Title: Fleeting Memories in Runaway
Fandom: Resident Evil
Rating: K+
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Chris Redfield & Claire Redfield
Summary: Wesker decided to end things with the Redfieds by putting them on test-run for the new and improved T-Virus. Unfortunately, they escaped.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Warnings: Grammatical mistakes and some other mistakes. This one sort of came to me on a whim, like the other one, and it makes me wonder if I won't be able to get Resident Evil out of my mind for, say, my entire life. That'd be creepy.
The cold chilling air sent shiver down her spines, making the hair on the back of her neck stood and her throat gone dry every time she opened her mouth to breathe, but she kept running forward as fast as possible with only her brother's back as her guide.
They were currently running away from the Umbrella Corp. facility, not-so-surprisingly once again, and were trapped in the middle of nowhere. What they knew for sure was that they've at least managed to get to the surface, because they're surrounded by countless of withered trees, cracked solid ground, cold air, and caws of the crows that were possibly infected as well.
Shielding her face with her arms, Claire tried to focus on Chris' back through half-lidded eyes instead of the wounds on her face, her hands, her feet, and might be all over her body as well. She could literally feel the eyes of the crows on her as they smelled the thick salty scent of her fresh drops of blood, falling on to the ground slowly but surely and disappeared.
If they stayed any longer in the middle of the forest like this, she could guarantee that they'd be dead by the time the sun rose.
Claire pushed some small branches that covered her line of sight away with more force than necessary, cursing inwardly at the feeling of her warm blood trickled down from her palms and at Chris for being such a jerk. He could at least brought them to a place that was less crowded than this one before they escaped, but no, he had to take the forest route; the route in which automatically turning them into easy targets to pry upon by those living corps or infected crows or whatever.
Well, the escape itself wasn't exactly well-planned either, so it's not like she could put the entire blame on him.
Approximately four (or was it five?) hours ago, Wesker decided to end things with the Redfieds by putting them on test-run for the new and improved T-Virus—which, by the way, had two percents chance of succeeding—and if they failed (which they probably would), they'd be killed in an instant. So, before any of that could happen, before they entered the room where the experiment took place, and right before Wesker's nose, they killed the guards and the scientists, ran away, and escaped. The look on the abomination's face was priceless.
"There's a house up ahead! If we stop there, they might find us. Jump into the river, Claire!" Chris shouted loudly to her, there's no hint of panic or scared in his voice, and she wondered if he actually enjoyed this or simply didn't want to freak her out.
She saw him jumped over a big trunk up ahead, pushing himself off the ground and walked hurriedly toward the river. He turned his head toward her the moment she stomped her foot on the trunk and ran to him, looking back once or twice ever so slightly in case she was being tailed, or they had already found her but decided to corner her first just to make things more interesting than they already were.
Chris wrapped his arm around her waist, putting his finger on her lips and bent down on the ground with her, his blue eyes gleamed in the dark as he searched for any sign on them carefully.
She knew that he did the shouting on purpose to distract them, because even though there were no flashlights or torches or anything the like, they did bring some things such as heat-detector goggles and those infected dogs with them. The advantage of having those dogs in their side was their violent and aggressive movements could be easily heard in this kind of silent area. The disadvantages were, well, almost everything with the exception of the mentioned ones.
They were both pretty-well trained—well, she had to admit that her brother had more experience than she was, considering his line of work in the military and hers in the college (not as a teacher, mind you, but a student)—so these kind of things weren't so hard to do. Moreover, she trusted Chris with her life, and the fact that Wesker hadn't done anything to them in their time as prisoners left her feeling grateful for his arrogance. Nothing could go wrong.
The harsh ears-piercing barks of the dogs startled her out of her thoughts. Her brother's arms wrapped closer and tighter around her waist, the muscles in his jaw tensed and his heart were beating quickly against his chest. It's amazing that she could hear it, but it made her feel nervous, and out of sheer panic, Claire bailed her fists and started counting.
From the looks of it, they were not far from their hiding place, yet not close enough for the dogs to smell them. They were good swimmers, and as far as she could tell, holding their breath for half-an-hour wasn't that bad of an idea. Sooner or later, those dogs would catch up with their smell, and killed them both on-spot.
"We have to get in the water, Chris, now." She whispered against his ear quietly, her voice low and urgent, her eyes explored her surrounding wildly. Chris inhaled sharply.
For a brief moment, her warm breath that tickled against the crook of his neck disturbed him. The pit of his stomach knotted, and his heart skipped a beat or two (the atmosphere was becoming tenser than before, so he figured that that was the reason). Chris shook the feelings off his chest and shifted, slightly uncomfortable, but he didn't say a thing.
"Wait for it," his voice was slightly strained as he moved backward with the help of his toes and knees. Claire did the same as he did, soundlessly and carefully, and stopped a few inches from the river.
… 26, 27, 28…
She counted silently in her head; her body immediately froze when the sounds of the dogs' heavy steps were heard closer than before. She felt Chris' body froze along with hers, only a few seconds faster, and his breath was caught somewhere along his throat, and so did hers.
… 38, 39…
And without warning, they sank their bodies, legs first, into the river.
The water was extremely fricking cold for god's sake. She should've known, or maybe she already knew, but refused to believe it. After all, it's almost midnight—or maybe it already passed midnight, Claire wasn't sure—and it's just stupid if it wasn't cold.
Her breath hitched, a short sharp cry escaped from her lips.
They froze.
Crack, crack, crack.
Three loud barks pierced through her ears. Each and every single muscle in her body tensed, her skin stretched, and she couldn't feel her legs.
'Oh shit, shit, shit!' was her last thought before Chris' strong hands wrapped around her waist once again, and pulled her down into the water.
Claire gasped and trashed around the water violently, water filled her lungs, her throat, her eyes, and it hurt. She heard the dogs barking loudly (sounded so close, so frightening) and tried to still herself, but all the air she's got in her lungs had already been taken away from her, and it's just a matter of time until she's dead.
At least Chris would be safe that way. Not safe, maybe, but at least he'd live.
She closed her mouth, tightly as to not letting a single bubble out and got them killed or worse, arrested. She had lost all hopes in her life—it's pretty fucked up anyway, and the people she hung around with before that Arcadia thing were a bit fucked up themselves—but at least she enjoyed it. She didn't have any regrets, except that she wouldn't be seeing her brother's face anymore.
'I love you, Chris…' she thought sadly, her hands and body untangled itself from him, and before she could sink deeper and just die already; his hands shot down to pull her back to him roughly.
Then, he kissed her.
Well, not really kissed, because he was giving her air to breath, at least for another twenty minutes, she hoped, through his mouth, and that's called a 'CPR' instead of 'kissing'.
Claire blinked. The water got to her eyes once again, and she decided to stop blinking, no matter how dumbfounded she was, at the moment. Chris let go of her mouth after five minutes (and yes, she was counting even in her most desperate times) and looked up.
No more dogs or footsteps, as far as they could hear in their underwater-condition. The siblings waited for as long as their breath could last, until Claire finally gave up and resurfaced. Damned her life if she's going to get caught, she didn't care. Her mind had shut down momentarily—certainly not because of the CPR thing, she assured you—scrambled and mixed up with her memory loss, and she found herself staring at a TV where the latest movie of Ocean Series being played.
She saw Chris, sitting on a long couch, one of his arms draped over someone's shoulder, and this someone was leaning her head against his shoulder. She's obviously a woman, she thought, because her hair looked so beautiful and so red, and it took her three or two minutes until she realized that it was her.
"… re! Claire!" a wet cold hand slapped across her cheek, snapping her away from her somewhat-dream into reality. Claire felt her cheeks stinging, but she didn't say anything as she looked straight at Chris' worried eyes. She blinked. He looked more horrible than she was, and the urge to laugh came into her head. He looked frightened and worried, so she didn't.
Roughly, Chris pulled her into a bones-crashing embrace that literally took her breath away, not in a good sense of words though.
He didn't say anything as he pulled back and looked back at the distance.
"They're leaving the forest. The house is not too far back." He shifted his attention fully to her and frowned in complete and utter displeasure. The expression annoyed her somehow, and she would really like to hit his face if not for their current situation. "Let's get out of here and get you cleaned up."
She wanted to snap at him and told him that he's just as worse, but the look on his face changed her mind, and carefully, the siblings left the river and started running again.
They arrived at the abandoned house after eighteen minutes of running. Chris immediately took his shirt off and threw it somewhere across the room. He didn't hesitate to open the wardrobe and started rummaging through piles of old clothes that might not be proper to wear again. Her eyes followed him for a second before blindly search for light or fire of some sort to warm her body up.
Unfortunately (and kind of to be expected), she found none.
As if reading her mind, Chris wrapped a ragged blanket over her shoulder and ruffled her hair with a wet, shockingly clean towel. He started ruffling her hair a bit too roughly, but she didn't protest, and it was kind of nice when he slowed down and rubbed the towel up and down in a relaxing motion. She felt light-headed and comfortable; the urge to sleep was slipping into her head little by little, so Claire decided to talk to prevent it instead.
"I saw you." Her voice was shaking and low, but she knew he heard it. Chris stopped drying her hair for a moment before removing the towel and combed her hair with his fingers softly.
"Is that so?" he asked and shoved locks of her red hair back. Claire closed her eyes when he moved to her back, combing her hair with his fingers once again, a scissor ready at his hands. She knew what he was intending to do, and even though she wouldn't like it, if it's necessary, then he had to do it, for the sake of their survival.
"We were watching Ocean's Eleven. You ate all of our popcorn. And—"she stopped abruptly when the scissor snipped her hair. Three times, she counted, and moved her hands slightly to the place where he had just cut her hair off.
It wasn't too short; a few inches above her shoulders, below her ears. The cut was sloppy and messy though, but she paid it no mind. Maybe if they dyed her hair with something, like the blood of an animal if it's possible, then the Umbrella wouldn't recognize her. Or maybe she should shave her head of…
"You took the bowls and smashed it to my face." Chris murmured against the back of her head and pulled her into a hug. She heard his voice softened, his breath became calmer and more even, and his muscles to relax. For some reason, she knew he was going to apologize for what she wasn't sure, but it never came.
Chris drew away from her, making her a bit startled and disappointed at the loss of warmth she longed desperately at this kind of situation. Her clothes were still wet, making her felt cold from skin to the bone. She doubted that they'd find any proper clothes though, so she didn't complain. Chris' clothes were just as wet and cold as hers were.
"When we get into a safer place," her head snapped up to meet her brother's gaze as he spoke. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. She saw sadness and hope, could feel it even if he didn't show it. When he finally opened his eyes, a smile formed on his lips. "I will tell you everything about me. About us."
The way he said it made her feel warm and safe, somehow.
Once again, the Redfields fled away that night, with a pair of daggers and ragged blood-stained clothes.
It wasn't all that bad though, Claire thought, and laughed.
IT WASN'T ALL THAT BAD, BUT THIS IS THE WORST. GAH. REVIEW, PLEAAASSEEE?