Chris Redfield x Reader

Four

A car ride with Chris could work in exactly two different ways. Either you found a good topic and then talked with him for hours as if it was a religion or you kept silent like a dead man.

This ride was a silent ride.

While he was behind the wheel you decided to get comfortable and take a nap. The movements of the car were disturbing, but it was quiet and warm enough to get some rest.

Unfortunately for you, you were dreaming again.

This time it was a different dream.

Or better, a memory.

You remembered the surroundings, a house or something that was built very similarly.

There were many corridors, doors leading into rooms where the horror itself lurked. Every day it had been something different and every day your imagination got fucked over.

The things you had seen were something that was not meant to be.

You remembered that most missions had taken place in such places. It had always seemed strange to you, after all, bio weapons were expected in laboratories, not family homes.

The quiet, cozy atmosphere had always been mixed with a nerve-wracking silence and loneliness that would have made even the toughest soldier nervous.

You remembered how Chris had led the team through the back door. Sometimes, no one had made it out. No one, but always the two of you.

He had looked strange then, so young and less harsh. Somehow, back then, he had always managed to be in a good mood, friendly, and never grieving when something terrible had happened. He had always looked at everything positively. Even the many sacrifices he had had to make.

Now, many years later, you could see in his eyes what he had been through. You could see in his eyes that he was a soldier and you could see that it had changed something in him. Now there was no longer a childish glint in his eyes and his body had adapted to the world in which he lived.

In the Dream, steps echoed in the emptiness of the house. Chris was walking in front of you, your eyes fixed on his back. He threw a glance back at you, like he had always done it and nodded in approval.

But as he wanted to crash though the door, his face froze in shock. Twisting and screaming, his body fell apart, leaving nothing but a pile of blood and bones.

You watched in horror, unable to move or wake up.

"Redfield...", you whispered in your sleep, twitching for a second before calming again.

Aroused by your voice, he turned his head toward you and took his eyes off the road for a second.

You didn't look the same as he remembered either. It didn't bother him. He had never thought of you as ugly.

The thing that had always bothered him most about you was your big mouth and the sarcasm that always caught him on the wrong foot.

Around you, he had always felt so strangely vulnerable. Almost like a boy in the arms of his mother.

In the past he had been emotional and quick to let you lead him into foolishness, but now that he was older he had to admit that he remembered you as worse.

Again he turned his gaze to the street, but reached out and brushed a strand of your (H/C) hair out of your face. It had not changed, the color had not turned gray and was still as bright as he remembered. Compared to him, you had hardly changed over the years.

You didn't even have wrinkles on your face, he noted enviously.

"Blessed with eternal beauty, huh?", he mumbled, his hand resting on your cheek.

It was strange. The way he felt was strange. Originally, he had searched for you to get the help he needed. It was your skills he had missed, not the playful conversations nor the stupid grin you showed him all the time.

He had not wanted to meet an old friend or a companion, but now that you were here, he felt weirdly relieved. The fact that you had been safe over all those years made him sigh. He felt at ease now.

Why was that?

Maybe it was because of the good old days.

No matter what had happened then, no matter who had had to be killed and no matter how often it was necessary, Chris had always been able to call you. Whenever he had needed a helping hand, you had been his first choice.

Now that he thought about it, it was actually ridiculous to say that he didn't trust you completely. If he was honest with himself, he would stand naked with his back to you while you pressed a gun into his spine and he would not be afraid. You had always been the best soldier. His best soldier.

His gut said you would never betray him.

And yet.

With a displeased growl, he took his hand away from your face. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Even if he wanted to trust you, he'd been stabbed in the back too many times. If his teams could do that, the men he called brothers, so could you. Secretly, he dreaded the day it would happen.

And yet, he couldn't stay away from you. It was like a curse. Time and time again fate forced him to return to you, first for friendship, then for benefit, and finally for help. He needed you, one way or the other.

For some reason, something pulled together in his chest as he thought about how this mission would end. His preference would have been for it to be quick, without complications. He had to get Ethan and his family into a safe house and then straighten out all the mess. Then you and he could go separate ways again.

Again, something inside him tightened as he thought about it. This time it hurt a little.

"Shit...", he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

With one hand, he reached into his trench coat again. He could already feel the pack of cigarettes between his fingers, then suddenly he hesitated and his eyes wandered over to you. You looked so peaceful when you slept.

A sigh left his lips and he let go of the pack again.

"Fuck.", he cursed again. "Not like back then, Chris. You really have changed."

How bitter it tasted that you had noticed it before him.