Author's note: So here we go! It's been so long since I wrote anything, and this is actually my first time uploading. No one's ever read anything I've written before... It's kind of daunting

Anyway, here is the first part of my new Resident Evil story, 'Bonds'. It follows a young Chris Redfield and a...well, younger Barry Burton from their first chance meeting up until the infamous 'Mansion Incident'. I love the S.T.A.R.S. team and wanted to write something about them for a change, rather than just about shambling corpses. Though, of course, I do have an endless affection for said shambling corpses. It just occurred to me that Chris and Barry are meant to have known each other for years and yet, in the course of the entire Resident Evil series, they don't speak one word to each other. It made me curious... Heh. So anyway, I decided to have a go at writing about their relationship, and the relationship of all the S.T.A.R.S. members... So it begins. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to review I'll give you chocolate if you're nice!

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil in any shape or form. If I did, Remake Chris would be in every game.


Welcome to Raccoon City

The streetlights overhead seemed to mingle into each other, pools of light becoming an indifferent blur as he pressed his foot down upon the accelerator. He had been driving too long. His muscles ached and his eyes began to sting as he tried to focus on the road ahead. The sign he'd passed a few minutes ago told him he was nearly there, nothing more than a few miles away. He'd been desperate for a roadside cafe for the past hour, needing a break and somewhere to refresh himself. His senses were dulling, and he knew that he'd become a danger if he stayed on the road much longer.

Absently, he reached a hand out to flick on the radio. Crackling static filled the car before monotone voices took over, some kind of current affairs program or the like. He didn't care what it was, just hoped the noise could keep him awake a little longer.

"...along with the mayor, Chief Brian Irons was this morning..."

Pressure was building up at the nape of his neck, his muscles becoming stiff with fatigue. Lolling his head to the side, he tried to work out the habitual knot of pain, trying to relieve himself of that aching tension. He knew it was futile, but he found himself making a forcible effort to let his shoulders sag. They seemed forever bunched up, coiled and tight and waiting for something to snap, something to channel away the stress from his body. He could feel it growing. He could feel the dark weariness working through his blood. And he knew from experience that when it finally got free, it would be amidst a tirade of fury.

...breathe...

So much emotion had welled up inside him throughout the past few weeks, and it was bubbling away under his skin, ready to be unleashed. It was urging him, coaxing him... He could feel his grip tighten on the wheel, his arms taut and eyes narrowed.

...breathe...

And then it was gone. With a careful breath, he pushed it away, relaxing his fingers and focusing only on the road before him. He was nearly there, now. Nearly there and then he could rest.

The sound of the radio was nothing but a muffled buzzing in his ears by now, and his legs felt pretty much numb. How long had it been? Eight... No, nearer to ten hours he had been driving. A short break not long after he had set off was all the rest he'd had. It wasn't as though he didn't have the luxury of time, that he couldn't spare himself the break. He was just too impatient. His foul mood wouldn't allow him to extend this journey, or to cut it short. He just wanted to be there. He wanted to be there so he could sleep, then to find himself waking up in a new town, with a new day stretched before him. He just damn wanted to be somewhere else.

A little more acceleration and the intermittent road markings turned into a continuous streak of white outside the window. The sounds of other cars on the road beside him were distant, and the humming of his own engine seemed hazy and weak. He'd been surprised the car had made it this far. The miles it had clocked up recently were more than he'd managed in the few years that he'd had it. But then, his old journeys were set and routine, short and predictable, and nothing like the winding, endless driving of these last few weeks. And at times like this, when his entire body seemed to be acutely feeling the vibrations of the ride, he'd found it nothing short of brutal.

He wasn't used to driving so much. He wasn't used to the recurring pain in his shoulder blade from being hunched over the steering wheel for so long. Or the migraines caused by the strain of keeping his sight focused while lights flashed by all around him. After tonight, he wasn't going to do it for a while. Even if the town he ended up at couldn't offer him what he wanted, he'd stay just to give himself a break. Just to let his body rest.

Sure, just like all the other times...

He knew himself too well. He knew that he wouldn't. His temperament and restlessness wouldn't allow him to do that. Just like all the other times, he'd be back in his car and on the highway within days. He'd already picked out at least half a dozen places he could go next, already had the number of a hotel in one of them. He just couldn't sit around. Idleness bothered him, gnawed at him. He couldn't bear to let the creeping, dark thoughts reach him when he was vulnerable. He had to keep going, moving, so the thoughts couldn't catch up to him. He couldn't just sit and let himself think, not until he'd sorted himself out. Hell, when that happened he thought he'd probably be able to laugh at himself for this ceaseless journey. But not now. He couldn't even lift a smile.

But, there. That was something. A feeling akin to relief flooded his veins as his weary, aching eyes glimpsed the sign before him. It was the closest thing to contentment he'd felt in a while. With a grateful sigh, he drove on by, the welcome words burned into his mind.

Welcome to Raccoon City.

xxxxxxxxxx

He eased the car into the parking lot of the rundown motel he'd chosen, tired eyes barely noticing the police car parked across the street. To be honest, he really couldn't care less at the moment. He was used to crime, and he was used to lowlifes. He could deal with it. But he just needed some fucking sleep.

As he settled into a space, the engine shutting off with a satisfying hum, he leaned his head back against the seat and blew the breath from his cheeks.

For a moment, he couldn't move. His eyelids flickered shut and he just sat there, the faint echoes of an argument reaching his ears. Maybe that was the reason for the police presence. He didn't much know or care. If it was, they'd deal with it and that would be that. If not, he'd sleep through it anyway. He could feel himself already begin to drift, his body becoming momentarily weightless as the breathing grew quieter.

No. Not here...

In this kind of neighbourhood, he didn't want to be out in the open for too long. It looked like an area ripe for muggings, or drug addicts looking to score. And God knows how many prostitutes were working the motel. Even in his own mind, his thoughts seemed cynical, but he'd seen enough in his life to get a sense for these things.

The motel wasn't looking its best. The tacky neon sign was flickering dully, half the bulbs gone and the shattered remains of the casings scattered over the asphalt. Beer bottles were poking out from underneath the overgrown bushes surrounding the reception entrance, and that coupled with the arguing coloured in the picture that had already formed in his mind. This was hardly a safe place to stay. But again, that came second to his need to sleep. The hotel he'd made reservations at was at least another twenty minutes drive, and that's without the likelihood of him getting lost. And, he noticed as he forced his eyes open, it was starting to rain.

Gentle splashes mottled the windscreen, slow and haphazard. Even from inside the car, he could feel the humidity of the air. When the rain started to fall faster - and it would - it would be well set and heavy. He could barely see clearly now and there was no way he would see at all through the impending downfall.

With a sigh, he rubbed his hands across his face, feeling the prickling of his stubble against his palms. It did little to rouse him, but enough to get him moving. His eyes drifted to the glove box, and he opened it wearily, grabbing the handful of scrunched notes and coins he'd tossed in there earlier. He had to sit forward to reach the back, but when he did his fingers brushed the comforting cool of the Berretta 9mm that he'd bought a few weeks back. It was for protection more than anything else, but it also served as a reminder to him of everything that had come before. He looked it over for a moment, a wistful feeling washing through his body, before he checked the safety and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. Ordinarily, he wouldn't carry it, but in this place... He wanted it on him. Even if he didn't need it himself, he wouldn't leave it where some crackhead would find it. The world didn't need another doped-up teen with a gun.

He nudged the glove box shut and pocketed his keys. His wallet and mobile were in his jacket, and a night bag was already packed and waiting on the back seat. He reached behind his seat and grabbed at the fabric, dragging it round and onto his lap. That was everything. With one last glance at the rain, he eased the car door open and stepped out into the deluge.

It was pounding down upon the ground now, splashing back upwards like tiny fountains across the asphalt. It had already grown heavy, and he could feel it dripping from the tips of his hair and down in thick rivulets across his face. He shut the car door with the toe of his boot and fumbled the keys into the lock. Although, he grimly reminded himself, that was hardly likely to deter anyone who made up their minds to get in.

His nonchalance didn't concern him. Sure, he'd be pissed if his car was stolen - something else that fate did to stick its fingers up at him - but it would just be another little thing to add the ever-growing list. He just couldn't bring himself to care. He was just... so tired. Of everything.

Let it go...

With a sigh, he trudged through the lot, towards the welcoming light of reception. It was a short walk but the rain had already soaked him to the skin, his hair matted against his forehead and clothes plastered to his skin. He stepped in through the grimy, glass-panelled doors and instantly felt the warmth from the storage heater propped against the desk. There was the cloying smell of smoke thick in the air, but even as a smoker himself, he found it overpowering. The carpet was threadbare and the walls and ceiling had turned a dirty yellow colour. It was exactly what he had expected and nothing of what he had hoped for.

With brief civility, he spoke with the man behind the desk, noting the cigar planted firmly between his cracked lips. Gruff responses answered his request for a room, the words being spoken around the smoking cigar, and nothing but a grunt in reply to his thanks. He took up the key that had been tossed upon the stained wood and didn't give the man another glance as he left that choking room.

He was glad to be back out in the fresh air, ducking under the shelter of the balcony above the first floor. The sound of the rain falling faster assaulted his ears as he glanced around for his room. None of them seemed inviting, but as long as it was dry and had a bed, he was fine with it. He wouldn't be staying there long anyway - a few hours sleep and then he'd be on his way again.

16-B.

That was it. The red lacquer was peeling from the door in great chunks, and the window frames were just as rotten, warped and unsightly against the whitewashed walls. Without another thought, he slipped the key into the lock and stepped inside.

Fumbling a hand along the wall, his fingers flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a crisp, white light, illuminating the small room he had just been overcharged for. He didn't notice much of the details, only the clean, made up bed that occupied most of the space. That was all he needed. His bag dropped at his feet, and he collapsed upon the cool sheets. There was a faint smell of fabric softener left on them, something warm and homely that seemed so out of place with a dump like that. He breathed it in, easing out of his jacket and throwing it over the arm of a nearby chair. A chill pricked at his skin, his fingers working thoughtlessly to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Shit.

His eyes fell to the pocket of his jacket. He stared at it for a moment, then sighed and reached over to where he had just discarded it. If he didn't call, she'd worry. That was the thought that made him move. Leaning forward, he grabbed his mobile and flipped it open. A single bar of reception flashed at him, flickering and then disappearing altogether.

Oh, fucking great.

He snapped it closed and grunted as he got back to his feet, snatching up his room key again and trudged unhappily back outside. Just his luck. He squinted around, through the rain and the dark, and finally spotted a phone booth on the opposite side of the yard. Bracing himself for the onslaught of rain, he stepped out into the lot and jogged across expanse, feeling the wet on his skin more acutely than he had before. As soon as he was there, he dragged the rusting door closed behind him, fishing for the quarters he had stuffed in his pocket. The handset was heavy and slightly greasy in his hand. He didn't want to think about why. He simply fed in the quarters and punched in the number that was imprinted on his mind.

There was a beat of silence, and then the rolling dial tone droned into the silence. The dust-streaked glass of the booth became misted up as he huffed impatiently, half-itching to hang up and go back inside. His irritability and impatience were by-products of his lack of sleep, but he at least still had the presence of mind to pay it no attention. This phone call had to be made. He waited a little longer, hearing the quiet rumble of the sixth ring, before he heard the sleep-quiet voice on the other end. He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and felt the small smile that tugged at his lips. After such a bitch of a day, that voice was like Heaven. He glanced out towards the silhouetted outline of Raccoon City, feeling just a little of the tension and anger leaving his body as he tiredly smiled into the handset.

"Hey, Claire. It's Chris. I'm here."