A Hoard of Spooks @cobwebcorner - Tumblr Blog

May 24

Hope in time

Fandom: Resident Evil Pairing: Wesker/Leon Rating: Gen Spoilers for Resident Evil 9 Requiem through the end of the game

A/N: Before we begin I need you to understand the chain of logic that led to this

Bioweapons in RE break the laws of physics > viruses are fucking magic > scientists are wizards > what if viruses could do all branches of magic > Elpis = chronomancy

Leon leaned against the side of the van, subtly out of sight from Grace or any hound wolf squad members, and dialed a number into his phone. He'd half expected to be made to wait, out of sheer pettiness, but the phone was picked up on the second ring.

Which meant Leon was probably in deep trouble.

"You owe me fifty bucks" he said, conversational.

"Leon. You're still alive, are you?" His tone was so frigid Leon could feel the chill thousands of miles away.

"You should stop being surprised," Leon replied.

"I told you what a foolish risk you were taking."

"I never pretended it wasn't risky. Just that I had to do it anyway."

An aggrieved sigh.

"When are you coming to visit." He worded it like a question, but Leon could hear the command in it.

Leon chuckled at the word choice. 'Visit', like the guest room hadn't had his stuff in the closet for the past ten years.

"Soon as we're all finished up here." He looked down at the two vials in his hand. "I've got a present for you."

"…Fine."

"And don't hack the DSO servers again to find out what happened. They won't be accurate."

"Fine"

"See you soon," Leon promised, his grin in his voice.

Wesker hung up on him.

When Leon arrived at Wesker's home, the door opened before he could even knock. There he stood in all his glory, the man who once terrorized the world, so similar and yet so starkly different to the mob enforcer Leon had just watched die.

Wesker's viral enhancements had slowed his aging, but not stopped it, so he looked closer to Leon's age than his own. His skin had a healthy glow still, almost in defiance to the streak of blackened flesh that curled around his neck and lashed down over his collarbone.

He had been holding off 'umbrella's curse' longer than anyone, using an arcane mixture of drugs to hold off the worst side effects without sacrificing his powers. Yet it seemed the medication lost effect after a while, and despite his constant tweaking of the formula, raccoon survivor syndrome caught up to him just as it did everyone.

Leon spread his arms out.

"See? Not dead yet," he said.

Wesker took a moment to scan him over, as if he needed to double check the statement was true. His posture eased at the sight of Leon's ungloved hands.

"Despite your best efforts. Come in."

Once the door was safely closed behind them, Leon tested the waters with a grazing touch on Wesker's broad shoulder. He was immediately reeled in and kissed thoroughly, which told him Wesker was still further on the 'worry' side of the scale than the 'anger' side.

"You took your medicine after all," Wesker said, approving.

Leon cleared his throat. That had been the big argument before he left. Wesker had made a version of his serum for Leon, but Leon knew he only had so many uses before it stopped working, so he'd been rationing it.

"Normally a wise decision, but in your line of work you cannot afford to be coughing up blood and passing out," Wesker had told him.

Leon had insisted this was just an investigation, that it wouldn't be too dangerous. Wesker had been right and he was going to be insufferable about it when he found out.

(He'd made a version for Sherry, too, but she'd refused to trust it when Leon hadn't been able to explain where he got it.)

"I'll get to that," Leon said, pulling away. He made for the black leather couch in the front living room and took a seat, sighing as he sank into it. All of Wesker's furniture had sensible designs with good back support, something he appreciated more and more as they aged. "We ran into another junior."

"Really. And what was this one's sob story?"

"Not sure. He worked for the Connections." Wesker grimaced briefly. "You didn't hear anything about him when you were with HCF?"

"No."

Wesker walked past him to the kitchen, where Leon could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet. Probably getting drinks. He knew what Leon liked best after a mission.

"The resemblance was really uncanny," Leon mused, leaning back further into the couch. "Close enough to be a clone almost. The hair was paler and the nose was a little longer…"

"Even clones can express their genes slightly differently."

"He even slicked his hair back like you. I've got video I can show you."

"I don't see why it's important to me. Unless you promised the mother you'd collect years of allimony—"

"He had your powers."

An alarmed clinking of glasses from the kitchen.

"I'm not sure what he did for the Connections, some kind of enforcer or manager. Makes you wonder though, doesn't it? If he wasn't made. Deliberately. It wouldn't be the first time."

Like a magic trick Wesker appeared in front of him again, now holding a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. He was scanning Leon again, checking for injuries of a different type.

"You know how to handle me," Wesker told him. Reassuring himself, maybe.

"You toy with your food." Leon massaged his aching shoulder, grimacing. "He was all business. Had this ridiculous, enormous antique single-shot pistol that took rifle bullets, he was sniping people with the thing—"

"Where is he now." Wesker's voice had taken a dangerous tone.

"Dead. Relax." Leon looked up at Wesker, drinking him in, reminding himself of all the differences one by one. "He had the sunglasses too. Is light sensitivity hereditary?"

"I believe it can be."

"Jake must be glad he missed that one."

"I will be looking into it," Wesker promised him. "If it is a clone, I doubt they would have stopped at just one."

"Wonderful."

Wesker handed him a glass and poured the whiskey for him.

"Now are you going to tell me what happened?"

Leon drummed his fingers on the armrest, gauging what he could and couldn't say, what he should and shouldn't tell.

"Did you know about Elpis?" he asked, taking a sip from his glass and savoring. Wesker always had the good stuff.

"I was aware of it. I also knew that it wasn't what everyone thought it was." Wesker sat down across from him, in his favorite armchair.

"How'd you know?"

"Spencer's old hangers on told lots of little lies to get support for their crusade to unearth their master's final work. I've been watching the story spin out of control for decades. What are they saying now? Some kind of all powerful superweapon?"

"Mind control."

Wesker snorted.

"That is the weakest one I've heard yet. We already have several options for controlling people."

"Better mind control. Supposedly."

"Elpis shoud be sealed away deep underneath the center of Raccoon's ruins," Wesker said, his tone dangerously light.

Leon took another sip of whiskey.

"Leon."

"Mm?"

"Tell me you didn't charge into Raccoon City in your condition."

He swallowed, bolstering himself with the smooth burn.

"It was more of a meander than a charge. Until I found the motorcycle at least."

Wesker took off his sunglasses so Leon could see how thoroughly unimpressed he was.

"I know it was stupid," Leon said, heading him off at the pass. "I didn't have another option. There was a woman in danger, someone at the top was blocking any backup, and we were running out of time—"

"That's how it is every time, Leon. That's why you should be taking your medication."

Leon spread his hands, surrendering.

"Do you know what Elpis really is?" he asked.

Wesker's lips tightened. Leon watched him visibly bite down the urge to keep lecturing.

"I'm unclear on the specifics. I know it was somehow supposed to seize back control over the market from Umbrella's rivals and debtors. Too little too late, in the end."

Leon almost laughed outright.

"You could say that. It's a cure, Wesker."

"For what?"

"All of it. Anything based on T, maybe even progenitor. They're still running tests."

"So his grand plan was to take his ball and go home, was that it?" Wesker chuckled darkly. "I wonder how differently things would have shook out, if it weren't for the Raccoon outbreak."

"They were saying the Connections ordered the bombing on Raccoon to hide Elpis."

"More lies to bolster Elpis' mystique, I'm sure," Wesker said, unconcerned. "You know why Raccoon was bombed, Leon."

Leon's lip twisted grimly. Simmons had ordered it, by order of the family, both to stop the spread of the virus and to conveniently destroy all evidence of Umbrella's dealings with the government. Or so he had thought.

"Sherry couldn't find any record of who ordered the missile strike."

"The Family is very good at hiding its tracks." Wesker leaned back, drinking from his own glass. "In the end it doesn't really matter, does it? Answers can't revive the dead."

"I guess not."

Wesker's eyes sharpened on him with renewed intensity.

"I hope you didn't inject yourself with something Spencer made just because someone told you it was a cure."

"I did not inject myself," Leon said, knowing full well the truth was even more damning.

Wesker's stare did not ease.

"…it was Grace who did it. I was unconscious."

"Who is Grace?"

"Don't worry about it," Leon said quickly. Grace had been through enough without earning herself Wesker's attention.

Wesker stood up.

"I'm running some tests," he announced.

"Been there, done that." Leon pulled out the folder of documents he had ready for this. "You're not the only one wary of Spencer's legacy."

Wesker snatched the papers and flipped rapidly through them. It was all gobbledegook to Leon, but Rebecca had looked at the results too, and translated it to plain English for him. The stuff worked, so thoroughly and completely it was like the sufferer had never had contact with T at all. End of story.

"Which brings me to this." He pulled out the small case he'd been carrying. "I have another dose."

Wesker eyed it like Leon was holding a live snake.

"It won't hurt you. It's just going to clear away the survivor's syndrome, reverse any mutations, and leave you—"

"Human." Wesker sneered.

"Human," Leon agreed.

He set his glass on the side table and stood up, coming to stand at Wesker's elbow, a hand on his arm.

"Wesker," His tone turned plaintive, "You know you can't keep holding it at bay forever. It's this or rotting, until even your body finally gives out."

Rather than answer him, Wesker looked through the papers again, searching for some excuse to hold on to his suspicions. Leon leaned into him, letting his voice lower, like he was calming a horse.

"I know that man is responsible for most of the horrible shit in your life. I'm sure you don't want to believe he could regret anything—"

"He would regret losing the game and not getting his way."

Leon changed tack.

"Whatever you want to believe about his intentions, he made a cure, and it works. I think he owes you this." He held the case out, lid open so the golden vial inside could be seen.

Wesker looked down at it for a long time.

"I will run my own tests," Wesker declared, taking the case from him. "If I confirm these results, then…then I will take it."

Relief flooded him, warm and soft. Wesker was a survivor after all. He would always choose life.

*~*~*

In Wesker's personal basement laboratory (an installation which Leon gave him no end of grief about), Wesker ran the spare Elpis sample through its paces and fumed silently. A cure for all T-based bioweapons. A magic eraser to sweep the entire board clean. Once again, he had spent his life work building something only to have that decrepit old man wipe it away with the wave of a hand.

The tests required a lot of waiting, as laboratory science always did, and he spent the downtime running mental circles around Spencer's motivations. He would not buy the story of remorse and regret, not from that man, so there had to be some other reason. Something else he had hidden away in this little gold package. Would he truly put so much effort into this creation, only to wipe out his contribution to the bioweapons market? A final act of spite? That seemed more in character, but Wesker was reluctant to trust that conclusion either.

The tests proved that the cure worked, as Leon promised. It removed the virus and did nothing else that he could tell. What he could not figure out was how. The substance didn't boost the recipient's immune system, it didn't train it to kill the virus as a vaccine would, and it wasn't targeting the virus directly either. Yet unquestionably, it wiped all traces of infection and its damages from the host's system. It could even reverse mutations to a degree that seemed impossible.

He ran tests until the amount of Elpis he had left teetered on the brink of an insufficient dose, and when he still could find no flaws in it, he spent a long time staring at it, raging at its existence, before finally giving in. He pressed the injector to his own neck and squeezed, feelng all too much like he was firing a bullet instead of a fluid.

He expected it to burn. He expected to feel weakness crawl through him, for the weight of years to fall down on him all at once. There was heat, but only a brief flash of fever that made him break out in a sweat before cooling to a nominal human temperature of 98.5 F. Relief followed it, all the aches and irritations he had long grown used to dissolving minute by minute.

He took one deep breath, and then another. He rolled his shoulders. He went to look in a mirror. All the black marks were gone. Miracle of miracles, he still looked 50. A small smirk twitched at his lips. He wondered if Spencer had ever intended for this gift to reach him, or if he had once again stolen the old man's prize. It made him feel much better to believe that he had.

*~*~*

"I forgot what it was like to have joints that don't ache," Wesker confessed in the dark a few days later.

"Like being in your twenties again, right?" Leon grinned into Wesker's blemish-free throat.

"I didn't realize how much I had degraded. I suppose the strength blinded me."

Leon kissed his way from neck to jawline, tracing the path of red bites he'd left earlier. A gray eye rolled down to look at him. (Leon had decided to call them gray. Wesker had the kind of eyes that shifted depending on how the light hit them, and could pass for everything between mossy concrete and dull blue) He would miss the viper eyes. He'd always found them compelling, despite what they stood for.

"Welcome back to humanity, Dr. Wesker," Leon told him. Wesker shot him a mild glare. "Tickets are non-refundable."

*~*~*

Wesker woke alone. He thought nothing of this at first. Leon was an early riser, a holdover from the army training, while Wesker was still adjusting to a body that needed real sleep. He assumed he'd slept in, and Leon must be downstairs fixing coffee. A sharp beep on his nightstand had him automatically swiping up his pager and squinting at the display.

'303-559-9078 411'

He read the numbers three times, uncomprehending. His slow (human), freshly awoken brain struggling to piece things together as if he had had only 4 hours of sleep instead of 9. He hadn't even used a pager since the 00s. Why did he still have this thing?

He massaged the bridge of his nose, struggling to shake off sleep's curtain. Then he looked up at his room.

This was not his house. The walls were a patchy blue instead of black, the gray carpet was too thin, and there was a window leaking sunlight through what should have been an internal wall. He stumbled out of the full size bed, struggling to process what he was seeing. This was his old apartment, that was his old pager, and the closet waas stuffed with his old uniforms.

He went to the window, yanked the blinds aside, and took a good look at the bustling, whole, unruined metropolis of Raccoon City.

"This can't be," he said to no one.

Was he still dreaming? He pulled a random book off his shelf and read a few pages. The text made perfect sense to him, and when he closed the book he could still recall what he'd read. That ruled out a dream. There were other, more deliberate ways to present a false reality to someone. He'd helped build a few in his time.

Quickly, he got dressed, only realizing he'd grabbed his uniform after it was halfway on. It would do. He hurried out of the apartment and got in his car, only taking half a minute to drown in the nostalgia of the old's vehicle's dashboard. No touch screen, no back up camera, no keyless starter. How novel. He started the car with a turn of the key and began to drive a straight and unflinching path towards the city limits.

If this were a simulation, it would have a range limit. Whether it was a physical one or a virtual one, eventually, he would hit a wall. He expected that wall would be somewhere around the city limits at best, or more likely around the downtown area. He drove until he reached Raccoon's edge in one direction, and then he turned around at the gas station nearby and drove across town to the opposite edge. He was not looking at the bubbling mass of painful questions he would have to deal with if his suspicion proved to be true. He was carefully not thinking of anything beyond his next step. His pager went off three more times on the way, and he continued to ignore it. He would not interact with this world until he had verified that doing so was worthwhile.

No barrier of any kind stopped him from reaching the other side of town. He gazed out into the arid plain on this side of Raccoon, searching the sky for any sign of looping cloud textures, any seam or imperfection that could give it away. He found nothing. He cold have kept driving, but he decided not to. Even as a mid-sized city, Raccoon was big enough that simulating the entire thing was still beyond technological limits.

A Sherlock Holmes story once said, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. He flipped the sun visor down, regarding himself in the tiny mirror. No one would disagree that he'd been aging gracefully, but the face which glared back at him from the cheap reflective plastic was clearly in its late 30s. He even had the dark circles which had nested perpetually under his eyes during his Umbrella days, his cramped schedule affording him little sleep. Even if someone had gone to the effort of rebuilding all of Raccoon City and then stuck him in it (why? for what possible purpose?), they could not have miraculously reversed his own aging.

His pager went off again. Irritated, he slapped the visor up into place. He needed to interact with a live human. That should tell him once and for all if this was real. The number on his pager seemed like a good start. (Why didn't he have a cell phone yet? Surely he could afford it?) He couldn't remember whose number that was, only a vague recollection that '411' had been pager code for wanting information.

He was nearly to the RPD and his old office phone when he spotted two formerly-endangered urban set pieces that could assist him: a newspaper stand and a phone booth.

The day was a gray and drizzly one, and he regretted not bringing a jacket as he made a brisk walk over from the nearest open parking spot. He fished a few quarters out of his pocket and dropped them in the slot of the short red box, unlocking the glass door so he could retrieve a paper. This he read while he made his way further down the street and waited for the phone booth to be unoccupied.

April 13th, 1998. Monday. The front page articles were mostly concerned with various Easter celebrations that had taken place, with one side column about a special museum exhibit involving trains. No mention of cannibal murders or missing hikers, not yet. (He had time. If this was real, he had time. If if if—)

"Well hey there, Captain!"

He looked up, meeting eyes with a ghost made flesh—one of very many. Short brown hair, stocky, wearing overalls…Kendo, his brain supplied after a moment's rummaging.

"Good morning, Robert." He folded up the newspaper and stuffed it under his arm. Kendo's gunshop would be nearby, now that he thought about it. His memory of the city's layout was coming back to him in bits and pieces, like pieces of driftwood bobbing to the surface of a lake.

"Still on your way to work, or making a coffee run?"

"Finishing up a few things," Wesker replied. "Waiting to make a call."

"Oh, you can come use the shop phone. Save yourself a few quarters."

"Thank you."

He fell into step behind the older man, so he could keep his face out of view. He didn't trust himself to keep his expression neutral, under the enormity of what he was facing.

"Your order should be ready by Wednesday. You can have a look at the progress if you want."

Kendo had done a lot of business for the RPD, once. Wesker had mourned the loss of his talent, after everything. He never had found a sufficient replacement and his plans for the anti-bow pistol had languished in a drawer until Blue Umbrella got ahold of them. It took some mental searching for Wesker to realize the order Kendo meant must be the Samurai Edges.

"Very good," Wesker said. "Have you named them yet?"

"I'm still thinking about it. Maybe it's a little silly, but I was thinking, well, you know how I'm half-Japanese. I like to reference my background now and then…"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Wesker said. No need to intervene in history here.

The brief interaction had satisfied him that this was neither an actor nor a digital recreation. This was really Robert Kendo, just as he remembered him. This was not a dream, not a hallucination, not a simulation either virtual or physical. He had eliminated the impossible, and that left him with this improbable truth: somehow, he had traveled back in fucking time. Grief and relief hit him like a one-two punch. He had a second chance to succeed in his plans. Will and Annie were still alive.

Leon wouldn't know him.

"Here we are," Kendo said, needlessly, as he opened the door to the shop that had his name written in neon.

Wesker gratefully stepped inside, shaking the chill damp from his shoulders. Kendo showed him to a phone set in the back. He laid his damp newspaper down on a nearby crate and checked the number on his pager.

It was very likely that whoever kept paging him would be involved with one workplace or the other, and he could not guess which one from just the number. it would be a terrible idea to have a call with an Umbrella official in Kendo's shop. Yet he couldn't quite bring himself to care. If he didn't play his cards right, then this man and the whole rest of the city would be dust by Christmas. It put things in a strange perspective.

Receiver in hand and numbers dialed, Wesker leaned against the brick wall, listening to Kendo rummage around out front.

"Al! Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all morning!"

It had been so many years that he couldn't place the nasally voice at first. The slight distortion from the phone didn't help. However, the list of people who could get away with calling him 'Al' were vanishingly small.

"I do have other obligations," Wesker replied vaguely. "What is it you need?"

"It's Sherry. There's something wrong."

Will. He was talking to Will. If it weren't for the solid wall at his back, he might have tipped over.

"Wrong how? Is she sick?" he asked faintly. Followed incredulously by, "you're actually home?"

"I don't know! Annette called me after Sherry woke up this morning, at 7 am, and had some kind of breakdown. We can't figure out why she's freaking out. The second she saw me walk in the door she just burst into tears, Al!"

"Night terrors, perhaps."

"She's never had night terrors!"

"What do you expect me to do, William?" Wesker sighed. "I'm not a child psychologist."

"I know that, but—"

Back alive and in his life for a matter of minutes and already William was dumping problems on him for him to fix. He wished he could feel bitter about it, instead of this sweet ache of longing. He let his eyes closed, just listening to William prattle on in a half-panic. It had been too long, and the nostalgia came so thick and syrupy he felt sick with it.

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Maybe? I'm at my wit's end, I don't know what to do. I don't have time for this, Al, I need to get back to my research."

Wesker's mouth pulled sharply down at one corner.

"I'll swing by after work."

Kendo was leaning around the corner, his brow a mass of furrows. Wesker set down the receiver.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes. A friend of mine is just having some family drama."

Kendo nodded slowly.

"I should be going. They'll be missing me back at the precinct. Thanks for the phone."

"Sure, sure. You know you can stop by anytime."

He remembered now why he didn't have a cell phone yet. It was so much easier to sidestep the demands of certain people who wanted too much of his time and attention when they didn't have a direct line of communication to his pocket. A luxury he had long forgotten. William hadn't even been the worst for that. The two of them had drifted apart by this period, Will buried in research and Wesker swamped between STARS operations and his security work. Sherry was the only real link between them, and she hadn't really needed his intervention since she got old enough to ride the bus alone.

Melancholy settled over him as he stepped back out into the impossibly alive city. He had been handed an opportunity like no other, the chance to do things again, with a wealth of knowledge of all the major players and events going forward that he would have killed for once. At the same time, he'd just lost everything. He'd settled into a nice situation at the end, and while it wasn't nearly as grand as he'd once expected, he'd been satisfied. Ambition was easier for the young, and he might look 38 again but he certainly didn't feel like it.

The thorniest problem—as usual—was Leon. Wesker would not be allowing the Raccoon City outbreak to happen this time. But could Leon ever become the man Wesker knew (loved) and preferred (adored) without the catalyst of Raccoon city, or would he remain the soft and hide-bound cop Ada had once told him about? His relationship with the government agent had come about by such a lightning strike of circumstance he did not think he could replicate it. Oh, he could try to manipulate matters that direction, but would it ever be the same? Or was His Leon dead and gone as surely as if Umbrella's curse had killed him?

In classic Wesker fashion he crushed all these turbulent feelings down into a little box and buried it. He needed to focus on the present now, his current impossible present, to collect as much information as possible and get his bearings before planning anything long term.

And he was late for work.

*~*~*

He had made an error. He had failed to consider how being back among STARS would affect him. Oh, not the dead ones, he felt nothing when he met with Enrico or told off Forest for smuggling firecrackers into Vickers' locker. It was the living ones that plagued him, specifically one survivor whose very name had become a curse word at the height of his career.

"Hey Captain! Where have you been? Car trouble?"

"….Chris." He managed to keep his tone civil. Barely.

Chris was so. Small. Wesker hadn't fully grasped just how wide Chris had become in the future until he was confronted with the younger version. If he squinted, he could almost convince himself this was some other person, and not the man who would first humiliate and leave him for dead before going on to foil his plans again and again, culminating in nearly killing him just after ruining his crowning achievement.

Yes, he could convince himself it was some other young man with only a passing resemblance to Chris Redfield, and so keep his simmering rage extinguished, if only the man would stop talking. His voice was unmistakeable.

"…was wondering if we could hold another shooting contest, and I told him—"

They were alone, currently. Chris had caught him in a hallway between the STARS office and the locker rooms. He could simply kill him now. It wouldn't even be hard. Making people disappear and covering up murders had been most of his job for Umbrella's security division. How many future headaches he would spare himself, how many failures, if he just made one young man vanish…

"Hey, looks like we've got a few stars over here. Want to come say hello, rookie?"

Marvin's timely distraction may have saved Chris' life. Wesker turned away from the man, reflecting as he did so how many regular faces from the RPD he had forgotten over the years. Only the survivors had ever been relevant to him.

Behind Marvin popped up a face that knocked the wind from him on sight.

"Leon?" He just blurted the name out like a fool. In his defense, he was running on 2 hours of sleep in a weak, overwhelmed younger body and still struggling to process everything.

Leon smiled like a dawn breaking.

"Wesker. Hey."

He knew him. Which meant Leon had gone back as well. Relief hit him like a tidal wave, almost bowling him over. He would not have to orchestrate a single thing. His Leon was here, and he remembered.

"You're….early. I thought you weren't arriving until September?" Wesker cast his eyes to the side, highly conscious of their curious audience. He already didn't like the look on Chris's face.

"Oh, you know. Did so well at the academy I managed to expedite a few things. They're calling me a prodigy." How he'd missed that crooked little grin.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You two know each other?" That was Chris, overcome by his curiosity. The question exploded out of him like one of his bottle rockets.

"Yes," Wesker replied simply. No need to give any details yet. He looked to Marvin, ignoring the team mate all but vibrating beside him. Some of his STARS used to make a game of sussing out personal info on their aloof, mysterious captain, and no doubt Chris would be king of the gossip circles for a while.

"May I borrow your rookie for a private word."

Marvin shrugged. "Meet me back in the west office when you're done, Leon."

"Yes sir."

Wesker shoo'd Chris away with a pointed stare. He and Leon retreated to the men's locker room for privacy.

The moment prying eyes were shut away, they collided.

"Thank fuck," Leon murmured into his mouth. "I had no idea how I was going to change things and still have you."

"I have been fretting over the same issue."

"You? Fret?"

"When you are a factor, frequently."

Leon ducked his head and smiled one of his more rueful smiles.

"Have you got any plans yet?"

"Nothing solid. Only goals. The Raccoon incident can't be allowed to happen, and I am getting out of here with the Birkins intact."

Leon nodded sharply to this.

"It'll be harder to take down Umbrella this way," Leon warned him.

"I'm aware. This time I may tackle things in the opposite order. Umbrella always felt so titanic to me, I thought I needed the power of the Connections to rip them down. Now I think I will conquer the Connections first, and leave Umbrella as a distraction and scapegoat."

Leon had the nerve to roll his eyes.

"As long as they all come crashing down. I don't want to spend another 25 years mopping up after them. You're not going to give Uroboros another try, right?"

"No, Leon." That was one of those sore points he'd been trying not to think about. Trust Leon to zero in on it right away. "I know now what lies at the end of the road for any T virus mutation, regardless of its short term success. That is not what humanity needs."

"Good. I'd hate to be the one who had to chase you across Africa this time." He paused, thoughtful, thumb rubbing idle circles into Wesker's shoulder. "Hey, do you think anyone else went back?"

"None of the STARS members, I am certain of that. Until we figure out why and how this happened, I can't say for sure who it affected."

"It's weird. Of all the people on Earth, the universe chooses to send us two catapulting back in time? I swear I haven't touched any weird machines lately."

"Nor have I."

"Was your house built on top of an inactive time portal?"

"The realtor didn't mention."

*~*~*

Sherry paced restlessly through her childhood home, fretting at her nails. Her parents had left as soon as she'd managed to stay calm for five minutes, and she couldn't decide if she was grateful or resentful about that. On the one hand, seeing them both again was overwhelming. On the other hand, the empty house gave her space and quiet to think. She rubbed at the swollen pink flesh of her hand between thumb and forefinger, where the latest gouges of her thumbnail remained as fading white crescents. No matter how many times she pinched herself, nothing changed. This nightmare—this dream—persisted.

She couldn't go through it all again. She couldn't. But what could a 12 year old possibly do to avert the oncoming disaster? All her agent's training meant nothing in this tiny body. She could barely control her own tears, much less shoot a gun.

A knock came at the door. By adult habit she thought nothing of opening it, did not consider until she'd done it that a child home alone shouldn't answer the door. That harsh reminder came crashing down on her only after she recognized the man darkening her doorstep.

Her immediate thought was that 'Zeno' character, but no. This was 1998, she was 12, they were in Raccoon City, and this was Albert Wesker. Of course. Any time her parents forgot or failed her, they sent Wesker in to fix things. She'd forgotten that, deliberately. The memories had become too painful after she found out the truth of what this man was. After she met Jake, they'd become guilty memories, too. She'd felt like she'd somehow stolen all of Wesker's parental attention away from him, as if she'd had any control over the situation. She knew it was stupid, but she'd felt that way anyway.

There was another man standing next to Wesker. It took her an embarassingly long time to notice him, and no time at all to recognize him.

"Leon?" she yelped without thinking.

"Well that answers that question," Leon said to Wesker. "You too, huh?"

"Oh." She could have melted into the floor. "Oh, thank god. I didn't know how I was going to change anything." She aimed a glare at Wesker, fully aware that it wouldn't have been intimidating even in her 30-something body, much less her 12 year old one. "Why is he here?"

"I'm also from the future. You can relax, Sherry. We have the same goal."

"Are you going to try and save my parents?"

"I will not just 'try'," he replied with such conviction she was tempted to hope.

"Ok. Ok…" She backed up from the door. "You should both come in." Then, after the door was shut safely behind them, "Wait a minute. When in the future did you come from? Weren't you dead?"

"Rumors, exaggeration." He had the nerve to smirk down at her. She hated how nostalgic it felt. "I was around through 2025, same as Leon."

"Then we all came from the same time. Why?"

"We will need to compare notes to find the source of this anomaly," Wesker said. "However, I'm more concerned with our immediate future. We have much to do."

"People to save, organizations to bring down," Leon said. "Think you're up for it, handler?"

Sherry looked down at her hands again, so chubby and small.

"I guess I have to be."

Fin

A/N: Yep, everyone who took Elpis got catapulted to the past. Yep, that means Zeno is also wandering around, but when exactly is up in the air because we don't know how old he is/when he was made.

Will I continue this someday? lol idk. Maybe! I have a lot of other projects on my plate, I just wanted to get this wacky idea out there while it was fresh.

#resident evil #albert wesker #leon kennedy #weskennedy #time travel au #my fic #not beta read

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