, then the left, as he passes the bandage behind your back. He is slow as he does it, looking at you only as he pulls back. If he were to look at you with both his arms around your body, he’s not sure what he might do. 

When he’s done with that. He pulls out a fresh wipe, pushing back your hair from your face and following the follicles with a sweep of the wet wipe. There are no injuries on your face, but just in case. His eyes roam all over your face, whilst yours stay locked on his. 

You’re grateful for the care he takes with you. He’s grateful for your patience with him.

His slow and gentle breathing becomes a tonic of its own. You feel the most calm that you have in days, which is hard to imagine given that just moments ago you were covered in your own blood, fading in and out of consciousness - one of the last remaining survivors in Raccoon City - just one more life on the brink of death. 

“Why me?” Your softly spoken words barely scratch the airwaves that surround you. The thing about feeling relaxed around Leon now, means that your worries are voiced all too plainly, emotion dredging back up to the surface once more as it had only done in private.

“Huh?” Leon isn’t sure if he heard you correctly, or if he wanted to hear you correctly.

“Why did I have to survive?” He stops his movements, his heart falling down to his stomach. He tries to open his mouth to answer. 

Except, he doesn’t have one

because

He wonders the same thing about himself. 

He had broken up with his girlfriend yesterday, or maybe she had broken up with him, he couldn’t quite recall how it went down. All he can remember is the taste of the beer on his breath that morning. 

The prospect of the new job in Racoon City had driven a wedge between them long before last night but he’s still worried about her. Where she is. If this had gone any further.

He may have been a cop, but he was never equipped to deal with this. 

“If it’s all the same to you,” There’s a lump in his throat he can’t quite suppress. He busies himself with the wipes in his hand. “You surviving is the way I would prefer it.”

He thinks of Marvin Branagh, consumed with a sinking guilt. Was he scared in the end? Did he feel his consciousness slipping away? If Leon had just arrived sooner, maybe he could have saved more people. “You only got this injury because of me.”

“I agree.” You say plainly. You see the way his expression falters at close range but he can't bring himself to blame you for agreeing with him. He's angry at himself. “Leon.” He resets his gaze as he looks back up at you, eyes wide. “I only got this.” Your eyes implore him to listen. “Without you, who knows how many other injuries there would be. Not to mention helping me now. I don't think I would be here at all without you.” He shakes his head. It's the first time you've seen this sag in his shoulders. The reality of a world in which a young man turned up for his first day at work and stood face to face with a city wide emergency.

“You're stronger than you think.” He says. “Nice call with those scattered shots earlier by the way.” You feel yourself glow under the praise. A moment short lived as he passes you the wipes for your hands and you thank him silently. “I need to figure out what's going on here. I owe it to Marvin as much as everyone else we lost here.” His dedication to his job is both terrifying and inspiring. “I'm going to get us out of here but I need to get you some place safe first.” Panic inflates in your chest as you remember the lost medallion.

“Shit Leon..I don't have-”

“It's okay.” 

Everything is so far from okay but the way he says it: maybe it could be. “I got it. I used it to unlock the exit, ready to go. There's a sort of safe house situation down there. So if we can make it there, we're golden. I met a woman called Claire on the way to the station earlier, she’ll-” 

Leon notices it before you do. Footsteps.  Not the shuffling undead kind, the large, heavy and purposeful kind. 

Leon stands up in one smooth motion, and moves across the room in no time at all. He presses his left ear to the wall that separates the office from the corridor, keeping his eyes on you.

If whatever-it-is came in through the main door, it wouldn’t see you immediately thanks to that additional layer of security Leon mentioned earlier. However, if it was as alive as it sounded, perhaps that would mean nothing.

Leon returns to your side, speaking in a hushed whisper as he asks if you can move.

“I think so.” You answer, preparing yourself to move as the footsteps have passed.

“Works for me.” He says as he raises you to your feet and throws your arm over his shoulder. 

After walking out of the first office door, he reaches to pick up his pistol. “You know how many bullets are left in this?” “Maybe five?” You’re not sure if you do remember, or if it’s an arbitrary guess, but Leon seems satisfied as he tucks it in the waistband of his trousers and begins moving you in the direction of the main office door.

“We’re heading out the way we came in, okay? He went the other way, so we should be okay. He’s not that fast.” The implication of his wording suggests his hearing is almost as supernatural as everything else in the Police Station.

“You know that from hearing him through the wall?” 

“No, I know that from running into the seven foot bastard earlier.” You try not to laugh at his candidness. “Come on.”

You hustle, as much as you can, down the stairs into the hall.

Leon’s body tenses as you pass a corpse with a familiar face. The Lieutenant. He doesn’t look back, but you can tell that he wants to.

“I’m sorry, Leon.” You whisper. 

“He was a good man.” He answers, continuing your path towards the exit.

Footsteps echo through the hall. “Shit.” You speed up to keep time with Leon as much as you can, but he doesn’t hurry you. He knows that wouldn’t help. 

The exit is in sight and looking back or panicking will only make things worse.

“You’re getting out first, I won’t be far behind you.”

“Le-”

“No arguing, Rookie.”

You notice that now, under the statue, a small set of stairs lead down to a delicate looking white metal gate. “Go.” He stands firm as he uses his palm to encourage you towards the gate. 

You turn and look at him with tears in your eyes. Fear and feeling, all consuming. 

“Leon, thank-”

“Thank me later.” He’s so certain. Certain enough for the two of you. “The gate locks shut behind you. I’ll lead him away. It’s me he wants. Claire will get you out of here.” He takes his pistol from his waistband, readying himself.

There’s so much you want to say, afraid you’ll never be able to tell him how thankful you are to have met him. Time slows in the haste of it all as you turn back into him and reach up, drawing him in towards you. 

You hope that the kiss is tender enough to convey the fragility of the way you feel. 

You don’t look back as you turn to descend the steps and pass through the gate. Gunfire starts almost as soon as the door shuts behind you.

A prickly feeling in the back of your throat accompanies an ache in your chest.

But you remember what Leon Kennedy told you.

A little pain is good.

Tags: Thank you for your appreciation and interest in a second part - here you are in all its (flawed) glory!!

Believing himself to be alone, he huffed a curse at the vending machine, punching numbers into the keypad. His brow was worried with a thought he wouldn’t dare share, hanging low like a branch over a serene lake.

“Is this machine withholding the goods?” You asked him. He took a visible pause.

“It took my money and my Twinkies.” He placed his palm on the glass of the vending machine, making you laugh.

“Here, let me.” You walked up to the keypad and he dropped his hand by his side. “What does your heart desire?” You remember asking, a little too sincere a question for an inquiry about individually wrapped snacks. You cleared your throat before adding. “It doesn’t even have to be a Twinkie. Anything on that top shelf? It’s yours if you want it.”

His frown had relaxed somewhat as he looked at you then, making your own expression soften in a mirror of attraction. 

“Is this some sort of pyramid scheme?” You shook your head. “Embezzlement?” You bit your lip and avoided eye contact in a wordless confession. He leant closer, his mouth tilted towards your ear. “In that case, I’ll take one of those fancier cakes.” The whispered words had crawled up into your brain cavity and had been replaying ever since. 

You placed your palm on the keypad, and a few short sparks released the fancy cakes from the confines of the machine, sending them hurtling towards the collection draw. 

His eyebrows raised and you couldn’t contain the glee that spread inside you. One more spark for good measure and down fell the Twinkies. “Well, well, well, Electra.” He turns and folds his arms over his chest. The sight of one of his hands against his flexed bicep catches your eye.

“Once a villain, always a villain.” You chuckled as you removed your hand from the crime scene.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re a villain at all.”

“Do you not have a shower at home?” Visi’s voice pierces the membrane of the memory and causes you to jump, your hand flying to your heart.

“Do you not have somewhere better to be?!”  You try to keep composure.

“I don’t. Are you going to answer my question?” You take a breath.

“I do, thank you, Invisigal, but I had to raise a ticket with maintenance, Waterboy can vomit at a higher water pressure than my showerhead right now.”

“That’s- gross.” She says. 

“Can I help you?”

“I thought I left a hair tie down here - turns out I didn’t - never mind!” And the sound of the door slamming shut confirms a speedy exit. You’re not sure you have ever seen her with her hair up but then, you’ve not known her that long.

You take your loofah to your body, circular motions that scratch against old scars. They don’t hurt anymore, but you still take extra care around the pale edges of those marks. In case it disrupts the memory and brings it to the forefront of your mind.

After that, you lather up your hair with apple scented shampoo. Not once, but twice. Something your mom showed you once. As the scent starts to overwhelm the grease and dirt you’ve displaced, you hear the sound of the locker room door opening again, followed by the crisp sound of dress shoes on the tiled floors. Surely not Invisigal. “Hello?” You call out over the sound of the running water. Something that, if you thought more carefully about, you shouldn’t have done if you were in any serious amount of danger. You start to feel exceptionally vulnerable and inequipped to deal with this situation. If you have to fight, you’re not sure what damage you could take from the water-electricity mix.

“Uh, Electra?” 

“Robert?! What are you doing here?” You wipe your face in simultaneous relief and distress.

“Visi said you needed me for…something.” 

“What, right now?!” You can’t help the giggle of disbelief.

“When you put it like that…”

“Well,” You sigh and shut off the water. “You may as well make yourself useful and throw me my towel at least.” The silence speaks volumes. “My stuff is gone isn’t it?” 

“Yup, there is exactly zero stuff in this room.”

“I knew she didn’t wear her hair up!” Part of you thinks you should play into her silly game and step out of the shower as you are and face the consequences. The other part of you is well aware that you will not be doing that.

“If you sit tight, I can grab something for you to wear?”

“I am pretty clearly going nowhere, Robertson.”

“Of course. Ya. I’ll be back.”

It doesn’t take long for the chill in the air to start to seep down to your bones. You wonder how far he’s gone and how long he should have been. You contemplate if perhaps this was all part of a bigger prank, and just as you are wondering if you can fashion a dress out of the shower curtain, Robert returns. “I have a whole spare set of clothes and a towel here for when I use the gym. I’ve left them on the bench and I’ll just head out. Okay?”

“Thanks Robert, I appreciate it. I only hope they fit.”

“If not, you might be stuck here. Forever.” The smile on your face blooms slowly. You wish you had the opportunity to speak with him more, to dip just beneath that exterior and find out more about him.

“Hey, Robert? Are you up to anything tonight?” Whilst you expected pause for thought, you didn’t expect the complete and utter silence that befell the room. You poke your head out of the curtain, only to see he’s gone. “Fuck.” You groan, before making a beeline to the towel and wrapping yourself up in it. “Pull yourself together, Electra.” 

You begin to separate the pile of clothes to discover he has left you his entire gym kit, presented in shades of grey, including his boxers. The thought makes you blush involuntarily. “Pull. Yourself. Together.” You reiterate as you don your Robert cosplay, minus the devastating good looks.

When you walk into the bullpen on Monday morning, you feel as though everyone can tell what happened on Friday. Sonar and Coupé are talking by the lifts and when they see you, they stop. Invisigal and Malevola are heading towards the breakout room and you can already picture the gossiping that’s about to take place, if it hasn’t already. Visi throws you an extra special wink and knowing wave, just to make you squirm.

 You make your way to Robert’s desk with a rehearsed interaction ready to go. Pitiful, really.

But necessary when it feels as though all parts of your brain short-circuit in his company. “Hey there!” You find yourself speaking to the back of Robert’s head as you approach and chastise yourself for the Phenomaman-esque greeting. 

Swivelling in his chair to meet your gaze, a ball of energy seems to swell and spark in your chest. 

“Hi.” He says matter of factly, with an evident degree of surprise. He looks down at the bag you are holding, full of clothes and a tupperware with mystery contents.

“I wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow your clothes on Friday.” You hold out the bag. “I washed everything you gave me. I also made some pasta and had some left over and thought you might accept it as a token of gratitude.”

“Uh, thanks.” He says, sounding remarkably underwhelmed for such an overbearing interaction, peering down into the bag between the handles.

“I’ll catch you on shift!” You turn on your heels and head for the nearest caffeine source.

“Did you two fuck?” Chase’s not-so-quiet question prompts you to speed up to avoid hearing the answer. Whilst you know the answer, you don’t want to hear how vehemently he denies it.

When you reach the break room, you are met with the heroes you’d hoped to avoid.

“You were crushing it out there Electra.” She grins as she hands you a trademark SDN coffee cup.

“Is this laced with something?” You look down at it, as though there would be a radioactive glow.

“I can confirm it’s untampered with, but if you want whiskey in there, I can make that happen.” Mal adds.

“Did you know?” You ask Malevola.

“Know what?” She looks between you both.

“About Visi’s party trick on Friday where she made all my clothes disappear.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Mal asks and Visi laughs.

“She orchestrated it so that I was left without my towel or my clothes, and sent Robert to look for me in the locker room. Mid shower.” You drink the supposedly safe coffee. The taste is strikingly similar to that of burnt toast, but not similar enough to deter you from taking another sip.

“And I would do it all over again.” She doubles down, pouring herself a coffee now. You watch as she takes a drink and looks back at you. Except, she isn’t looking you in the eyes, she’s transfixed on a point at the top of your head. “See you out there, Electra, or not, depending on if you're dispatched of course.” She winks and leaves the room with her coffee cup.

“My hair's static, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“And it has been since I walked in?”

“Double yup.” You ditch the coffee to smooth down your hair with both hands, determinedly.

“Oh she is soo in your head.” Malevola laughs, and you laugh too as you concede, falling into one of the plastic seats. 

You debate momentarily, telling her how you tried and failed to ask Robert out, but before you could commit to a decision, Blonde Blazer appears at the door.

“I need you all in the board room in five. Grab anyone you see on the way.”

“Think he’s quit after Friday?” Mal whispers once Blazer’s gone.

“Surely not, you wouldn’t come in just to walk out again?”

“Say that to the other dispatcher that took one look at Punch-Up and ran.”

-

“You may be wondering why I have brought you all here this morning-”

“You’re our boss.” Coupe says. 

“Yeah, why would we question it?” Punch-Up adds and Coupe throws a violent look his way.

“Are you-”

“Would you let her speak?!” Prism snaps from her seat, leaning back and folding her arms. “No-one cares what we think, just tell us straight.”

“By the end of the week, we will be removing someone from the Pheonix program.” 

For a moment, it’s clear that everyone in the room thinks they misheard her.

“What?” Flambae’s question ignites a series of outcries that light up the room with white hot noise.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you have succumbed to the cult of Herbal Tea Harrington.” Robin appears, just as you take your second sip, arms laden with a pile of records.

“Robin.” Steve groans. “Let her make her own mind up!” He drops his hands from his hips now.

“What, like you are? Watching her like a hawk whilst she drinks your dirt water?” You cover your mouth to stop the tea from escaping with laughter.

“You’ve not even tried it.” He challenges.

“I don’t need to try it to know it tastes like an underground eco system.” She answers defiantly. “You two earthworms might enjoy it but I have taste.” As if to finalise her argument, she turns to continue her record based task, heading for the shelving unit at the back of the room. 

Steve rolls his eyes.

Officially, you have known Steve for going on five years, but he was unapproachable and unbearable for at least three of them. Robin, you’ve only known since returning to Hawkins last year, but it feels like you have known her forever.

When you left Hawkins, only two years ago, you were following your parents to California - a common pipeline for Hawkins Homebodies searching for more. You realised that that was their dream, not yours, and began to look for ways to return.

Whilst Hawkins was a place brimming with your own complicated feelings, you wanted to face them. You were old enough to live independently, you told yourself, but reassured your parents you would look for a housemate. 

You hauled your backpack higher on your shoulder and dragged your suitcase along the ground behind you as you headed to a family friend's house on the outskirts of the town.

Unfortunately, a mere few hours after you had made Hawkins your home again, an earthquake tore right through the middle. You shook off the feeling that it was a bad omen, and took it in your stride - a sign you were meant to be there to help. Though you didn’t know where to begin, you knew you had to find out where your friends were. Had they moved away from Indiana or fallen through a hole right in the middle of it?

You began volunteering at the relief aid centre that was set up in the gymnasium at Hawkins High, an eerie place. Haunted with old memories of being picked last in gym class and new memories of displaced families.

You had been rotating between each of the stations, offering support and help to anyone who would take it, when you were reunited with Vickie, the closest thing you had had to a best friend in Hawkins. The reunion was a clumsy embrace with apologies and regrets. It had been so long since you had last spoken and you were beyond relieved she was okay.

When you stepped back from the hug, Vickie invited you to help with the PB&J sandwiches, gesturing to the smiling, sharply dressed woman, standing just a few feet behind her. A woman who you would later come to know as Robin Buckley. Every now and then you remind her that she had no business looking that good in a time of crisis. Vickie agrees with you.

Steve was folding clothes at a donations table when you saw him again for the first time since high school. Whilst he wasn’t at the top of your list of people to reconnect with, you were glad to see him alive, and looking well. Really well.

You’d fumbled over your words in an attempt to reintroduce yourself and froze completely when he told you he remembered you. He’d said it thoughtfully too, though he appeared to wince. Maybe he had found the whole thing as painful as you had.

What you did notice, pretty quickly, was that Steve wasn’t the same as he had been in school. Of course, most people aren’t, and this could only be a good thing, right? 

But there was something stark in the difference. 

He didn't stand as tall as he once used to. His shoulders were rounded, bringing his frame down, looking as though he was burdened with an invisible weight. His hair had grown out, looking undone most of the time, but it suited him this way. The absence of product made his hair look softer and provided plenty of distracting thoughts about how it might feel to run your fingers through it. 

The greatest difference of all however was his smile. It was rare and almost unnoticeable, hardly ever reaching his eyes..

Where once you might have described him as carefree, he now felt almost entirely the opposite.

Despite the differences in Steve, he is equally as captivating, if not more so. Instead of demanding attention with volume, cliche lines and excessively groomed hair, he commanded attention silently, slowly and purposefully.

Just as he does now, looking out the window of The Squawk. You try to read his expression. Thoughtful? Concerned? As his arms were positioned in a neat fold across his chest, his right palm moving back and forth over his left arm, shoulder to elbow.

“I should probably head off soon.” You reluctantly break the silence before taking another slurp of your tea. “I’m not sure how much time I have till my shift starts.” You look regretfully down into the mug, more than half of it left.

“You still not got a watch?” Steve asks. He’d told you to invest in one, months ago - when you got your first pay packet from Benny’s Burgers. “You ever gonna take my advice?” There’s a playfulness to his words, but it’s about as light as it gets before he withdraws to a serious, sensible Steve. “You've got like…” He checks his watch. “...forty minutes before your shift. It’s already dark out there. If you want to stay and finish that then I can drop you off closer to your shift time?”

“I wish I could.” You put your cup down on the coffee table, standing up. “I’ve got an errand I need to run that I’m gonna squeeze in before start time.” You’re hopeful but exhausted as you gather up your things. You’ve lost count of the shifts you have taken on this week, but it was necessary to help Robin with the rent and to try and save for your own place.

As you open the door of the WSQK, coat bundled in your arms, you call out a distant goodbye to Robin. She hollers one in kind as you turn to see Steve holding out his watch.

“What? Steve!” Your voice quietens in disbelief. “Why?”

“Why not?” He matches your hushed tone. “You need a watch, I got one.” He says in that way, like it’s no trouble at all. 

You got a problem, he’ll fix it. 

The watch is simple but classy. A Casio. It’s silver and sleek with an analogue and digital display. It feels very Steve and you know it looks good on him.

You let go of the door as you turn back to him and it slams loudly, causing you both to flinch.

“Sorry.” You cringe with a shy smile. 

“If you won’t take my advice, at least take the watch.” He steps closer, palm forward, eyes baring into yours. Picking up the watch, your fingertips brush against his calloused palms, lighting a fire in your chest like a match to a striking strip.

“Now you've stopped the sweet talking, we've got a crawl to plan.” Robin speaks plainly, and without a hint of context. You frown lightly, amused.

“Uhhhhh-” Steve's eyes widen but remain on you. She continues as she rounds the corner.

“It’s not like I had my own hot date planned but we gotta- hey! You’re still here!” She blinks as she sees you, stopping in her tracks.

“A crawl?” You ask, tucking your arm back under your coat to conceal the watch. Robin had a keen eye, she would see it eventually but for now, it was your little secret.

“A Bar crawl.” He answers quickly, trying on a tight lipped smile.

“Didn’t think that was your scene?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you tilt your head.

“Well, Steve’s helping me to see if it might be my thing!” Her eyes are a little frantic, but a skittish Robin is not unusual.

“Hmmmmm.” Your nose wrinkles in a playful assessment of their secrecy but other things occupy your mind. Other things like the watch in your hand.

“Hey, just make sure you get to work on time.” Steve says with an unexpected softness that stills you. The warm metal of the recently worn watch is burning gleefully against your palm at his subtle allusion to the timepiece. Suitably distracted. You wonder what it will look like on your wrist: your nightstand.

“Yeah.” Robin chimes in, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Get out of here before you're sacked and we don't get free burgers anymore.” Steve turns his head. “Mike and Dustin will be especially heartbroken.”

“You get free burgers?!”

“Gotta go!” You blurt, grasping the door handle and grimacing a goodbye as you flee the scene. 

-

Walking home after work, you take the path under the streetlights. It’s a longer route, but a better one this late at night, approaching 11pm. Steve and Robin have a habit of reminding you to walk in the light at night. It’s endearing, but unusual. An accurate way to describe them in their entirety.

You hold the watch in your hands, tilting it as you walk to reflect the light. The watch is cooler now, having remained in your coat pocket for the duration of the shift, but it is slowly returning to a reasonable temperature with the heat from your fingers.

You wonder where it came from. Who got it for him? Was there a story behind it?

You stop walking to finally put the watch on your wrist, opting for your non-dominant hand to give you a fighting chance at getting it on.

It sits surprisingly nicely, you think, a smile already on your lips.

The noise of an approaching car causes you to drop your arm abruptly and keep walking - fast. An ache spreads in your legs from being on your feet for the last several hours but you press on. As the car gets closer, you can see it is driving towards you. A maroony, burgundy BMW, much like Steve’s. 

You squint. 

“What is wrong with you?!” You shouted as you fired a warning spark at the ground beneath Kellan’s feet. The cold night time air in the parking lot seemed to intensify the electrical charge as well as the family feud.

Once upon time, you had been inseparable. As far as older brothers went, he was doting and thoughtful. He taught you how to defend yourself against others. This began as hand to hand combat and developed into gruelling training sessions with the addition of your electrical powers.

Defending yourself against others became defending yourself against everyone as Kellan convinced you that the world was against you and you had to do everything in your power and beyond to prove them wrong.

You aren’t sure when it happened, but the innocence of your time spent together unravelled into villainy.

“What’s wrong with me?” He scoffed. “You’re the one deciding that you’re too good to be a villain. Too little too late, might I add.” His gauntlets sparked and hissed as you attempted to close the gap between you. 

“It was petty crime, Kellan. This is bad news. Shroud is bad news. You know that. It won’t be long before someone gets hurt.”

“Eat shit, Electra.” He spat as he fired his blaster and clipped the side of your arm, earning a yelp of pain, stifled to a groan. You didn’t miss the way he wouldn’t call you by your own name anymore. You were just Electra to him now. “He’s not what everyone says. He’s helped me be who I was meant to be.”

“You’re meant to be my big brother.” He lurched forwards and you took a step backwards in retreat, holding your arms up by your head in surrender. The arm that took a hit was shaking through the adrenaline.

“Step the fuck back, Captain Sparkles.” A woman, who you would later come to know as Prism, entered the scene, stage right. He snarled at her and the half demon that approached behind, a decently-sized sword in her grip. 

“Is this guy bothering you?” She had asked. 

You had rarely seen Kellan as a villain, but his behaviour was suddenly sobering.

Kellan had nothing to say for himself. You willed him to speak. To put down his weapons. To tell you he was wrong for ever being involved with Shroud. But he never knew when to quit. He fired at you again, and your heroes leapt into action quickly, deflecting his shot.

Your future friend, Malevola, affectionately known as Mal, had laughed. It made you feel hopeful. Like things didn’t have to feel so serious and so bleak. “I’m going to give you to the count of three.” She said.

“I may not even give you till three.” Prism added, her arms folded propositionally.

And he left. He didn’t give you a second look. He didn’t say goodbye. He just left.

Prism and Malevola took you back to SDN to see to your wound and by the time you left the building, you had a job with the Z-Team. You just weren’t sure if you had a brother.

“Good morning, everyone.” Robert’s voice brings you back to reality as you walk out of the SDN building, sun beaming down on your face. Something about the deepness in the tone of his voice gives you pause to consider what he would sound like first thing in the morning, even better, what he would look like. You imagine him with half open eyes of burnt chocolate, and suitably tousled hair from tossing and turning all night, or even from-

“Fucking hell, Robert. You weren’t going to tell us about this scoreboard shit?” Flambae interrupts a daydream so vivid you have to blink it away.

“If I had known, maybe I would have told you.” You don’t think he would have.

“You mean, you didn’t know that this is Electra’s last week?” Invisigal snickers down the line and silence follows.

“Visi.” Robert warns softly before you can say anything. The effect on your body is almost as warming as the sun above you.

“What? I’m just sayin’.” 

“There’s a call coming from a building near the docks.” Robert begins typing, registered lightly by the microphone on his headset. “The signal is scrambled - I can’t get a read on it.”

“Could there be a power outage?” You suggest.

“There should still be some sort of generator to facilitate this much of the message getting through.” He taps at his keyboard a little faster before he sighs. “There’s no reported outages from local network providers.”

“Send me the location.” You demand before you think. “I can handle this.”

“Okay.” He agrees, to your surprise. “But take Visi. It sounds like there could be more to it.” You try not to roll your eyes. You know Visi already is.

Sure enough, on arrival, you can see there's no power to the building, but locating the why appears to be the first issue. All you can see from the outside is a group of civilians gathered at the entrance. 

Suddenly, a flash of lightning marks the sky above the blacked out building. The branches of the bolt are barely visible over the light blue backdrop. Whilst possible to be a bolt from the blue, you have your suspicions already. 

“Woah, the party started without me?” Visi says on approach. Totally unaware of any history between you and the suspected villain involved. You look from the building to Visi and back, and the fresh look at the building reveals bodies on the roof. 

“Shit.” You mutter. Whilst the group of goons are largely non-descript, you can make out a familiar figure amongst them - oversized energy blasters included.

“Shit.” Visi echoes.

“What’s going on?” Robert asks over the earpiece.

“It looks like the Red Ring - and that fucker I tangled with.”

“Lightningstruck?” Robert replies. A sharp zap targets a nerve in your left wrist and your right hand wraps around it on instinct. You flex your fingers in an attempt to keep the feeling under control.

“You guys have dealt with him before?” Your head snaps to look at Visi but Robert answers.

“Yeah, he was the inspiration for Visi’s fist-forward rhinoplasty last week.” You suddenly wish you had had the foresight to ask more questions about that day.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

“Lightningstruck is one of Shroud’s pets.” You know. “Recently promoted to Lieutenant in the Red Ring.” Visi informs.

“Just so everyone knows, that is the second time I have resisted the urge to make a joke about red rings.”

“I don’t think you’re resistin’ if you’re lettin’ us know.” Punch Up points out.

“Mal.” You try to reach her over the comms. “It’s-” You don’t finish your sentence before you're hit by an enhanced supervillain bolt of energy, courtesy of Lightningstruck himself. 

Your body attempts to fight back with an energy blast of its own as it’s propelled backwards towards the base of a nearby oak, but any effect that the bolt could have had is thwarted by the distance created by the initial impact. You’re sure Visi shouts out your name but you can’t hear it; you only see the way her mouth moves and her feet rush towards you.

The tree’s base is a rough crash landing. Every rise and fall of your chest feels painful, as though punctured by the bark of the oak. Your body feels consumed with high energy volts that could shoot out of you at any moment. You see Visi’s frown as she looks down at you before looking over her shoulder. Then you see nothing.

-

“Is she dead?” Visi’s voice seems to come back to her and back to your ears all at once. Except you’re no longer outside. There’s a different kind of warmth in the air and something soft under your head.

“Try not to sound too- ugh, hopeful.” You groan the sentence more than speak it, a dull pain sandwiched between your back and your chest whilst a sharper one chews at your skull. You wince.

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself.” It’s Robert. He’s close. 

So close in fact, that you can feel his hand resting on yours. “You need to take it easy.” You can tell it’s him from the way his thumb seems to brush over yours, in sync with his words.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Lightningfuck left after the light show. Rob says Vanderstenk had been on his way to the location so we got there in time to derail their plans. You were the only casualty.” Visi debriefs.

“It was just a tree.” You screw up your face and attempt to open your eyes, slowly, one at a time, now aware of the audience in the room. Not only are Visi and Robert with you, but so are Malevola and Chase (and Robert’s dog, Beef).

“A tree that landed you in the Infirmary.” He argues, his eyes wide, worried and patient.

“That’s embarrassing. It wasn’t even the bad guy?” Malevola jests, but you can tell by the look on her face she is worried.

“I wish it was, it would have been a much better story.”

“Oh I don’t know, a family reunion is juicy.” Chase approaches the bed, Beef cradled in his arms. Robert and Invisigal share a glance before looking back at him. Until now, your brother’s identity had been irrelevant, but now, it was anyone’s guess why he was causing trouble and everyone’s business who.

“Ummmmm…” Malevola tries.

“Lightningstruck.” You swallow. Visi stands, her arms folded over her chest in her usual guarded stance. Robert sits in a chair beside the bed, eyes wide with interest, anticipating your next words. “His name is Kellan and…he’s my brother.” You look between them, attempting to read them, trying to predict what they might say and what they might blame you for and how-

“Damn it.” Somehow her angry expression looks even angier as she shoves her hands into her pockets. “I wish I had known sooner…I coulda kicked his ass.” You try not to smile too obviously at the sweet subtext of her declaration. Robert mumbles something non-descript, a frown forming, deep in his thoughts. 

“You shoulda kicked his ass anyway.” Chase huffs at Invisigal.

“And you,” You poke Robert’s arm playfully. “don’t have an ass-kicking bone in your body.” You laugh in an exaggerated way but finish with a smile, staring into his eyes, framed in a soft expression of concern. 

Whilst you firmly believe that at least Visi should be laughing at that, you can’t convince yourself to give it much more thought as Blonde Blazer enters the Infirmary with a sickly sweet smile that appears wider than Phenomaman’s wingspan. 

You don’t miss the way Robert’s shoulders drop and his hand pulls away from yours. “I’m sorry to interrupt but there’s a situation downtown and Golem and Punch Up are fighting.”

“Are they on break?” He glances up at the clock.

“No, Waterboy’s handling-” The end of her sentence is overwritten by the sound of Robert’s chair moving, as he stands abruptly.

“I think that’s our cue.” Malevola grimaces.

“I'll handle Punch-Up.” Robert affirms as they head for the door. “I'll…” He stops and looks at you briefly. “We'll see you later.”

The correction feels purposeful, but to what end?

As they leave, only Chase remains. And of course, Beef. 

“You okay, kid?” He asks you. “He’s a stoic one.”

“He’s something.” You sigh.