Title: Shot
Summary: When he woke up in the morning, Chris never would have dreamed that today would be the day that he got into an fight with his Captain, quit his dream job during a stakeout, and tried to keep Wesker from bleeding out on a dirty floor.
Pairing: Albert Wesker x Chris Redfield
Warnings: Blood, swears, horrible grammar, OOCness, etc., etc.
Side Note: Never written anything for Resident Evil before; I'm a long time fan from the sidelines. Feel free to help me improve; suggestions and the like. ...I have yet to run into a story where Wesker gets the hell beaten out of him. So, I decided to write my own. If people like it, maybe I'll do a series. But, we'll cross that bridge if we get to it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. ...Except for a twisted mentality.
A groan slid from his lips as his face collided roughly with the wall, eyes narrowing as his head rubbed at the sudden blow. Spinning around on his heels, Chris glared at the blonde man standing at the other end of the office, seeing his reflection twofold in the dark lenses of his Captain's sunglasses. He never understood exactly why the Captain of S.T.A.R.S. always wore the things during the day even when the sun had set and he was inside; it was not as though he needed them in the dark. Continuing to rub the tender spot on the back of his head, the brunette could not help the sulky feeling that came when the unfazed blonde moved to sit back behind his desk as if he did not even just fight with one of his coworkers.
"Get back to work, Christopher," Wesker said as he resumed typing on his keyboard, working as he had done before the newly recruited man barged into his office about a civilian casualty that had been caused when the Captain and performed a hostage rescue. It did not settle well with Chris that the blonde did not seem to care about the death of a man. He claimed that it was in self defense; the man did not comply with orders and charged at him with snapping jaws. It seemed like a wild tale that was given so he would not have to own up to a reckless death. And using his whole name, it made the younger man feel like a scolded child. Huffing, the shorter of the two men stormed out of the office after sending a glare at his superior. Sitting down at his own desk, he sighed and looked around the empty offices; the rest of the group was at court for an incident that occurred just before he was hired.
Jill still would not tell him what it was about, only saying that it could have gone a lot worse and that they had to go to court at the Chief's orders. That left only himself and the arrogant Captain behind. Sure, the man was a great leader; from what Chris had seen, there was no one greater at hand-to-hand combat than he was and even with those damn glasses on, he could still make everyone feel like he was staring into their very souls. He was an unnerving man.
"Redfield," the lightly accented voice called out, startling the man and having him spin around in his chair. "Grab your items and follow me." Nodding, the brunette seemed to forget about his earlier anger and follow the taller man out of the department and into a black, unmarked car. Part of him wanted to know whether or not the car was Wesker's personal car, but after the earlier shouting match and subsequent fight, he really did not want to push his luck. Chris was the rookie of the group, after all. Once they were both seated, the brunette ran his hands over the leather interior with a grin on his face while the blonde continued to look ahead. "Seatbelt, Chris," Wesker hummed, the sound of his own name being called so casually caused a shiver to run down the man's spine.
"Sorry, Captain," Chris said before buckling his seatbelt, watching as the blonde drove his car silently through the city's streets. He began to wonder if anything ever fazed the leader before he spoke up.
"We're heading to an abandoned building that is believed to be housing a few men that are suspected of gang-related activities," Wesker said, hinting to the cases that Chris was briefed over directly before his attempt at scolding his superior. Murders caused by gangs usually was referred to as "activities," same for drug activity and beatings. "We will be conducting a stakeout to see whether or not anyone enters or leaves."
Once the shiny and expensive car that Chris was certain would haunt his dreams for a long time was parked outside of a rundown building on the darker side of the city, the brunette found himself rapidly growing bored as the silence engulfed the car. Hours ticked by as the sun slipped closer and closer to the horizon, dipping below the rooftops and pulling the light with it. Taking his eyes off of the taciturn building, the brunette looked over at the leader of S.T.A.R.S. and studied his emotionless features. "Why did you do it?" he asked as his anger began to bubble back to the surface, getting the other man to turn his attention to him.
"My Lord, you are not going on about this again," Wesker replied as he watched the rookie through the dark lenses. "How many times must I tell you the same story?"
"You didn't have to kill him!" Chris countered, jumping to the defense of the dead civilian.
"I also did not have to deal with you swinging at my head earlier," Wesker retorted, eyes leaving the brunette to look at a window on the third floor, the curtains fluttering even though the window was closed. "But I did that anyway."
"Yeah, and I could have quit when you swung at me, but I didn't! You can't always do whatever you want to do, Captain!" Chris snapped, hands moving as he spoke.
"I don't care whether or not you like the way that I conduct my subordinates and myself, Christopher," the blonde replied tersely. There was that damn name again. Without saying anything else, the blonde pulled out his gun before checking the clip and getting out of the unmarked car.
"Fine!" he snapped as he scrambled out of the car and followed Wesker into the building. "Then I quit!" He knew that his temper was out of control, but the Redfield clan certainly was not known for having long fuses. Chris wanted to pull the words back into his mouth as soon as they slipped out of his mouth but he could tell that it was too late.
"Shut up, Christopher," the taller man hissed as he stepped into the foyer of the dilapidated house, dust falling from the wooden beams by the stairs as wood creaked overhead.
"You can't tell me what to do anymore!" Chris growled, feeling like a reprimanded child that was being sent to bed without dinner. He curled his fingers into a fist before punching the blonde in the shoulder, the sudden force causing Wesker to squeeze the trigger and send a bullet into the wall in front of him. Snarling, the tall blonde turned his fiery attention to the insolent man at his side, blue eyes widening behind his glasses as he saw a blue canister hurling through the air from behind the brunette. Grabbing him by the front of his tactile vest, he pushed the rookie out of the front door before the fragile device collided with the floor, engulfing the room in a blinding flash.
Grunting as his head hit the ground, Chris scrambled to his feet, hands rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision as gunfire rang out just before him. As soon as his vision cleared, the rookie could make out a few figures through the doorway. Flattening himself against the outer edge, he peered inside before aiming at a man standing on the stairs. The bright clothing let him know that it was not the Captain before he fired a round through the running man's head. Scoping out the room, he narrowed his eyes at the splatter of blood along the wall next to the door. Captain Wesker was standing right where the thin arch of blood lined the wall.
"Wesker?" Chris called out tentatively as he stepped into the silent house, pausing when he heard gunfire from up the stairs. Not waiting, the rookie ran up the wooden steps, taking two at a time and wincing as he stepped over the body of the man that he shot down. Opening a door, he pointed his gun into the hallway as he walked away from the steps, eyes following the splatters of blood along the floor as he hoped that it did not belong to his Captain.
Former Captain, he reasoned as he followed the trail of blood. He had just finished quitting the team because of the arrogant and snobbish blonde that was determined to make even the slightest mistake that he made into a full-blown nightmare. But, that did not mean that he wished the prick any harm. ...Even if he wanted to pound the guy's face in half of the time.
Blue eyes narrowed as Chris winced at a cooling body that held a door open, lying in the door jam with one bullet between his eyes. "Captain?" he asked as he stepped into the room, eyes widening and gun lowering at the sight of the normally pristine blonde sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. His tactical vest was pulled open as well as his bloodstained dress shirt, the once white fabric soaked crimson to match the bloodied skin over his ribcage. "Oh..oh shit," he breathed before tucking away his pistol and hurrying to the blonde's side. He reached out before recoiling at the wet coughing that came from his Captain, blood staining the pale man's lips and teeth before dribbling down his chin.
"Pierced lung?" Chris asked softly while blood-soaked fingers fumbled with a green herb.
"G-go home, Ch-Chris," Wesker hissed, struggling to focus as he crushed the green herb in the palm of his hands into a bloody paste. His sunglasses managed to stay over his eyes as he turned his attention to the gaping hole in the side of his chest, pressing the makeshift paste into the open wound as Chris winced.
"Never knew you could put them in a wound," the rookie remarked as he shucked off his own vest and began to tear his shirt into strips, wrapping the wound as best as he could even though the blonde man kept trying to take the fabric away from Chris, insisting that the younger man go home while he smeared blood onto the white fabric. "I always chew on them; tastes like Hell," the brunette continued before grabbing his radio and calling for an ambulance. "Captain Wesker, where are we?" Getting no response, the brunette tied off the knot as he wedged the radio under his arm. "Captain?" Cursing, he dropped his radio to the floor as he plucked the shades off of the blonde's face, eyes widening at the sight of his closed eyes. "Fuck!" Pulling the older man so he was lying down, the rookie pressed his fingers to the other man's neck as he applied pressure to the bleeding wound in an attempt to staunch it. Getting a pulse, he reached for the radio and gave a general location before turning his concentration back to his bleeding boss. "Don't die on me, Wesker!"
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