Everything's Alright
The sunlight filtered through the jet plane glass and she opened her eyes slowly. Sunset. The beautiful, lush green forest below her, the blue sky painted a scarlet red from the setting sun. She thought she'd never see such a beautiful sight again. But she was wrong.
She arched her back, stretching. How long has she been in the plane? How long has it been since they've escaped that ice trap? She looked up to see the spiked-up hair that was her brother's.
"How long have we been up in the air?" her voice sounded sleepy to her ears. Very sleepy. She had been through Hell and back again after all.
"Coupla hours, Claire," came her brother's deep voice.
Claire smiled to herself. It was a wonder that Chris' voice would ever bring her that much comfort. The voice that she thought she would never hear again when she was thrown into that nightmare that they had just left behind a 'coupla hours' ago.
"Had some good shut-eye?"
Claire shut her eyes once again. "Mmm. Yeah. But I'm gonna catch up on more sleep. It's been a bad couple of days."
Chris nodded, although he knew his sister couldn't see and let the silence between them stretch as he let her rest. The least he could do was give her the well-deserved sense of care and security she needed.
Claire found it hard to return to her dreamworld. Found it hard to return to safety. Something was nagging at her mind. Something... Something she'd forgotten. Someone... She was trying to hard to remember who but her mind seemed set on blocking out that memory.
Why?
The sadness...
Why?
You shouldn't remember.
Why?
He's dead.
WHY?
You don't want to remember.
WHY?
YOU DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER, CLAIRE REDFIELD.
YES I DO.
NO YOU DON'T.
Claire squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The pain was numbing. Her head was spinning. Spinning and spinning in a whir of broken thoughts. Broken memories. Broken pieces like in a jigsaw puzzle. Broken bits. Shattered and mangled. Bloodied, shattered and mangled.
Umbrella. Infiltration. A building. Helicopter. Island. Locked up. Caged. Attacks. Zombies. Monsters. Man in black. Blonde people. More monsters. Cold. Bleak. Dragonfly. Knight in shining armour. Mutation. A kid. That boy. That boy. That boy. That boy... That... boy...
"He's dead."
Her mind whispered, bringing all her thoughts to a sorrowful standstill. Her world came crashing down.
"He's dead," she whispered.
Chris Redfield looked over his shoulder, taking his mind off flying the jet plane for a few seconds.
"Claire?" his cautious voice laced with worry.
"Why?" Claire whispered, staring down at her hands clasped before her. The only one who had endured everything with her on that damned island. That damned Umbrella base in the middle of Antarctica. HE'S DEAD.
"Why... Why... Why...?" She asked herself over and over again, shaking her head, refusing to believe the facts.
Chris stared awkwardly out towards the sky. He could only offer her the comfort of words. Damnit, he couldn't even go over to her and hug her; pull her into a warm embrace. No, he had to fly the plane. And so, he spoke to Claire softly.
"He's not dead," he assured his troubled sister, "Steve's not dead."
The lady in purple. The mutation. The axe. The green thing. What was it? Some tenticle. It hit him. He hit the wall. His cold body. Pale and limp.
"He's dead," Claire's words were cold and empty, "I saw him die."
"No," Chris said, straining to keep the wavering out of his voice. He was starting to get emotional just seeing his younger sister so distraught, "D-don't you remember what Wesker said? He's got his body. He might come alive again."
Claire's eyes hardened at the mention of Albert Wesker's name. That's right. He took Steve's body. The bastard!
"He won't come back," she said, shaking her head softly, "He won't."
"Yes he will," Chris said, voice full of determination, "And if not, I'll make sure he does."
Claire smiled ruefully at Chris' comment, "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up and everything but no, he will never be back. And even if he does, he'll never be the same... Never..." and at her last word, she broke down crying.
Chris Redfield silently cursed everything that made this happen. Curse Umbrella. Curse the Ashford twins. Curse Albert Wesker most of all. No matter what, he was going to make everything right again. As long as his little sister was going to be alright.
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A/N: That was such a sweet one-shot if I say so myself.