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hydrangeyes · 10 days ago

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Hell is Waiting - A Resident Evil One Shot

A/n: This a story based off on the idea that Chris adopted Rose as his daughter and is still haunted by the demons of his past. It contains canon elements but it's not actual to the lore! I just wanted to write Chris going through it and little Rose. Summary: Five years after taking in Rose, Chris gets a visit from his haunted past. Warnings: Contains swearing, substance abuse, mentions of death, Chris kind of being an asshole, delusions. Not proofread at all.

Enjoy and let me know what you think of this!! Thank you for reading!

It was freezing outside, cold enough that no animals dared to step afoot. Despite being early evening, the snow was extra harsh today. Creating a wall of snow as a black jeep sped through them harshly, breaking the easy peace.

You have one new message. Message playing.

Hey Chris, Its Claire. I just wanted to check up on you and your little one. You haven't been returning my calls…I know that you're currently working, but that doesn't mean you can shut me out completely. I'm worried about you, I know how you get around this time of year.. Hell we are all! Leon, Rebecca, Jill! What..im saying is you don't have to be alone with yourself..

You know how to reach me. I love you big bro, bye.

You have no more messages. Goodbye.

Chris tossed his phone on the passenger seat after listening to the message from Claire on repeat. His face stoic with slight resignation. His leather gloves held the steering wheel as he steadied the jeep on the ice road ahead of him. A deep sigh left his lungs as he thought.

He should call his sister back, update her on the fact that he was on his way home.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to bother her. Chris was the big brother, old captain of the BSAA and now captain of his own team that went “rogue” against the BSAA. He was supposed to have his shit together, and be there for his little sister. Not the other way around.

Years had both worn and toughened Chris over the years, he's won battles but lost comrades in the same breath. The sins of regret cursed his skin and mind with every passing day. He didn't expect to be saved nor did he want to. Too far corrupted and damaged for any possible fixture, especially the job is never done.

“What happened to the great Chris Redfield?”

A young voice, sharp and confident, rang in his ears. Chris ignored it at first, not wanting to give in.

“Dont ignore me, Captain.”

Pressing his foot down abruptly on the brake pedal, the jeep came to a harsh stop. The engine growled as Chris turned to look at the man in the passenger seat.

He was in his late 20s, short light brunette hair styled up like a wave. One striking chocolate eye and the other sickly yellow and bulged staring back into Chris's. Enlarged purplish veins trailed over his forehead and neck. Old rustic blood splattered over his face. Wearing an old and tattered BSAA outfit, tactical vest and all with a checkered scarf around his neck. The ghost of the man who was meant to take Chris's place.

“Piers..”

“You should really call her back, Captain. She's one of the only people you've got left.”

Chris scowled lightly, his grip on the wheel tightening with rage and despair.

“You don't get to lecture me! Not when you disobeyed orders!! Not…”

Chris paused, his voice starting to crack slightly.

“Not when I failed you.”

“I made my choice, Captain. It was for the BSAA. The world did not need me anymore, but it still needed you.”

“No, they don't.”

“So this is what the legendary Chris thinks huh? Claire needs you and so does her.”

“Shut up..”

“I feel sorry for all the men that died believing in you.”

Chris's jaw clenched and tightened as he tried to ignore the condescending words.

“It's pathetic how I let myself believe as well.”

“Shut up!”

Shutting his eyes tightly, Chris focused on the silence and only silence. Reopening them showed no-one in the car, the engine slowly purring, awaiting to start again.

He shook his head, as he started the car up once more and drove further down the road. Chris moved one hand to turn on the radio hoping to push out the voices and delusions for another day. They are getting worse each year, and each year it was getting harder for Chris to ignore. God,how he wanted a drink.

“Just a little further..” He muttered under his breath as he kept his eyes on the narrow icy road. He would be home soon.

The jeep took a right in a fork in the road, up a hill before finally parking a small cabin. It was the typical log cabin, made of wood with an awning and porch attached to the front. The wood was weathered and starting to decay in some areas, luckily, it didn't reach the foundation yet. The roof was covered in snow while the awning was covered with icicles.

Parking the jeep next to another one similar but in a deep green color. Chris got out of his vehicle. The sharp cold hitting his face, with a sigh he made his way into the cabin's front door then inside.

The living was dark only lit by the fireplace that was nearly down to embers. There was a small table in the middle between a couch and the fireplace. It was covered with miscellaneous colors of crayons paired with papers shuffled around with drawings.

Scribbles of two figures were drawn, one big and bulky man all in black with brown hair and stubble. The other is a little girl with light blonde hair and bright colored clothing. One hand reached down grabbing one of the drawings, the corners of Chris's mouth twitched into a tiny smile. Carefully, he folded up the drawing and slipped it into his pocket then patted it.

Soft creaks of wood caught Chris's attention as he gazed at the staircase. Coming down calmly was one of Chris's soldiers from Hound Wolf Squad. Emily Berkhoff, codename “Tundra”. She was in her late 20s, early 30s with bright blonde hair. It reminded him of how Jill looked back in Africa. Emily had calming emerald eyes as she gave a nod to Chris. Not in her usual outfit as she wore casual clothing. A pair of jeans with a long sleeve short and a tan jacket with fur on the collar.

“Welcome home, Captain”

He held up hand and shook his head. The title stings extra hard.

“We're off duty Emily, you don't need the formalities. How is she doing?”

Emily nodded slowly before she gave a simple hum.

“Shes doing good. We colored today and watched some Disney movies. She's upstairs asleep already”

Chris nodded slowly, his stoic expression not changing but his eyes showed appreciation.

“Thank you, you can head home. I'll be heading to check on her in a minute.”

Emily crossed her arms, staring at him for a moment.

“You gonna be okay tonight, sir? Today is..the anniversary o-”

“Of Ethan's death, I know.” His voice was rough, slight harshness to it.

There was a loud silence to the room, only broken by the little cracks of the embers. It had been five long years since Ethan had placed his baby into Chris's arms, then died, taking out Miranda and her village. Leaving him with a dying wish from a loving father.

“Watch over her, teach her to be strong..”

One last promise Chris felt he could uphold. If not for Ethan, for himself.

He sighed trying to ease the pressure in his shoulders, so they shifted. Emily watched her captain with a look of slight concern. Chris waved her off. It was bad enough for Claire to be worried. He didn't need his team to be unfocused.

“You're dismissed, Emily, get some rest.”

“But sir i-”

“I said you're dismissed Tundra, I will see you later this weekend for the next mission briefing” Chris's tone turned firm and authoritative, the leader facade back on. Emily nodded reluctantly as she made her way towards the front door.

“Goodnight, Chris.” With that, Emily walked outside, closing the door behind her.

Chris waited for the sound of the jeep starting, listening as the tires cracked the snow underneath as it drove off for the night.

Once he was sure that Tundra was gone for the night, Chris grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet, then proceeded to grab a half full whiskey bottle from on top of the fridge. He pour the amber liquid from the bottle, until it reached the rim of the glass.

Chris placed the whiskey bottle down with a soft thud. Then lifted the glass to his lips, the earthy tones hitting his nose. He inhaled deeply, the inner conflict to drown in his sins tonight. He thought about the colored drawing that was burning a hole in his pocket. With a heavy sigh, he poured the whiskey down the drain then replaced it up with water. Walking towards the fireplace, Chris tossed the water into the glowing embers. It hissed and sizzled as smoke ascended into the air. Twisting then fading into nothingness. He then headed for the front door himself, opening it and walking out.

The snow crunched and cracked underneath Chris's combat boots as he took slow strides outside on the porch. Chris's hazel, tired eyes hooded as he walked against the railing and leaned forward. The sharp cold winds lightly scraping against his cheeks, his gloved hands rummaging in his jacket pockets. One hand pulling out a beaten-up carton of cigarettes, and his other pulling out a lighter. The winds howled and screeched as it dragged particles of snow up into the air and back down again. A repeated cycle.

With practiced ease, he lifted the stick of nicotine to his lips. Using his free hand to shield the flame as he lit the end. Inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill and tar up his lungs further. A delicious poison that goes in easier with each inhale.

“I thought you would have picked up better habits, Christopher. You disappoint me.”

Chris's eyes flicked up lazily as he stared at the myth of a man only a few feet in front of him. A tall blonde man, shoulders filled with pride and spite. Red piercing eyes that glared at him behind black shades. A smug smirk etched on his face, only widening when Chris scowled.

“Go away. I don't need your bullshit today..”

“Good Ole Chris. Self-righteous as always. Tell me how it feels to watch your friends die, or how it feels to raise the little girl whose father you killed?”

“I didn't kill him..” A whisper to the wind filled with desperation and denial.

Albert Wesker grinned widely.

“Oh? Who was it that murdered his “wife”?”

He took a step towards the porch.

“That was Miranda, and it was time sensitive!!!” Chris argued back.

“Who let Ethan Winters walk to his death blindly?” Another step closer.

“I was doing what I thought was right!!” Chris nearly bit down on the cigarette in his mouth. His hands clenching into a fist as he tried to keep control.

“Right? There is no right anymore, Christopher. There is order and power. You know better than anyone els.e”

Wesker stood right in front of Chris, his grin melting away into a sickly smile.

“Who made a daughter into an orphan?”

“Leave her out of this!!”

“I expected better from you. A poor excuse for a leader, can't even keep your own men alive. I wonder who she'll grow to hate.”

“Me! Godammit!!” Raising a fist to slam down on the railing. The stinging pain wasn't enough. It shook the whole porch, the icicles nearly falling from their roots.

A rich and manic laughter filled Chris's ears as he closed his eyes.

“Such a lack of discipline.” Wesker mocked, his voice laced with venom and hate.

“With so much blood on your hands, how could she love you?” Wesker tsked as he approached, a predatory glint in his eye.

Chris sneered, his teeth feeling like they would break if he clenched his jaw any harder.

“You're not real..”

“As long as you live, I live.”

Chris shut his eyes, trying to shut out his mind. Trying to shut out the delusion of a dead madman.

“I'll be waiting, Chris. Maybe you won't disappoint me next time.”

“Next time, stay dead!” Chris nearly shouted, his chest heaving. The cigarette was nearly burned out, he could feel the slow singe on his lips. He held the top of his face with one hand as he tried to stabilize himself.

“...daddy? Who are you talking to?”

Chris's head snapped to the front door, seeing little Rose holding a teddy bear close to her heart. She was dressed in pink pajamas with little clouds on them. Sleepily rubbing her eyes as she looked at him. Her little body was halfway out the door. Chris felt his heart ache as she called him a title he didn't deserve. Ever since she could talk and walk, Chris had tried to keep Ethan's memory alive, making sure she would call him Chris. She only knew of Ethan from stories, but Chris was real, and he was here with her. Why would she not get used to him being a father to her? He let out a sigh, tossing the now-burnt cigarette in the snow.

“No one sweetie, did I wake you?”

He took small steps as he reached then kneeled to her level. Chris then picked her up, his big arms holding her tightly. Rose yawns slightly, her straight blonde hair lightly blowing in the wind. She nodded tiredly.

“you were loud..are you mad?” Chris gave her a weak smile, as he gently ruffled her hair.

“Not at you, little one. Daddy has a lot on his mind..”

Little Rose pouted as she wrapped her tiny arms around Chris's neck and hugged him tightly.

“I missed you”

Chris sighed softly as he held her back. Opening his big jacket to wrap around her, keeping her warm from the cold. He took one of his hands to hold the back of her head. He let out a slight noise of relief as he kissed her temple. One day, she would know the whole truth and she did, he would gift her Ethan’s jacket that was collecting dust in a box upstairs in Chris’s room. Deep down he knew she would hate him, and he accepted that. For now, he enjoyed these moments before Rose grew up.

“I missed you, too sweet pea. Come on, let's get you warmed up” Chris said as he adjusted her on his hip. He took a moment to look over his shoulder, glaring at the spot where Wesker stood. Then shook his head and took his daughter inside of the cabin.

Hell was waiting for Chris Redfield, it was only a matter of time before he took his rightful place in the burning inferno. With all of the bloodshed over the years, it was no doubt there was a space for him. But he wasn't ready to go, not when he had Rose now to protect and care for.

Lucky for him, the devil has patience.

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