mychoombatheroomba

[mychoombatheroomba]

We're at 616 now.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Lord have mercy I'm about to pass 400 pages on the Between the Bones doc 🙃

[mychoombatheroomba]

this must be the place 🌿 leon kennedy x reader ao3 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 rated: teen and up word count: 4,978 tags: au - road trip, established relationship, domestic fluff, no smut summary: you and leon rent an old, beat-up camper van and take a tour of the national parks.

You don’t fly. Of course, you don’t fly. Leon insists on driving because, apparently, “Flying is for cowards, baby,” and “Haven’t you heard that one saying? It’s about the journey. Not the destination.”

So here you are, in a beat-up camper van rented from the least sketchy Craigslist listing you could find. You shudder a bit thinking about that old man, his thousands of cats, and his sinister smile after you’d driven away from his little cabin in the middle of the Arklay Mountains and hope that this box of sheet metal doesn’t break down the second your trip hits a hundred miles. 

The van has affectionately been named The Rust Bucket Express, which you and Leon decided on over a stack of syrupy pancakes and too many carafes of watered-down coffee to count at your favorite hometown diner. You’d tried really hard to convince him to split the driving with you, but he just had to bring up the time you rear-ended some prick’s Jaguar and dented the front of his beloved green Jeep Wrangler. You almost reminded him about the three cars (and one boat!) he’s totaled in the past five years, but you let him have his little win. For now. 

You take a break from watching the world blur past out the passenger window and look to your left. Leon’s currently laser-focused on the road ahead, absentmindedly mouthing the words to Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” as it plays on the local rock station, and you fight the urge to break out into a stupid grin. God, you love him.

This little trip of yours — four national parks in two weeks, give or take — is built on little else but MapQuest directions you printed out at the library and a few prayers, but you have a feeling the two of you will make it work. You always do. 

STOP 1: YELLOWSTONE

A bison crosses the road, and you scream. Leon laughs so hard that he has to pull over. 

The massive animal lumbers across the asphalt, its shaggy fur bouncing with each step. It pauses just in front of the windshield, and you stare, eyes wide and jaw agape as you white-knuckle the grab handle above the window. 

“That thing is huge,” you say breathlessly. “How did it just… appear like that?”

Leon is also breathless, but it’s from laughing at you. Wiping tears from his eyes, he turns to you, playfully mussing your hair. “It’s just…” he fights another laugh. “It’s just a bison, baby. You’re okay.”

You glare at him, then look back out the window as the giant creature continues to stroll along, completely unfazed by your presence. 

“So… should we just… wait for it to finish crossing, or…?” you ask, giving him a sidelong glance. 

His expression sobers slightly as he brings his fingers to his chin. “Hm. We could wait a little longer, or… I could get out, and we could try to herd it,” he deadpans. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me anyway.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile despite yourself. You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

Later, after The Bison Incident is added on to your never-ending list of inside jokes, the two of you find yourselves tucked into the steamy embrace of the Boiling River. One of your roommates from your college years had let you in on the park’s hidden gem after you’d mentioned your trip to her, giving you a little wink and a nudge that left you wondering exactly what she meant. Apparently, it’s never crowded if you go at the right time.

She was right. The only company you keep right now is rocks, the mist rising from the water, and the current as it tickles your legs. Sitting in the shallows, you lean your head on Leon’s shoulder, watching as another couple and their black lab brave the hiking trail in the distance. 

He always gets this gleam in his eye when he’s thinking about something big. You catch a glimpse of it when he turns to you, wraps his arms around your frame, then puts his chin on top of your head.

“I think,” he murmurs, giving you a little squeeze, “we should get a dog.”

You huff a laugh. This is a conversation you’ve had once a week ever since you moved in together. “What else is new?”

“I’m being completely serious! A big, tough one, like a German Shepherd. Give it a human name, like… Chris.”

You tilt your head to look at him. “You want to name our hypothetical dog Chris?”

“Is a small one more your speed?” he asks, and by the way he does, you have a feeling you’ll be signing adoption papers the second you cross state lines back into your hometown. “We could get one of those tiny, scary white ones and name it Matilda.”

“God, you’re hopeless.” You swirl your fingers around in the water and try to fight the grin starting to form on your face. “I don’t know, Leon. I’d probably be better at keeping a cat alive.”

“Cats don’t fetch,” he retorts. “Or walk trails with you,” he adds, gesturing to the couple ahead. Their dog follows after them at a slow pace, circling back to a particularly good-smelling boulder before promptly pissing on it. You scrunch your nose, shaking your head.

“Cats also don’t cry when you leave the room for thirty seconds,” you point out. 

“Well, if you’re the one leaving, I understand. I do it all the time.”

You break out into a laugh. It’s easy to when you’re with him. He throws those one-liners around like they’re confetti, and even though it’s been years, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it.

“Maybe we should get a dog then,” you say. “The two of you can bond over being dramatic.”

Leon grins and presses a kiss to your temple. “You wound me.”

STOP 2: GLACIER

The temperature drops sharply when you reach Glacier National Park. Thankfully, you’ve packed appropriately. You, meaning Leon.

After a seven hour drive (it was supposed to be six, but you’d insisted on stopping at every gas station you passed to load up on your favorite snacks) and a stay in Missoula’s shittiest Holiday Inn (you’d tried roughing it in the van, but alas, The Rust Bucket Express is not great at temperature control. Surprise, surprise), you pull on his extra jacket and step out onto the pavement, your breath fogging in the frigid air.

“Nice jacket,” Leon says dryly, wrapping a scarf around your neck. “Where’d you get it?”

“Some weird guy gave it to me,” you shrug. “He kidnapped me and held me hostage in this old camper van that smells like stale coffee and pine needles, and now he’s about to strangle me with his scarf.”

“Shit, that sucks.” He finishes tying the scarf and shakes his head. “But hey, maybe he’ll make it up to you with some hot chocolate after this hike.”

Two hours later, you’re shivering on the Logan Pass and praying that he stays true to that promise. The trail itself is serene, wide, and relatively easy. Your ability to soak in the views of those snow-capped mountains and deep valleys below, however, is somewhat limited — you lost feeling in all of your toes about thirty minutes ago. 

Suddenly, you spot something in the distance and grin. There’s a jagged outcropping of rock rising from the mountainside just beyond the trail. It’s practically calling your name. 

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Leon remarks, nudging you with his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna climb that thing,” you say. 

It takes him a second to realize you’re not joking. It’s a second too late, because you’ve already broken off into a run towards it, ice and rocks be damned. He curses under his breath and follows after you. 

There’s a sign right next to the crag that says “dangerously unstable,” and you just know he’s going to make some comment about it.

Leon puts a hand on your shoulder. “It says—”

You take hold of a promising-looking ledge, pulling yourself flush against the cliffside and away from his grip. “Don’t worry. I’ve watched that one Discovery Channel documentary on rock climbing, like, a hundred times.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Really? What’s it called?”

Shit. All of a sudden, you’re glad your back is to him because all the blood has drained from your face. Your foot finds a notch in the rock that you use to push yourself a few feet higher. “I, um. My memory fails me at the moment. But look! I’m like one of those mountain goats.”

He doesn’t laugh. And just like that, this isn’t so fun anymore. But you’re already halfway up. You might as well see this through.

“I don’t like this,” Leon calls from below you, his voice cutting through the cold air. 

You twist down to glance at him and realize you’re too far up to catch. “I’m fine,” you say, hand scrambling for your next hold. “It’s just a rock.” Despite all your bravado, you can feel the tension in your chest tightening, and your hands are starting to sweat despite the cold. 

He sighs loudly, still looking up at you with a frown. If he clenches that jaw any harder, you swear he’ll break a molar.

Your breath stutters in your lungs when your foot slips slightly, heart racing wildly. A few pebbles fall and hit the ground with the tiniest of clatters. 

“Alright,” he says, voice tight with thinly-veiled frustration. “That’s enough. Get down before you fall and crack your head open.”

“You sound like one of those paranoid old men that scream at the sky,” you tease, but you can’t hide the way your arms are starting to shake. Damn that stupid documentary. This is way harder than they make it look.

Leon’s pacing now, muttering to himself. Oh, god. And, of course, the wind picks up around you, whipping at your face. You’re kind of terrified but not enough to come down. 

He calls your name again, voice quieter this time. “Get down from there. Please.”

You pause and look up. You’re just about two feet from the top, and with another good foothold, you could, hypothetically, make it to the summit. But you decide that your boyfriend’s sanity is worth more than proving that you’re right, and you sigh. “Okay. Okay, fine. Just… give me a second.”

When you finally reach solid ground, he’s still standing at the base of the rock, his arms crossed. The moment stretches, but you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over you like he’s trying to make sure every limb is still in one piece.

You don’t know who moves first, but you’re both silently back on the trail a few minutes later. The rest of the hike is stunningly beautiful, but it feels off without the banter between you.

The truce happens when you reach the little log cabin café near the park’s entrance. You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom but return to your table with two cups of hot chocolate, a bowl of their soup du jour (which looks and smells suspiciously like Lipton’s chicken noodle), and a chicken pesto panini.

“Peace offering?” you ask tentatively, sliding the tray towards Leon.

His gaze flicks up to you from the ground, and he lets out a quiet sigh. “S’alright,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for the sandwich, like you knew he would. 

You shake your head, sitting next to him on the bench and wrapping your arms around him. “I’m sorry,” you say, and you genuinely mean it. “Really. I got my fix. I promise not to raise your blood pressure for the rest of our trip.”

He returns your hug, and the reluctant chuckle your promise earns makes you feel warmer than any hot chocolate ever could. “Swear it? I don’t think you realize how worried I get when you do shit like that.”

You hold a pinky out to him, expression softening when he hooks his around yours without hesitation. “Cross my heart,” you say. “We’ve got a long, long while together, Leon Scott Kennedy. I plan to live long enough to make you regret it.”

His smile widens. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

STOP 3: YOSEMITE

The California weather is temperate enough this time of year that you can spend a night in the van, and with some expertly-handled negotiation (Leon told the campground ranger that you’d just eloped and this was your honeymoon, and you started tearing up for good measure), The Rust Bucket Express now has a free, peak-season permit to park at the Lower Pines Campground. 

The best part? You’re close to the showers. 

They’re sorely needed after a morning spent hiking to the top of Sentinel Dome. You swear there’s still some residual burning in your quads, especially after that last stretch. Leon, of course, has no complaints, having made the trek look more like an easy stroll. 

The view from the summit was nothing like you’d ever seen before. The thicket of trees had thinned out to reveal a wide open sky, over deep valleys and high-rising granite cliffs. Half Dome stood tall in the distance, and you’d taken many-a-flick on your point-and-shoot of Leon looking out at the edge, pretending to be deep in thought when, in reality, he was most definitely aware of your camera’s obnoxiously loud shutter.

Now, you’re rummaging through your duffel bag in front of the showers, trying to find your beloved shampoo, but all you can feel is the weight of Leon’s eyes on you. You glance up, meeting his gaze.

“What?” you ask, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth, but suddenly, your heart’s beating a little faster.

His usual sharp expression has softened, and something about it makes your chest tighten. There’s a look in his eyes, a quiet affection, that makes you feel both grounded and weightless.

“Nothing,” he says, but you swear there’s a slight flush on his cheeks that he tries to hide by looking away.

Laughing softly, you grab him by the collar and kiss him, soft and slow and sweet. He grunts in surprise at first but melts into your touch soon after, hands moving quickly to your waist. He tastes like chocolate chip granola bars, and you grin against his lips as he pulls you into him with a quiet groan.

You pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your breath coming a little quicker now. His eyes are dark with something unreadable, but his lips twitch into a smile that’s more than a little mischievous. 

You look over your shoulder, make sure no one’s around, and then without missing a beat, tug him into the stall with you.

The door slams shut behind you with a soft thud, and the moment you’re enclosed in the small space, his lips are on yours again. This time, it’s all urgency, hands on your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer, impossibly right.

You stay until the water’s run cold, then sneak out one after the other with your faces flushed and laughter barely restrained. Leon steals a few kisses from you behind the trees as you make your way back to the van, and in exchange, you snap a few more shots of him on your camera. There’s one frame you’re particularly excited to develop — you catch him reaching for you mid-laugh, blue eyes crinkled with that easy smile you can never quite get enough of. 

There’s not really a dress code for the Ansel Adams gallery, considering it’s in the middle of a national park, but the two of you look through your bags for your nicest clothes, eager to catch a break from cargos and hiking boots and finally stand under an air conditioner. 

“Ah, the great indoors,” you sigh, taking a slow spin under the torrent of cold air. Leon just snorts and shakes his head at you, and you follow him over to the guestbook sitting on a podium by the door.

It takes a while for you both to get the ball-chain pen to produce ink and even longer for you to decide what to write.

“It’s gotta be kind of funny. Or cheesy. So people laugh and point at it when they see it,” you insist, trying to coax out ink by scribbling little circles in the top-right corner of the page.

“I doubt anyone’s flipping through this thing on their off time,” Leon says, but his skeptical expression shifts into a smile as he peeks behind the page you’re not currently scratching at. “Wait, look at this.”

You roll your eyes. “Point proven.”

After he flips the page over, his finger lands on some aggressively bro-ish handwriting.

We came, we saw, we arted. OSU Kappa Sig. Spring Break 2004.

You glance up at Leon, biting your lip to keep from laughing. He meets your gaze, and after a beat, his grin widens, and he gives you a slow, approving nod. It’s all you need to know he’s thinking exactly what you are.

Slowly, you turn back to the book, lift the pen, and very carefully, squeeze a little f in before the arted.

“What are you two lovebirds laughing about?” you hear from behind you, and immediately, you flush and slam the book closed.

Turning around, you come face-to-face with an older couple, both smiling with an easy familiarity. The woman’s hair is silver but neatly styled, and her husband’s glasses are perched low on his nose as he looks at you with a curious glint in his eye. 

“Just looking at some old spring break nonsense,” Leon replies, his voice a little too casual. You can tell he’s trying to hide the fact that the two of you were caught behaving like middle-schoolers.

“Ah, young love. It’s always so nice to see,” the man says warmly, giving his wife a gentle nudge. “You remember when we were like that?”

She raises an eyebrow, swatting at his arm. “I think I am still like that, dear.” Turning back to the two of you, she gives you a wink. “They say the secret to a long marriage is laughter. You two seem to be on the right track.”

The rush of heat in your cheeks lingers long after the couple has walked off, and you can’t help but steal glances at Leon as the two of you make your way around the little gallery. The hand that’s not holding yours brushes through his hair a little more often than it usually does, a nervous tic of his. 

Like always, he catches you looking and seems to let go of the tension he’s holding. “You’re staring at me like you’re trying to transmit a thought into my brain,” he remarks. “What’s on your mind?”

You shrug, trying to keep it light. “Oh, you know. Old people and their unsolicited advice. It’s cute, but, uh, a little embarrassing.”

Leon chuckles, his fingers giving yours a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know. There’s a part of me that kind of gets it.”

You still, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

His smile softens as he looks back at you, but he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I think it’s… kind of appealing. You know, having someone to go through everything with.”

The words have a bit of gravity to them that shifts the air around you, even through the nonchalant way they come out. You grin, looping your arm through his and leaning your head on his shoulder. “Everything, meaning national park road trips, dogs with human names, vandalizing other people’s guestbook entries…”

He returns your smile, a little warmer and less teasing than you expected. “Don’t get any bright ideas, alright?”

You lapse into a comfortable silence after, letting your mind wander as you continue your stroll around the gallery. There’s one picture that really captures your interest, a black and white one of Half Dome, the waxing moon just above it. You can’t help but imagine it hanging up on the wall in the shitty little apartment you share, next to the clock and a framed photo of you and Leon at one of your friends’ weddings, a bottle of champagne fizzing over in your hand.

Leon must have caught you lingering because you see him later at the gift shop trying to buy a little postcard-sized print of it. Of course, you tease him for it and make him put it back. “I was just admiring the lighting,” you joke, “not putting it on a registry.”

When you head back to the van and pack up for the night, you find the postcard tucked into the space between your hiking boots while he’s busy putting out the fire. 

The real thing’s on its way, framed and everything, it says on the back, in Leon’s messy scrawl. It’ll be there by the time we get home. Love you. -L

You practically pounce on him the second he opens the door and steps inside. Your lips find his, and before you know it, you’re both tangled up on the camper’s hard mattress. Safe to say, neither of you get much sleep that night.

SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

You get lost. More than once. You misplace your printed-out directions to Zion but find them again crammed into the pocket of the passenger seat, only to argue about whether or not you passed that same weird rock twenty minutes ago. The radio only picks up old rock stations, which Leon loves, but it starts to grate at your ears after a while.

Opening the glovebox, you pull out a cassette tape, a mix that you put together for Leon the first month you started dating. He grins as soon as you pop it in, recognizing the familiar click of the tape slot as the van’s ancient player kicks to life, whirring softly. 

The van rolls to a stop at a red light, “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer floating through the dusty speakers. You’re mouthing the lyrics under your breath without realizing it, staring at the way the light hits Leon’s profile, nose sunburnt, hair a little messy from the wind.

He glances over at you, and something about your face must do him in. He grabs your chin and kisses you, quick and unexpected. When he pulls back, the red light is still glowing, and he’s smiling like you hung the moon.

“You’re such a sap,” you mutter, giddy.

“You made the mix,” he fires back. “I’m just following instructions.”

Later that night, in the middle of nowhere, you park the van on the side of the road and climb up to the roof to look up at the stars. There’s a blanket thrown over both your shoulders, and you absentmindedly trace the veins in his hand as you tell him all you know about Ursa Major from a book you read once in the fourth grade.

In the morning, you watch the sun rise over a stretch of Nevada desert, then split the worst coffee you’ve ever tasted in a beat-up diner booth. In the afternoon, you stop for “The Best Chili Burger on Route 50.” You snap a few shots of Leon with sauce on his chin, and he kisses behind your van in the parking lot, both of you sweaty and sun-drunk and laughing.

He finally lets you drive in the last stretch to Utah. While he dozes off in the passenger seat, you think to yourself that you could do this for the rest of your life.

FINAL STOP: ZION

Leon has this edge of nervousness to him when you step out into the heat. He’s in and out of the van, avoiding your eyes like they might give something away. 

After the fifth time, you peek your head into the van and catch him staring at the dashboard, hands fidgeting with something, maybe his water bottle or the park map, but he’s not looking at anything in particular. When he hears you approach, he quickly drops whatever he was fiddling with and straightens up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't.

You raise an eyebrow. “Everything okay?” you ask. 

Leon clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, just making sure we’re not missing anything.” His eyes flick to the map on the seat next to him. “Can’t be too careful with this kind of terrain.”

You squint at him, but let it go. “Alright, Bear Grylls. If you say so.”

As you walk on the riverside trail, a squirrel darts across the path, its small paws quick on the hot stone before it disappears back into a formation of rocks. After a mile or two, you’re not sure how much farther you’re making it on sore legs. The summer heat makes it feel like you’re walking through an oven, but the beauty of the canyon keeps you going. That being said, you almost cry tears of joy when you reach the water, letting it cool your calves as you wade in.

Leon’s walking just a few steps ahead of you, his boots kicking up little splashes as he goes. You can’t help but notice how he keeps glancing back at you, like he’s making sure you haven’t melted into the river behind him.

“Making sure I don’t fall behind? Or are you trying to impress me?” you tease.

He shoots you a sideways grin. “Little bit of both,” he says, shaking the water out of his hair.  “Should I take my shirt off? Might help you keep up.”

You snort. “My hero,” you say dryly. “Bold words for someone who gets sunburnt in March. Remember that one day at the park?”

That earns a low chuckle from him. “Touché.”

As you venture deeper into The Narrows, the canyon walls rise high on either side of you, towering slabs of red and orange sandstone streaked with shadows and sunlight. They close in tight the farther you go, until it feels like river is the only path left, just water, sky, and stone.  There’s a kind of quiet here that’s not quite silence, but something deeper. Almost reverent.

You spot small ferns clinging to the walls where water seeps down, little bursts of green against the rock. Somewhere, far ahead, you hear the low splash of someone’s footfall, but for the most part, it’s just the two of you and the canyon.

Leon slows, glancing over his shoulder again, but this time, he stops.

You catch up to him, a playful comment on the tip of your tongue, but it never makes it out. He turns to face the canyon wall, tilting his head like he’s admiring the view, but you notice the way his hand shakes a little as he reaches into his pocket.

Then he steps behind you, arms slipping gently around your waist. You feel the kiss on your cheek before you feel him shift, before you notice the small box in front of you, both of you standing knee-deep in water, sun warm on your skin, ring catching the light.

“I practiced this a million times, and now I can’t remember a single word of it,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a little shaky.

You can’t help but grin when he presses another kiss to your cheek, your fingers brushing over his hand where it rests on your waist.

“Marry me?”

You laugh, breath catching somewhere between surprise and disbelief, but then, you realize that this is it. This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Yes,” you nod, grounded in a clarity you’ve only ever felt with him. “Now, please, before we drop that beautiful ring into the water and never see it again…”

His smile is almost shy as he takes the band from the box and slips it onto your finger, his hands trembling just a little. When he exhales, it’s like he’s released a breath he’s been holding for months, his whole body softening in relief, but his eyes, deep and blue and impossibly endless, are full of something else. 

Something steady. Something real.

You turn to face him, arms resting on his shoulders, his still around your waist. “I think we’re both a little out of our element here,” he murmurs, voice tender as he meets your gaze. “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You let out a fond laugh, shaking your head. “You positive? You can’t take it back, you know.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles, his grip tightening around you. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

When he leans down to kiss you again, beneath endless sky and endless stone, the world feels simpler somehow, leaving just the two of you and a promise that feels like the most certain thing you’ve ever known.

The drive back home is filled with laughter and chatter about the future, the promise of home, and all the little things you’ll make your own. The ring on your finger catches the last dregs of sunlight as it dips below the horizon, and you turn to Leon and smile. 

“Before we return the van, can we make one last stop?” you ask.

Leon raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What, you hungry or something?”

“Not exactly,” you reply, a little mischievous, and navigate for him the last few minutes of your drive. You wish you could bottle the sound of his joy as you pull into the lot of a modest building, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

Raccoon City Animal Shelter, a sign reads.

Leon grins. “I knew you’d come around.”

[mychoombatheroomba]

Me, literally just hanging out:

My brain:

Knight! Krauser x Reader

Knight! Krauser x Reader

Knight! Krauser x Reader

Knight! Krauser x Reader

Knight! Krauser x Reader

It won't leave me alone (do not get your hopes up, it may never be published, I've got angst of another kind to craft but like, it would be SO FUN)

[mychoombatheroomba]

She could fold me in half and I'd thank her holy shit

femme lesbian major??? nahh i'm not gonna be able to focus at all during training 😭

[mychoombatheroomba]

New Blood

Disavowed (Krauser x GN! Reader / Krauser x Leon) - Chapter 8

1998

After the destruction of Raccoon City, Krauser welcomes the newest recruit to the US Strategic Command. Much to his chagrin.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

Chapter Index

November 30th, 1998

18:00

Camp Tango, GA

It was a strange thing, watching the world change; hearing accounts or seeing the news and knowing, deep down, that something had shifted and would never be the same. Sometimes you could see the signs, sometimes the change was upon you before you were any the wiser. Krauser had seen a great deal of change in his life. Technology, the way of the world . . . his father had bemoaned that it was all happening too fast. That the world was leaving them all behind. 

Jack wondered what his father would have thought if he and his unit had been the ones to discover a destroyed base and twisted corpses. Would he have felt, as Jack did, that change in the air? 

Whatever his old man might have thought, Krauser hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that what you had faced out there in the snow wouldn’t fade into obscurity, as much as the government might want it to. Their silence on the matter was expected, and for months, there were no new developments. No whispers of what had happened, no reminders save for those visits to you that he managed to fit into his schedule. 

And he did try to visit, when he could. 

He smuggled you in a bottle of bourbon, like he promised - the least he could do for a soldier who had seen and survived too much. You’d talked with him a little more with each visit, though you were never quite the same person he’d met at that ball. You never gave him much more details about what happened in Finland, either. Not that he could blame you for that any more than he could hold your demeanor against you.

Eventually, though, you were released from the hospital and the visits became fewer and further between. Jack went back to his unit, and one could be forgiven for thinking things returned to normal. 

Then, several months later, came the news reports from Raccoon City. The ones delivered before any agency could clamp down on what was released. They spoke of people becoming violent. Tearing into each other. People whose skin would rot and peel. Over the course of several days, he’d gone from slightly bothered by the stories to outright troubled, to dread coiling in his gut as he was called in with a handful of other people for a meeting. 

Dread hadn’t really prepared him for the news that they were going to sterilize the place. That the situation had become uncontainable. That whatever was going on there, there were things there that no one could explain, and no one had seen before.

No one, except for Krauser, his men, and the now-healed sole survivor of Dorne Base. 

He wasn’t given many details, really. Just that the things he’d seen in that base, the twisted bodies, were present in Raccoon City as well. Bio-organic weapons. That was what they were called. A dumbass name for a dumbass idea. Viral weaponry had turned people into whatever nightmare he’d seen the corpses of that day. Viral weaponry that was engineered by none other than Umbrella Corporation. Same company that made the painkillers Krauser bought over the counter and kept in his cabinet. Pills that he quickly threw away, when he and a few of his men were given the barebones reports by some CIA assholes. 

Said assholes didn’t answer many of their rather important questions, afterwards. Not even when they gave Krauser a new assignment. The world could change all it wanted, but one thing remained the same, Krauser found:

He fucking hated suits. 

Wasn’t a fan of wearing them, wasn’t a fan of dealing with the people in them. Before Dorne Base, it had been a mild annoyance. They were the people who took his reports, on occasion; they stayed in their lane and he stayed in his. In the last few months, though, an agent showing up usually meant that a wrench was about to be thrown into the works. 

Derek C. Simmons and Adam Benford were the worst harbingers of such things.

Benford had been the one to deliver Krauser the notice that he was being pulled from the field where he belonged. That he was being assigned to some godforsaken training camp that even Krauser had never heard of. That he would be stuck there, training recruits to fight the monsters he’d only seen blurry images and charred corpses of. Krauser knew that Benford was only the messenger of his new hell, but he had half a mind to shoot him anyway. 

Still, he wasn’t half as bad as his friend and colleague, the smug bastard who always wore those bolero ties. Simmons had given him the reports that Jack had been pouring over, the ones that were more blacked out than anything else. The ones that gave him an incomplete picture of everything that was happening. 

Both agents were a pain in the ass in different ways. Jack decided very early that he didn’t like either of them. 

And now, they were the ones interrupting his evening to tell him that his little training program with the US Strategic Command would be getting a special new recruit. Krauser didn’t bother to hide his displeasure as he read through the file in his hands, one paper-clipped together and crowned with a picture of a young man who looked beat all to hell. 

Simmons sat across from him, the goateed man spinning the ring he wore on his pinkie finger, waiting patiently as Krauser examined the report. Or, what he could read of it, anyway. 

Leon Scott Kennedy.

Twenty-one years old.

Top of his class at the police academy.

Survivor of Raccoon City. 

It might have been impressive if Krauser wasn’t heading a special forces training program. If the people he was in charge of weren’t already decorated and fully trained military personnel. Each and every one of them had been through basic, if not more than that. 

And here Simmons was, handing him a rookie cop who never got his first paycheck. 

“If you want this kid dead, there are faster ways than putting him through STRATCOM,” Krauser said at last, tossing Kennedy’s file down on his desk. 

“Killing him is not the goal, Major. He has valuable experience that he was kind enough to volunteer it up.” 

Who knew that the CIA had senses of humor? Not that those senses of humor were any good, because this had to be the worst joke that Krauser had heard in a while. “Helluva jump for him to volunteer for,” Krauser said, his tone dry and unimpressed, “from cop to spec ops.”

Simmons just gave the Major a tight smile. “He’s survived Raccoon City. I’m sure he will survive your training regimen.” 

“He’s going to be a mile behind everyone else.” 

“Then I trust that you will work to help him catch up.” 

Fucking. Suits. 

The timing of this was all off. The man survives RC, gets checked up by paramedics and the military outside the city, gets released and goes home. Then, a few weeks later, what? He decides to enlist and the government assigns him to a top-secret program? With a still-healing gunshot wound to the shoulder? CIA dealings always had a scent of bullshit to them, but this was something special. Most of the recruits didn’t come with their own disclaimer, after all. It wasn’t like Krauser had a say in the matter, anyway. The orders came from higher up than a Major could reach. Leon Kennedy would be trained to be an agent, whether Krauser liked it or not.

“It goes without saying that the nature of what happened in Raccoon City is sensitive,” Simmons went on. “We’ve impressed that upon Kennedy, but it will also be your responsibility to ensure that any information he possesses remains with him.” 

“You worried that he’d let it slip to everyone in basic? That why you didn’t send him there instead?” 

“More so that basic training seemed . . . a waste of valuable time.”

“And giving him time to heal all properly was off the table, then.” 

Not that Simmons seemed too bothered by that as he stood, letting Krauser know that he’d said his piece and didn’t plan to stay longer. “As I said, I’m sure he will adapt.”

“I’m sure.” 

“You seem more frustrated than sure.” 

“Guess they did teach you guys how to read expressions. Whaddya know?” 

Simmons huffed a laugh, leaning forward a bit, holding his hands out, his palms up. “What’s troubling you, then? Other than the obvious dislike for your newest recruit?” 

Krauser wasted no time, reaching down, pointing a callused finger against the blacked out text on Kennedy’s file. “The fact that I don’t know half the shit he went through. Or what he faced there.” Because Raccoon City wasn’t just covered in red tape, it was buried completely. Atomized. All that remained was the nation’s latest and largest scar, and the questions of what the hell had happened. 

Questions that Simmons didn’t seem too keen to answer tonight. “If I had more information to give you, I would.” 

“The information’s right there-” Krauser tapped the page again- “but you all seem to think that I can train these people to fight rumors.” Because that was what he’d been chosen for. He was the US Strategic Command’s newest instructor, hand-picked because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because he’d seen something he hadn’t. He had a feeling that Kennedy had a similar story. 

After all, he wouldn’t be the only one. 

“You saw for yourself what we might need to prepare for,” Simmons said, lacing his fingers together and resting them under his chin. 

But the Major wasn’t such an idiot to be fooled by that. “Then you wouldn’t have had to redact information I would have already known, would you?” 

That made Simmons nod, his expression turning almost sympathetic. As sympathetic as a jackass could be. “No, I suppose not,” he conceded. “Either way, I’m afraid it’s out of my hands. As is who is assigned to STRATCOM.” He looked down at the picture between them; that beaten and bruised young face staring up at the ceiling. 

“Guess we’ll all have to make do, then.” Or . . . well, Krauser wasn’t sure what. Didn’t matter. He had his orders, and so did Kennedy, poor bastard. A poor bastard that was all but dropped on Camp Tango’s doorstep, waiting outside with Agent Benford as his chaperone. 

The streetlights over their heads let the Major get a good look at the young man before him. Somehow, he was even less-impressed with what he saw then, because what the hell was he going to do with some sad little pretty boy?

Fringe hung over one of Kennedy’s eyes, like it hadn’t been trimmed back when it needed to be. His face was sunken with a bone-deep sort of misery, his full lips pressed into a tight line and his eyes underlined by dark circles. And as the Major approached, the rookie’s eyes met his own, and he looked like a man utterly resigned to his fate. Resigned, but pissed off.

“Leon,” Agent Benford began, the aging man’s voice even and placating, just as it always was. “This is Major Jack Krauser. He’ll be overseeing your training while here.” 

Kennedy nodded, his gaze turned to caution as he looked Krauser’s way. He wasn’t shrinking away from the Major’s gaze, he had to give him that. Hell, if Krauser didn’t know any better, he could have sworn there was some defiance in those eyes. Defiance that galvanized as he looked back towards Benford, then returned that gaze to Krauser. “Sir,” Kennedy spoke. Krauser had been right about that defiance, because his next words were delivered with a sense of rebellion. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but . . .” he shrugged noncommittally, as if Krauser knew the punchline to whatever joke he was about to say. Benford gave Leon a warning look from behind his glasses, then, but it was too late. 

Jack Krauser was many things, some good, plenty bad. Which category his pride fell into depended on the day, he liked to think, but one way or another, that pride was there. Contrary to what many might believe, he enjoyed it when that pride was tested. He liked it when someone had the brass to challenge him, because that offered the oh-so coveted opportunity to smack that challenge down. 

Sick and twisted of him, maybe, but Kennedy’s snark brought a smile to his face all the same. 

“Oh, you’re gonna think it’s less nice to meet me in a minute, rookie.” He almost made him do push-ups. He considered it, for half a second, before he remembered the guy still had a healing hole in his shoulder. Instead, a different idea came to mind.

And so, after Benford departed, Krauser found himself waiting with crossed arms for Kennedy to make another lap around the officer’s barracks. He might have made him run the base, if he trusted that the rookie wouldn’t conveniently get lost. As it was, the singular building let the Major keep an eye on him, and he watched with a self-satisfied smile as the young man’s breath turned more and more ragged with each lap, his hair sticking to his forehead and his t-shirt darkening with sweat. It was more than just pettiness or cruelty; Krauser needed a baseline. He would need to see where this kid’s skills were, and how far he’d have to go to catch up. Endurance was an easy one to measure, and so the impromptu test had begun. 

And if it made Leon think twice about mouthing off, then all the better. 

By the watch on Krauser’s wrist, Kennedy had been at it for almost twenty minutes now, and it showed in his slowed pace. But even exhaustion couldn’t quite wipe the look of disobedience from Leon’s face. Thirty minutes, then. “Come on, you better hustle,” Krauser barked, urging him onwards. “I’ve got all night.” On and on, until it looked like Krauser’s joke might come true and the new rookie would keel over on the spot. 

He had him do another lap just the same. Then and only then, did the Major tell Kennedy he could stop. 

At the very least, the rookie stayed standing as he came to a halt at last, though it seemed to be an effort borne of spite more than strength. Fair enough, Krauser supposed. He could work with spite. 

“Guess we’ll need to work on your endurance,” Krauser snickered, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Kennedy just glared at him, exhausted and exasperated. “Are we . . . training for fucking marathons?” 

“You’re training to be able to haul your ass away from whatever chased you in Raccoon City.” The words sobered something in Kennedy’s expression.

“I already . . . have plenty of experience in that. They didn’t have to send me here if that’s what we’re learning.” 

‘Send me here.’

Krauser caught the wording, and he felt no satisfaction that he’d probably been right. That this wasn’t a situation of volunteering, but of being volun-told. It did send a fresh wave of frustration through him, though, because this was special forces. This was advanced training, building upon what fundamentals the soldiers selected for STRATCOM already had. Leon Kennedy didn’t have that. All he had was a cop’s training and a night of hell, with a bullet to the shoulder and a ten-foot shadow to show for it. 

And if that was what the Major had to work with, then so be it.   

“You wanna learn how to fight, is that it?” Krauser asked, the beginnings of a smile working across his face. “Alright. Then put ‘em up, rookie.” 

Leon just gave a look of disbelief. He opened his mouth, likely to make some remark, to give the Major a bit of snark to stall, but he must have been able to tell that Krauser wasn’t joking. Then, he just looked tired. Annoyed. All too quickly, that resignation came back. “Fine.” 

Krauser would go easy on him. He didn’t want to upset that shoulder injury before training even started. That said, he’d tested endurance, now it was time to test ability. 

Not that it ended up being much of a test, as exhausted as Kennedy was. 

He threw a decent enough first punch. Krauser had to respect that he went for the face, even if he could see the attack coming from a mile away. Kennedy’s movements were weighed down by exertion and his form was unpracticed. It was unfair of him, but the Major stepped out of the way of the arcing punch, delivering a swift retaliation. 

The punch was pulled, but even so, the rookie let out a little oomph as Krauser’s knuckles met the skin and muscles over his kidney. The Major backed away, his guard now up, keeping close. Keeping the rookie on his toes. A rookie whose eyes were flitting about, trying to look for a weakness. For some way through Krauser’s defenses. 

Trying to fight smart. Not a bad idea, in theory, but he lacked the experience to back it up.  

They exchanged a few non-committal blows. Tests, each of them. Kennedy was on his back heel almost the entire time, his expression focused. He was at least smart enough to know a head-on assault probably wouldn’t get him anything. Not when he was this tired. Instead, he tried to bait Krauser. Leaving himself open deliberately. Waiting for the right moment . . .

And in those seconds when he was trying to formulate a plan, Krauser was already moving. Leon threw up a desperate punch as the Major advanced, but it was easily blocked, caught on Krauser’s forearm. He kept moving in, then, bringing that arm up and over, letting him grab Leon’s undamaged shoulder and pull him down, right into Krauser’s knee. The attack slammed into the soft tissue of Leon’s belly, knocking the air from the younger man’s lungs. 

Easy. Too easy.

“You’re thinking too much,” Krauser said, before he shoved his newest recruit away. Kennedy stumbled back until he hit the wall of the officer’s barracks with a grunt. He remained there, breathing heavily, his eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring as more and more frustration filled him. 

Good. He’d have to learn how to fight frustrated. 

The fun of a sure victory was just an added bonus. 

“Come on,” Krauser goaded, toothy smile on full display. “Or is police academy training not worth a damn?” 

It was a taunt, plain and simple. One meant to incite violence. To provoke. Krauser wasn’t one for words of comfort, maybe, but words of harm? Well, those came more easily. He’d learned the skill early in schoolyard matches and honed it when he traded play fights for real ones. They were cheap ammunition, and even cheaper bait. 

The hit landed, if the anger in Kennedy’s eyes was anything to go on, but he didn’t fall into the trap. Not entirely. 

Instead, he just furrowed his brow . . .

Took a breath . . .

And Krauser saw a plan take shape behind his eyes. Eyes that too easily betrayed what that plan was. 

Much as Kennedy tried to hide the quick glance to the dirt beneath their feet, he couldn’t quite manage it. Nor was he quick enough to land the sweeping leg attack he tried to pull off, one that Krauser easily stepped back from. It was a distraction, he could see that much, as one of the rookie’s fists closed against the dirt, collecting it up. It might even have been a good plan, if Kennedy was fighting some punk stealing lunch money behind the cafeteria. As it was, it was a scrambled attempt and Krauser was faster than the exhausted rookie, so it was all too easy to rock back forward, and to make boot meet chest. 

Dirt scattered through the air as Kennedy’s attempt was foiled, the breath knocked once more from his lungs as he was sent backwards. Krauser wasted no time, lunging for the younger man, his latest recruit. There was a struggle, but a short-lived one before Leon was pinned, his eyes full of fury as he looked up at Krauser. 

Young and full of frustration and fire. Krauser could almost see another version of himself staring up at him, now. He could remember how it was to be the one on the ground, faced down by an opponent he couldn’t hope to defeat. He’d been beaten harder on his first day of training, and it had been by fellow trainees, not the commanding officer. This was kinder, Krauser thought. This, he hoped, would be a lesson that taught more than to expect pain. 

He’d made a great effort in his life and career to ensure he was never the one on the ground again. 

It would be a long damn time before Leon could say the same. 

“You’re thinking too much," he repeated. 

Kennedy didn’t waver, even as he struggled in vain against the Major’s weight. “You want me to fight stupid, then?” 

“I want you to fight well. And right now? You sure as shit aren’t.” 

“I wasn’t trained to-” 

“I know you weren’t, because you can’t send a rookie cop into special forces and expect him to keep up,” Krauser huffed, some of his own frustrations seeping through. Some part of him knew that it wasn’t fair, but that part was putting up as good of a fight as Leon just had. At the end of the day, the Major knew that everyone else in the US Strategic Command had earned their place here. They’d passed military tests with flying colors. They’d earned rank and rapport and respect. But here he was being given some fresh-faced boy who, for all he knew, might have survived because of pure luck. It burned at him, despite his best efforts.

And he almost felt bad for it when Kennedy’s voice changed as he spoke next. It became smaller, more brittle, and he spoke the truth that Krauser had guessed at. “I didn’t ask for this.”

And the Major answered with a hard truth of his own. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, and you’re behind where everyone else will be starting from.” 

The rookie’s expression faltered, then. Something in his gaze shifted. Despair. That was the first word that came to Krauser’s mind as he looked down at the recruit. A recruit who never wanted to be here. One who’d been through one hell only to end up in another. 

It was a bad hand to be dealt. Krauser wasn’t blind to that. Nor was he blind to the fact that all Leon could do was play it. 

So, the Major shifted, letting the rookie go and standing. He offered Leon a hand, then practically hauled him to his feet when, after a moment of reluctance, he took the help. “You’re a smartass. Might serve you well, but if you spend all that time thinking of a clever move on the battlefield, you’re going to get killed. Go with your gut. It wants you to stay alive.” 

The rookie nodded. It was a small gesture, one delivered with a frown, but he nodded all the same. The fight had been knocked out of him. Maybe some of that anger, too. 

“You hearing me, rookie?” 

“Yes,” came the answer. Wasn’t quite what Krauser had hoped for. 

“Yes, ‘sir’,” the Major corrected. “You can mope and grumble about being here all you want, I’m still your commanding officer.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, Krauser realized, because he quickly saw a wall go up between the two of them. Not one built brick by brick out of anger or even revolution, but simply someone closing the blinds. Locking their own doors. He watched the man in front of him close in on himself. 

He’d seen you do damn near the exact same thing. 

“Yes, sir.” Kennedy said, no longer meeting Krauser’s eyes. 

The Major could have kept pressing, he supposed. He could have given some big speech about how the rookie might not like it, but he would have to learn to live with this new reality. That they both would. He might have reassured Leon that while he certainly wouldn’t enjoy the training that was coming his way, it would keep him alive. 

But he also doubted any of that would matter. Leon would sink or swim, regardless of what Krauser had to say to him tonight. 

So, the Major nodded once. “Good.” There was little else to be said, so he showed the newest recruit to the barracks he’d be using, before returning to the training yard, his expression troubled all the while. 

He was wearing that expression more and more often, these days. 

A rookie. A goddamn rookie, in every sense of the word, and the government had thought it a great idea to toss him into spec ops. Krauser couldn’t wrap his head around it. Not any more than he could wrap his head around so much about the world, these days. 

He’d never been trained to fight monsters. Not the kind he’d seen in the ruins of Dorne Base, anyway. They were science fiction. Not real. Least, they were supposed to be. Now, though, he was supposed to train soldiers to fight them. He understood his father’s cynicism a bit more, these days, because how the hell was he supposed to teach people to fight what he himself didn’t even know? 

Maybe he was being too hard on the rookie in that regard. Hell, he knew that he was. After all, no matter how decorated the soldiers he was training were now, Kennedy had faced things that none of them could have imagined. 

None except for the Sergeant that was waiting for him when he returned to the training yard. 

You stood as you so often had, these last few weeks, a practice knife already in hand, holding it tight, like you were worried that it would come alive and bite into you, somehow. 

That caution was what had brought you here in the first place, after the first round of knife instruction Krauser had given you and your squad left you frozen and unable to breathe. You’d been defeated easily, and that very evening, you’d approached him, asking for extra lessons. 

You may not have told him much about what happened to you that night in Finland, but there were parts of your file that weren’t blacked out. Mentions of an unidentified militant group that you’d faced, alongside the bioweapons. That, plus the description of your injuries - the stab wounds that had been poorly cauterized on your belly and that had taken months to heal - told him as much as he needed to know. 

For you, learning to be better was a necessity. A way to fight off the thoughts that plagued you. One that Krauser had been happy to aid in, since you joined STRATCOM a few weeks prior. 

“New recruit?” you asked, your gaze flicking towards the barracks that Krauser had just come from. 

The Major just huffed. “If he can be called that.” 

“Hm,” was your response, apathetic and uninterested. You weren’t here to gossip. Krauser liked that about you, even if part of him still mourned the spitfire side of you that had talked him into buying you a drink. Even if it had been nearly a year ago, you’d very nearly lost your life, and so much else besides. To you, the Major knew, this wasn’t about anything other than becoming stronger. That made the rare moments when you actually engaged in conversation all the better. “Looks like he got his ass beat.” 

Krauser had little choice but to chuckle, even with his own brand of troubled thoughts bearing down on him. “The same thing might happen to you in a minute.” 

You didn’t smile, but you tilted your head to the side as you spoke. “Probably.” 

But that hadn’t stopped you yet. 

So, he picked up a practice blade of his own, watching as you lowered yourself into a ready stance. Your eyes darted to the blunted knife in Krauser’s hand, and your jaw tensed. You were cautious, even now, but you’d been fighting that side of yourself with every sparring match. Every evening, you’d dedicated your time to becoming better. 

It was beginning to show, however slightly. 

Just as with Leon, Krauser let you make the first move. It ended much the same way Leon’s fight had, but as Krauser helped you up from the dirt, he met you with the same question he always had. 

“Again?” 

There was no hesitation in your answer. “Again.” 

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Chapter Index

A/N: Truly going back to my roots, writing about Leon getting his shit rocked in training. I miss the days, man.

Yes the base finally has a name, no don't come for me because it took me this long or because I made it a Metaltango reference.

[mychoombatheroomba]

your highest score in the mercs says alot about you 😏

He's my wife, what can I say?

[mychoombatheroomba]

RIP to all 3 of my Fallout girlies over on Ao3

[mychoombatheroomba]

[mychoombatheroomba]

Bleed

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 58

You and Leon face down your nightmares.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

Chapter Index

TW for blood and gore, death, and knife injuries dealt to basically everyone involved

In just two seconds, Leon was reminded of why you were a soldier to be feared.

A few quick moves, no mercy, no hesitation. Just what Krauser had trained you for. Your arm - the one that held your pistol - pushed out and down, knocking the enemy soldier’s rifle away. Keeping it away from you. Leon saw it just as the smoke rose towards the two of you, blurring the world as distant gunfire echoed. Dina and Valeria. They were alive. Fighting. But the only way Leon could help them now was by dealing with the immediate danger. 

A danger that you were halfway to dealing with yourself in the next breath, as you brought the helmet in your other hand across, cracking the hardened shell against the Umbrella soldier’s gas mask. The soldier’s head was knocked to the side, the nozzle of the mask out of the way. There was a little grunt, the sound processed through a modulator. 

The choking that followed was more clear, as you brought that same arm in, your elbow finding the soldier’s now-exposed throat. 

Leon couldn’t see the expression of the soldier as he tried to stagger back. As he took a hand off his own rifle to reach for his throat. He couldn’t see your expression, either, as you wove you moved your other hand up, the one that held your pistol, and leveled it before one of the red lenses. 

No opportunity to call for mercy, no chance at anything more than a strangled cry as you pulled the trigger. 

That red lens shattered, then, as in just two seconds you’d taken a life. As a man’s blood painted the gas mask you now wore. A man who, perhaps, had been there the night your life had been destroyed-

⧫⧫⧫

No. 

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the man who’d given you your scars.  

This soldier died too easily to be him.

And you . . . you wouldn’t fall so easily this time. 

⧫⧫⧫

You dropped your helmet, taking the dead man by the shoulder instead. Guiding him as he fell. Using his body to shield yourself from the bullets that followed so quickly after. Leon didn’t think of the abject horror of what had just happened. 

Instead, he moved to cover you, firing around the corner as you cleared the gap, taking refuge behind a smaller crate as you let the body fall. 

You became little more than a dark shape of a person, the gas obscuring you from view. He could see you kneeling behind that crate, quickly snatching the rifle from the man you’d slain-

And then having to scramble away as another soldier rounded the corner and opened fire. 

Leon was there, though, providing you with covering fire. Even as he felt his breath come sharper, because he knew that any of the bullets fired his way could find him. He hadn’t shrunk away from the Hunter, though, and he wouldn’t shrink from this, either. Not as the shootout grew more intense, as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, trying not to be lost in the fact that he intended to kill. To take a life in order to protect yours. 

He couldn’t regret it, though. Not as he saw you still moving out of the corner of his vision, ducking around the container before disappearing from his field of vision. Alive. For now. 

He would keep you that way. 

Krauser’s lessons came to him, then, a schooled violence well-etched into his bones. Krauser’s lessons and yours, reminding him that attacking the same way and from the same direction over and over again would mean failure at best and death at worst. So he dropped down to a knee, waiting for a pause in the gunfire aimed his way. Then, he leaned out just enough to take aim, as fast as he could manage. 

It was fast enough to land him a hit, bullets clipping the shoulder of one of the Umbrella soldiers, just as they moved to take cover again. There was a cry that Leon could hear all too clearly, even amidst the gunfire. Not yours, or Dina’s or Valeria’s. Good. He could hold on to that. 

⧫⧫⧫

And you could take advantage of the moment Leon had bought you.

You could kill these men to keep yourself and Leon alive.

You fired, then, and the wounded soldier was dead. One less obstacle between you and survival. 

Between you and revenge.

So, you kept fighting.

⧫⧫⧫

He could be thankful for that, as he pressed his back against cover once more. Breathing heavy. Trying to think of what-

It was pure chance that he looked to his other side; that movement away from the battle he knew of caught his eye. Pure instinct that made his body move as a figure holding a knife came towards him out of the smoke. That had his left hand leaving the barrel of his rifle so he could try and block the thrust aimed at his throat . . .

And pure pain as he miscalculated, and the knife went through the palm of Leon’s hand. He could almost hear the rasp of a familiar voice in his head. 

Nothing quite like the threat of real steel, is there?

Behind his gas mask, Leon’s eyes widened as a split second suddenly came to last a lifetime. His breath left him in a startled gasp as, for that first moment, he only felt the impact. The way it rattled his arm. Then, when he saw the blade, glinting red and silver, protruding from his glove and the hand underneath it, he felt a searing and breath-stealing agony. 

But the worst part, the part that the pain almost made him miss, was the voice that followed. 

“Nice to see you again, Kennedy.” 

If you freeze up out there . . .

Leon knew that voice. He would recognize it anywhere, after all that had happened. 

Reed.

All of these details that he took in, within such a small frame of time - the pain, the shine of the blade, the red of the gas mask lenses in front of him - all of it was just as quickly drowned out by the familiar realization that death was just that split second away. 

. . . if you give the enemy a second to act . . .

Adrenaline saved him from the pistol that nearly pressed against his gut. He saw the secondary attack out of the corner of his eye and his other arm shot out, rifle still clutched in his undamaged hand. 

. . . then you will die.

The gun went off, and Leon’s entire body tensed. He couldn’t think, not past the terror and the pain and the thoughts of my hand my hand my hand-

A thought that was all but intensified as Reed pulled his knife hand back, ripping the blade free in a splattering of blood. If the pain of the initial stab was bad, this was worse. So, so much worse. Enough that a snarled cry escaped Leon, a call of alarm as he registered only the new hole in his hand-

⧫⧫⧫

And your heart stopped, because you knew that voice. You knew who it belonged to. You knew that Leon was hurt. 

Just as you knew, as that second Umbrella soldier rushed you when his gun clicked empty, that you couldn’t do anything to help him. 

Not as a knife was pulled on you and-

⧫⧫⧫

He just barely survived another moment.  

Tear gas seeped into the wound as Reed stepped back and the blade came free. The agent created some distance - just enough to raise that pistol once more, his shape partially obscured by smoke. Leon found himself looking down the barrel of that gun and even that was enough to override the pain shooting up his arm. He ducked, and he didn’t have time to flinch as Reed’s gun went off, barely missing him. Instead, he just raised his own rifle in his undamaged hand, squeezing the trigger and praying. 

A cry of pain was a brutal reward for that faith, but Leon would take it, as the masked traitor before him took a bullet to the thigh. Even that was a fraction of what Reed deserved. In the moment that he took to look down at his wound, Leon was moving, scrambling to get around the corner of the cargo container. 

He had to hope that you were handling the soldiers there, or he would be dead in an instant. 

Shapes moved in the grey air as he pressed his back against the metal, his head whipping to his left to look. To see if he would die for taking this chance. No bullets found him, and with the smoke he could only tell that three figures were locked in a fight to his side. One of them had to be you.

Blood poured from his hand, the poisoned air making every nerve there burn and boil. His head spun from the pain and the need to survive. He knew he wouldn’t have long before Reed rounded that corner, seeking to end the fight . . . 

And he was rushing towards you anyway, taking a few sharp breaths to focus himself as he pointed his assault rifle behind him. He shrugged the strap off his shoulder as he moved, squeezing the trigger in a spray of covering fire. With any luck, it would keep Reed from following for just a moment. Long enough to dash down the width of the cargo container and around the crate where you were fighting not one, but two soldiers.

Two wounded soldiers, Leon realized, as he rounded the corner just in time to see you redirect one of their own knives down into its owner's leg.

⧫⧫⧫

He screamed as the knife plunged into him. 

You’d never thought to hear a man wearing that gas mask scream. Usually, in your nightmares, it had been you on the end of that knife, your voice crying out from the shock. 

That wasn’t him, either, then. You didn’t think that he would have screamed like that. 

⧫⧫⧫

But there was little time to celebrate the small victory when the soldier you’d just stabbed kicked his uninjured leg up, and slammed it hard into your chest. Leon didn’t doubt that you had the beginnings of bruises there from where armor had stopped bullets short of killing you. Bruises that would no doubt flare in pain as you were pushed back and away. You wheezed as you stumbled, right into the waiting attack of the second soldier. 

An attack that would have ended your life, if you were a millisecond slower. 

The gasp of air you took in launched Leon into action, his eyes set on the soldier who’d kicked you. Who now prepared to move towards you, even with a knife still in his leg.

Leon would make sure he never reached you.

You caught the other man’s forearm just in time to keep a knife from sinking into your throat. 

And Leon kicked his boot out, slamming it into the handle of the blade in the other man’s leg. 

⧫⧫⧫

It was Reed, wasn’t it? Who had told you to exploit injuries?  

Let his comrades learn the lesson.

⧫⧫⧫

The soldier behind you had taken a bullet from Leon earlier. And shrapnel from the grenade had made his other arm slow. 

So you threw your free elbow down and back, just as the man’s boot connected with the back of your knee. As he tried to switch the knife at your throat to his other hand, your attack made his body curl up in pain. He cried out, and Leon saw as you leveraged his arm, then, using your now-lowered center of gravity. You’d done it with Leon countless times before. 

What Leon had never done, was hear a shriek of absolute agony as he cut into someone. The pain Leon himself was feeling didn’t let him show much mercy. He could, and likely would, reflect on that later. When he wasn’t facing down an enemy. When his life or yours weren’t at risk of ending. Then, if he survived, he could hate himself for what he’d just done. Now, though, there was work to do. 

So he did what he had to do, not stopping as he watched the knife in the man’s leg twist under his boot. As he knew the muscles in its wake were ripped and torn. He dropped his now-empty rifle, and your own knife was in your hands before Leon’s weapon clattered to the floor. 

The two of you struck almost at once. Leon had to block a counter attack with his wounded hand, letting out a hiss for his effort. A near-scream. And then his blade was driving into flesh, just as he glimpsed yours do the same. 

⧫⧫⧫

Into the throat. No surviving that. No chances. 

This wouldn’t be the beginning of their revenge stories. This would be this soldier’s last night, his last act, and you, his last sight. So much finality . . . 

⧫⧫⧫

And so many firsts. 

The first mission, the first time Leon had been out of the country he now served, and the first time he’d killed living people, with bullets and now with a blade. This one felt all the more sickening as Leon felt the man go slack, nearly losing his knife as the body fell. He pulled it free at the last second, opening a river in the man’s throat.

No time to think of it. Not when Leon only just ducked behind the cover of the crate as bullets whizzed past him. 

Leon pressed his back to the crate just as you righted yourself, joining at his side as you took your pistol from its holster once more. Leon took that second to breathe, however uneven it was. To look down at his hand, his fingers trembling as he beheld the bleeding wound that now marked his palm. That went all the way through to the other side-

⧫⧫⧫

And for the first time, your rage faltered. Your eyes caught on Leon’s hand, on the way he held it at his chest, examining it through the gas around you both. Gas that had to be stinging against an already painful wound. 

They’d cut into him. They’d drawn blood from him, just as they had with you. 

They’d killed Hellman. Unleashed monsters on you. Hurt Dina. Shot you. They’d cut into Leon. Fresh wounds added to the scars you already bore.

It all filled you with something indescribable. Something living and twisted and dark. 

⧫⧫⧫

Breathe. 

Breathe through it.

He had to be ready. He had to keep you both alive. He had to warn you of who it was that remained, whose bullets had nearly just ended him, and who had stabbed a hole through his hand. 

⧫⧫⧫

“Reed. It’s Reed.”

The name brought clarity through the pain. Sharpened focus amidst the chaos. It clashed hard against the worry you felt, and it won. 

He was here. He was within reach. Whoever the man was who’d nearly gutted you in Finland, you wouldn’t be able to tell if his was one of the bodies at your feet. 

But Reed? Now, you would be damn sure that you put him in the ground. 

And you would get your chance all too soon, you realized, as Leon sucked in a horrified breath, and through the clear lenses of his gas mask, you glimpsed alarm. He called your name in a warning and you turned, just in time to raise your pistol, firing just as a shot was fired at you in turn. 

⧫⧫⧫

Leon couldn’t say if you were hit, in that moment. He could barely think of what to do, with his knife in his only good hand, all while the other stung from the wound Reed had dealt him. He didn’t have a way of helping you. 

A way of protecting you. 

Anything but the beginnings of an attempt to sheathe his blade and to swap it out for his pistol instead, only to stop when he saw you slip forward. Your knife in one hand, your gun in the other, moving towards the corner of the crate. Towards where Reed had just taken cover once more. 

And there was no doubt it was Reed as that familiar, indifferent voice sounded through the modulator in his gas mask. 

“And is that the Sergeant with you, Kennedy? Good. I’ll bury you together.”

You wouldn’t wait for Leon. You wouldn’t wait for anyone, he knew it. And he wouldn’t wait for something to happen to you. 

So he followed suit, forsaking his gun and clinging tight to his knife and all the training that he’d been given with it. 

You got to Reed first. 

⧫⧫⧫

You would kill him.

⧫⧫⧫

Your gun pointed around the corner, and Leon saw something knock it out of the way as you fired. Heard you grunt as your hand was slammed hard against the metal at your side. The pistol knocked against the crate, then, before it fell down to the concrete and Leon made a split-second decision. He could go around the crate. Flank Reed from the other side, but it would waste precious seconds. Seconds they may not have. So instead, he did as Krauser had taught him, following his instincts. 

He almost took a bullet to the head for it as you evaded a shot, slashing at Reed’s arm to keep his gun from being aimed at you. 

Leon yelped, but kept moving, ducking low and arcing around you, towards Reed’s side just as the man slashed at your leg to get you to back up. Leon was on him, then, using the momentum of his steps to move, his body turning as he kicked a leg back and out, aiming low. Aiming at the side of Reed’s knee, ready to inflict another wound on the man who’d poisoned dozens of people. Who’d turned what little peace Leon had on its head. It was the first time in his life that Leon could remember wanting to truly, wholly hurt someone. 

The agent was faster, though, even with the bullet wound in his other leg. 

He stepped back, making Leon’s attack hit empty air, and then a gun was pointed at Leon once more, the threat of its barrel making him strike out desperately with his knife. He had to get the gun out of the equation. 

You knew it too. That became all too apparent when you rejoined the fray, and the fight began in earnest. 

⧫⧫⧫

You would make him pay.

⧫⧫⧫

Your hand shot towards the pistol, trying to get control of it. To keep it away from you and Leon both. And just as quickly, Reed wove that arm away, delivering a counter cut to your wrist, one that landed and drew red, before he was pointing the gun at Leon once more. 

His wounded arm screamed in pain as he redirected the man’s gun, ducking under it as he arced it over his head. The sounds of the world were hidden behind the ringing in his ears as he stabbed forward with his knife, only to have to avoid Reed’s blade slashing for him. 

Moves and countermoves. Two versus one. Almost like that night not so long ago, where Leon and you had been smiling while facing down a man you both cared for. 

There were no smiles now. Reed didn’t even bother with any scathing remarks. There was nothing but the need to survive. Not as the three of you fought for control. Control that was briefly arrested when Leon caught Reed’s arm, the one with the gun. You were there in an instant, grabbing the agent’s other arm. Leon’s left hand was slippery with his own blood, but he wrestled for control of the gun all the same. He felt tears stinging his eyes as he struggled. As Reed kicked out with his good leg, nearly buckling your knee. 

But Leon held true, until at last he wrenched the man’s gun fully from Reed’s grip.

There was no time to celebrate that victory before a helmet cracked into Leon’s head, hard and fast. His gas mask was smashed against his face, and Leon blinked in a daze. With that, the pain to his head was added to as Reed’s elbow crashed against the gas mask. The pistol slipped out of Leon’s bloody hand, and he only just kept his grip on his own knife. 

That was when Leon felt the familiar sting in his lungs. The blurring of his eyes. 

His mask was compromised. It took only that breath of tear gas to tell, and as soon as he felt it, his heart pounding harder in his chest. Was it normal tear gas? Or had Umbrella altered it? Would breathing even a bit of it kill him? He couldn’t know. All he could do was keep fighting. 

He reined himself in. Kept himself from breathing. He’d fought like this before, after all.

Even so, by the time his vision cleared enough, he saw you and Reed locked in a struggle, his blade nearly at your throat while yours was stopped just short of his belly. “Fucking traitor!” you snarled as the two of you struggled, your eyes full of fury behind your gas mask-

And just as Leon went in with his blade, you were knocked down, your leg hooked out from under you. You crashed to the ground hard, just as Reed whirled and blocked Leon’s attack. The agent’s good leg struck back at the same time, lightning fast, and cracked into your head as you tried to rise, and Leon was met with the sinking realization that you were losing. 

That you both could lose this fight, and what it would mean if you did. 

⧫⧫⧫

Death. Plain and simple. For you and for him. 

Even as your head spun and you wheezed there on the ground, you knew that much was true. You knew it as you watched Reed brace his empty hand around the back of Leon’s neck-

⧫⧫⧫

Then hook both legs around his middle. Even as strong as Leon was, the weight and momentum was too much. He was falling then, with Reed rolling to take Leon down. To pin him to the ground. Leon’s knife hand was stuck, pinned against Reed’s chest, and he cried out in pain as he was forced to use the other one to stop Reed from driving a knife into his neck. 

⧫⧫⧫

And you knew that only you could save him. Only you could stop this. 

So you forced yourself up, even as the world spun for your effort. You didn’t need to know any direction but one, though:

Forward. 

You had to strike quickly. Use every advantage.

Like the hole you spotted in Reed’s leg. One that Leon had, no doubt, given him.

You just had to-

⧫⧫⧫

Hold on. For as long as he could. But with his lungs stinging and his eyes watering and his hand his hand his hand -

“You shouldn’t have come here.” The agent's words were barely audible, snarled as they were to him. 

Leon’s arm was buckling, his strength succumbing to pain. He could see the blade coming down, his end spelled out so plainly before him. He was going to die. He would die in front of you-

But it wasn’t Leon’s strength that caved in. Instead, the pressure bearing down on him let up in an instant as he was forced to turn to his side. Your blade arced towards him and Reed had no choice but to raise a defense. All of that, just to hide your true attack. Your other hand struck low, punching directly at the darkening patch of fabric on Reed’s thigh. 

⧫⧫⧫

It was the first time you’d ever heard him scream. The first sound of pain you’d heard him make. You were glad that you were the one to bring it out of him. 

You pushed down against his block, your head spinning as from the blow you’d taken. Blood dripped down from your scalp and over your gas mask, running lines of red over one of the lenses. Reed drew his knife away from Leon’s block, then, moving it towards you-

⧫⧫⧫

And then stopped short as Leon shoved his now-free blade up, parting fabric and skin and finding a home in Reed’s gut. 

Leon couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see the way his body stiffened, the way his attack faltered. Even so, he wasn’t down. Monsters were always hard to kill, weren’t they? So of course he would slash towards Leon, even as the knife was wrenched free of him. Of course he would stab at you, only to have you block him just in time. 

But no matter how skilled or strangely strong he was, there were two blades against him. 

⧫⧫⧫

And you’d fought him before. 

You’d fought Krauser and Leon and Hellman and everyone else, every day you could, in preparation for this moment. 

He wasn’t the man who’d started you on this path. But that didn’t make it any less sweet when you caught his blade against your chest. Control the blade. Leverage- but even wounded, he was fast. Faster than he had any right to be. He flicked the knife to his other hand quickly, and you knew in your splintered heart where he would attack. You knew, because it was undefended and he was cruel and he knew you were weak there. 

But for as fast as he was, he’d only ever faced you when you were healing and building yourself back up. 

Now, you were fast enough to match. 

His blade went for your side, just as you knew it would. Right where your scars lay. It bit into you, but only surface deep. Your own blade stopped it, pressing hard down and into Reed’s arm. Down, in and up , as you snarled, pushing the razor metal up his forearm. As you carved skin from muscle and bone. 

And Reed screamed.  

⧫⧫⧫

Leon had never heard a scream like that before. 

It almost made him pause, the sound making his blood run cold even amidst the rush of combat. 

But he couldn’t stop any more than you could, so he rose, ready as Reed practically threw himself back and away from you. Right into Leon, who wrapped one arm around Reed’s own and kicked the back of the agent’s knee. 

The agent might have kept on fighting, then. He almost did, even as Leon’s knife slid in against his throat. It wasn’t even the sight of you and your bloodied weapon that stopped him, but rather the second silhouette that slipped in behind you. One that made Leon nearly flinch before he heard a voice that filled him with relief. 

“Don’t fucking move, asshole!” Valeria looked like a phantom as she appeared from the haze, her own mask hiding her face. Leon could only thank whatever powers that be that she was real. That his friend was standing there, alive. With the gas seeping through his damaged mask, Leon could only just make out the shape of her rifle trained on Reed. 

“It’s him,” you told her, moving quickly. Your hands worked quickly, undoing the clasps before you practically ripped his helmet and mask off. 

And sure enough, though Leon had to strain to see it, was the face he’d thought of when he let anger and loss sink into his heart. 

⧫⧫⧫

The face you’d pictured, because you needed someone to direct your anger towards. Someone to blame. Someone to stand in for all the faceless monsters who’d taken everything from you. 

This was the face of the man you wanted to hurt more than anything else in the world. 

And you had him at last.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

Tag List: @greywardensaywhat @torchbearerkyle

[mychoombatheroomba]

Nothing can stop me from unpacking the gay that is those two

There is no stronger force than that of a girl’s desperation to write about her male hyperfixation.

[mychoombatheroomba]

(Volume Warning, I was blasting that music)

Sometimes you must simply cartwheel away from your problems while listening to Lady Gaga

[mychoombatheroomba]

Shoot mb

[mychoombatheroomba]

Honestly im so curious about the sarge and reynolds dynamic 😭😭 i already know its found family but how far does it go? like any “headcanons” or whatever IDEK

BROTHER OMG I LOVE THIS QUESTION

Reynolds to me is just such an adoptive father and guiding figure to Sarge, and probably to a lot of their old squad. I've talked with some other readers about how he seems like the kind of guy who would remember the birthdays of the people under his command, and maybe not, like, throw a whole party for them, but I could absolutely see him giving them a little moment or something to make the day a little better. I think that's especially true for Sarge, cause I think y'all really were like, his adopted kid in a lot of ways.

That said, I think there was probably some tough love at first, cause after all, Reynolds was training Sarge for command, so I think there would be higher expectations for them that might have made them butt heads a couple of times. Overall, though, I think they grew out of that early.

Absolutely hosted movie nights on base. Bro had a black market for getting ahold of VHS tapes up in Finland. He got ahold of a tape player one way or another so they all could chill out. He's always been a reasonably strict guy who demanded a lot but knew when to let everyone have time off, ya know?

Idk if you're reading Disavowed as well (and hats off to you if you're doing the extra credit work for my already massive fanfic 😂) but I had so much fun writing their brief dynamic there. Like, just the concerned, kind of "herding cats" energy he has with his soldiers was really cool to actually explore. I also mentioned that he has a wife in that story, and I would love to think that he and the missus had the squad over for Christmas dinner if they didn't have other family members to go see on shore leave.

I have once again written more than I thought I would. All these are pretty idealized HC's, I know, but Sarge needs some good memories on top of what they're dealing with 😭

[mychoombatheroomba]

Between the Bones Vines (Part 3)

Shoutout to tumblr putting a mature content warning on part 1 😭

Part 1 | Part 2

[mychoombatheroomba]

hi i wanted to say that i absolutely adore your writing! it actually amazes me how well you write the characters. they all feel so 3 dimensional! i have never found myself getting as attached to OCs as much as i have reading your works! plus the way you write combat scenes is soooo good. between the bones is easily one of my favorite series ive ever read. that’s all! have a wonderful day <3

Thank you so much! I love all the characters I've written for this story, whether they're established or ones I created, it's been so much fun making them as real as I can (and then giving them fun fight scenes as well) 😂 I'm honored that you like it, that means the world to see people enjoying the story as much as I do! Thank you again!

[mychoombatheroomba]

I love how BTB has a lot of material to make fanfics or AUS, it's literally that saying "make a fanfic of a fanfic or create an AU of an AU" So idk I came up with those typical college AUs where Leon is still a cute boy who joins some typical sports club, there he meets Sarge and when he finally manages to have a date with them, he goes to pick them up at their house but instead of Sarge opening the door it's Krauser and he just looks at Leon like "🧍‍♂️Why the hell is this loser in my house asking about the kid?"

And Leon is just trying to get along with the old man so he can have something with Sarge 🧍‍♂️

I LOVE BTB AU's DUDE I think about them frequently 😭

College AU of them has a special place in my heart, just cause them and the gang having shenanigans on campus is everything - plus you could bring in more characters that way, because I desperately need Claire and Sarge to meet. Then Claire can be wing-manning him the whole way through cause she knows that Sarge is into him but he's a lil intimidated at first

Although I must confess I've jumped ship from the Krauser as a father figure boat (because I started shipping him and Leon lmfao), I do love him just kind of being there as a "what is this lil dude doing?" and just quietly intimidating him

But listen, I am always always always happy to discuss BtB AU's. I got a couple that remain unwritten only because I don't have unlimited time and energy XD

[mychoombatheroomba]

i can excuse your emo boy's phase era up until re4r

Ok but consider a sad mid-thirties man who just died his emo fringe black getting drunk to forget 🥰