Having just arrived yesterday, Wesker had nothing of entertainment value in his room. His pack had carried two outfits and that was it, so Chris couldn't help but wonder what the miniature terror was doing in there all day. He may have jumped on the privacy thing too soon; it should have been something for Wesker to earn rather than be gifted immediately, allowing him to plot whatever Weskerly scheme he was coming up with without scrutiny.

Perhaps Chris had been hoping that by extending a bit of trust Wesker would be more amenable to him, but the thought made him chuckle. It was Wesker. It was too late now, though. To take away that bit of privacy without cause would make things worse.

So what was the next move? Well, he'd just been given a proper cause, hadn't he?

But first he'd promised to show Wesker where to find the ironing. That was one thing about the past Chris did not enjoy: the professional clothing standards were higher and he quickly learned he couldn't get by at the station in jeans and a t-shirt anymore. So Chris' closet contained a few business shirts that were usually dealt with by way of hanging them up in the bathroom while he showered but the pants were another issue. Fortunately, while unaccustomed to wearing a nice shirt and slacks to work, Chris was not unfamiliar with them overall and didn't have to embarrass himself by having to learn without access to internet videos. Tying a tie on the other hand was another matter entirely.

Chris knocked on Wesker's door and received a curt answer.

"I'm gonna show you where the ironing is."

Wesker opened the door, still wearing his little getup.

"But first, about those knives you snuck off with."

"What?" Wesker didn't feign shock or innocence, his face as blank as ever.

"That was cute, taking the butter knife so I wouldn't notice you somehow pilfered a steak knife. That's not gonna fly here, got it?" Chris held out his hand.

"I don't have them," he said, still emotionless.

"Hand them over or I'm revoking the privacy rule and this door stays open all the time since I can't trust you."

Wesker didn't move. "I have nothing. You took everything."

Chris sighed and pushed the bedroom door open all the way. The room was still immaculate though the furniture had been moved. The bed was now under the window even though the headboard blocked part of the closet. He'd better check the window later. "When you give the knives back you can shut the door again. Until then, this stays open."

Wesker's eyes sharpened and Chris almost expected them to start glowing, but all he said was, "The ironing."

"Got a one track mind, don't you? This way," and Chris led him into the utility room.

Between the washer, dryer, sink, and water heater the room didn't have much space and Chris had bolted some hooks into the wall above the washer to hold the ironing board, the iron itself hung on a third hook. He pulled the board down.

"If you need help getting this down don't be afraid to ask. I don't want you ironing in your room but you can in the kitchen or even the living room if you want to watch TV. Just keep watch on the iron, it's hot, okay?" The kid would probably need a stepstool.

"I know how to iron," Wesker snapped and took the too-large ironing board.

"All right," Chris said as Wesker stomped out through the kitchen, "Hey, can you get some of my things too while you're at it?"

The glaring silence was answer enough, but he figured as much.

Midmorning television wasn't worth watching but Chris needed an excuse to keep an eye on Wesker while he went through his few clothes. He believed the kid knew how to do it and do it well but Wesker left alone wielding a scalding hot iron didn't sit well with him. He had nothing else to do anyway; Chris took most of his vacation time to ensure the kid got settled and the two of them would have time work out some kind of schedule so Chris could return to work with minimal worry.

School, therapy, clothing, proper meals, homework, ensuring Wesker developed proper contact with people… Fuck.

While the idea had crossed his mind now and again, Chris had given up on the idea of having children. His job at the BSAA was too dangerous and too time consuming and after losing his own parents Chris had vowed that if he ever did have kids he'd make sure to be around for them. And that was discounting the danger he himself could pose to his children if he ever got infected with something, all it would take would be a delayed-reaction virus. Maybe when he was older, if he ever retired from field work… but even that made him hesitate as he wouldn't be young enough to run and play with his own children by the time they were old enough to want to.

The nail in the coffin of course was that the only person he could possibly imagine raising children with was Jill, and she hadn't made mention of wanting kids either. It never came up between them. But why would it, they weren't together, so that was a moot point. They seemed to be running on a "what will happen will happen and until then let's just do us" mentality. They were partners, closest of friends, and complicating that with anything extra when neither seemed up to it was pointless. But then Jill had supposedly died, then he got her back, and she…

Unless he could find a way home to his time none of that mattered anymore.

Chris jumped as Wesker snapped out his slacks. Damn, he couldn't be losing focus like that when the little shit had a potential weapon in his hand. He glanced back at the kid, watching him iron with all the practiced ease of an adult bachelor and not a ten-year-old who should be outside playing baseball in the street with the other kids.

Well, Redfield, you rushed in like you always do and now you have a kid. And not just any kid, but fucking bio-terrorist extraordinaire Albert Wesker.

The slamming of a car door out front caught both their attention and Chris stood and looked out the window.

"Oh no," he sighed.

Wesker turned off the iron and set it upright, unable to help but show a bit of curiosity.

Chris opened the front door to reveal his two smiling teammates and Orellana looking as thrilled as he ever did, bearing what he could only assume were gifts.

"Hi, guys."

"Hey, Chris!" Lake said, "We were just in the neighborhood…"

"No you weren't."

"…And we thought we'd stop by and see how you were doing and meet the little bugger proper."

"Rita made you a casserole," Gary added, holding out his offering.

Cursing his weakness for free food, Chris stepped aside and let them in.

"Hey there, Albert!" Lake said, then seeing his outfit, "You got a job interview later?"

"Wesker, you remember my team," he began but gave up on introductions when Wesker grabbed his clothes and left to his room. "Keep your door open!" he called.

"What's that about?" Gary asked, handing over the casserole.

"He stole a couple of knives so he's being punished until he gives them back." Chris gestured to the couch for his guests and went to put the casserole away in the fridge. Shutting the door revealed Orellana standing in the entryway.

"You locked up your guns, right?"

"Yeah, I installed a safe in my bedroom."

He nodded and returned to the front room. Chris grabbed a couple of beers and a chair from the dinner table and followed.

"Wesker! Come on out, don't be rude!" Chris called but was ignored.

"Let him hide for a bit," Gary said as Chris handed out the beer then sat in the extra chair. The couch wasn't large and Lake was crammed between the other two men as it was. "He'll come out when he's ready. It's been a rough couple of days for him, I'm sure."

"For both of us," Chris muttered.

"You wanted him," Orellana said, voice flat.

"I did…do. I don't regret taking him in it's just going to be a rough couple of days. Or weeks…"

"If you need extra time let me know, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Captain."

"I'm off duty."

"Right." If there was one major difference between Orellana and Wesker it was that at the end of the day Mateo was happy to put the job aside for a while, including his rank. Wesker was always Wesker and had made it clear from day one that he was not their friend but their captain and there was a line that would never be crossed in that regard.

Lake took a swig and then tugged at his shirt collar. "Kind of stuffy in here, think you can open a window?"

"Can't, I bolted them from the outside for now in case Wesker tries to run."

"What the fuck, Chris."

"He wants to go back to those people, so until I get it into his head that he was ditched I'm taking a couple precautions. Once he stops trying to run away or kill me in my sleep I'll take them off."

"That could take a while," Mateo said, "The files on the kids said they were taken as infants and they've been raised in that mansion ever since. They've effectively been brainwashed. That kind of thing doesn't just go away."

"He really tried to kill you?" Gary asked, a slight level of amusement in his tone.

Chris rubbed at his temple. "It won't be the first time, I'm sure."

Gary set down his beer and leaned toward Chris, his voice lower as though aware Wesker was most likely listening in on them. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you either, but think about this from the kid's point of view. As far as he knows, we're the bad guys here. A bunch of strangers busted into his home and took him away, poked and prodded him, and then locked up. Now he's separated from the other kids, in the home of one of the men who basically ripped the world out from under him with no way out. The kid's probably terrified. What would you do?"

"The same thing he is," Chris sighed, slumping in his chair. It was one of those things that was obvious and yet never made it to the front of Chris' thoughts. Because Wesker never did frightened. If the man had ever experienced that emotion he either lashed out or ran away to lash out later.

"Just saying, be patient. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do either, I bet. Try talking to him, find out what his life was like and what kind of schedule he had."

"That's a good idea, but he doesn't really talk. Just hides in his room all day so far."

"Does he have a reason not to?"

Chris shrugged. "He was ironing when you guys showed up."

"Oh, I see your plan now," Lake chuckled, "Got yourself some free labor."

"He wasn't doing mine."

Gary glanced over his shoulder then shifted around in his seat, smiling at the hallway entrance. "Hey there, kid. Want to come say hi?"

Wesker was standing in the entryway, not hiding but neither trying to make himself known. He nearly shrunk back when Gary acknowledged him.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Chris said, trying for Gary's approach, "but these guys came to meet you. I work with them so you'll see them around later if you're not up for it today."

Wesker hesitated and Chris was certain he was going to go back to his room when he seemed to steel himself and came forward a few steps.

"To meet me?" he echoed softly, "Why?"

"Like I said, we work together. We're teammates. Sometimes we're practically in each others' pockets whether we like it or not. I know Gary's family; sometimes we go over there for barbecue. Mateo there's got a son, and Lake's looking after his grandmother."

Lake waved at Wesker at his mention. Chris continued:

"So since you're living here with me they want to get to know you. Our first meeting wasn't exactly the best, after all."

"So I should make nice with my kidnappers now?"

"They kidnapped you first," Mateo said, "We were trying to send you back where you came from, but we don't know where that is."

"My destiny is of more import than my origins," Wesker snapped, but it sounded recited. His annoyance was bolstering him and he continued to come forward step by suspicious step.

"And what destiny is that?"

Wesker stopped by the couch and deflated, his anger draining out and being replaced by tired control. "Nothing you'd understand," he muttered.

Chris decided to end this line of conversation for now; this was something for Wesker's therapist to handle. "Wesker, this is Gary Doherty, Lake Wright, and our illustrious captain, Mateo Orellana."

Wesker froze. His eyes widened and then narrowed and his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, and then he shook off his distress and smiled a pleasant, slight and yet all-too fake smile and said, smooth as butter, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Chris frowned and sat forward in his chair. That was exact goddamned inflection Wesker had used as an adult, every time he met someone. The same slight smile, same warm but noncommittal greeting, less polished but unmistakable. Scripted.

Not unaware something was wrong, Mateo picked up a box from the coffee table and held it out to Wesker. It was three paperback books in a slipcover. "Here, my son enjoyed these and I thought you'd need something to read until things settled down for you."

Wesker took the box set and turned it in his hands and Chris caught a glimpse of the title. The Lord of the Rings. Of course. Pulling out the first volume Wesker started reading the back, brow furrowed, when Chris cleared his throat and he glanced up.

"What do you say, Wesker?"

Eyes narrowed, Wesker regarded Chris as an indoor cat would a raccoon, wary but confused. "It's a book, Chris."

Gary stepped in, "When someone gives you a gift, Wesker, you say 'thank you'."

"Why?"

"You're showing appreciation for the fact someone thought about you enough to get you something."

Wesker processed this apparently new information then, with a shrug, said, "Thank you, Mr. Orellana," without any sincerity.

"Good enough," Gary sighed. Mateo didn't look offended and so Chris let it go for the time being.

Lake shoved Gary almost off the couch and patted the seat. "Come on, kid. Sit down and tell us about yourself."

"I'm fine," Wesker said, almost taking a step back.

Gary shoved Lake back and repositioned himself. "You don't have to sit if you don't want to, Wesker, but we'd like to know about you. Tell us about yourself."

Wesker eyed each of them in turn, his grip on the books tightening. "I am number thirteen in acquisition and twelfth in rank." At this last bit his eyes slid to the floor. "That should tell you all you need to know."

"It doesn't," Chris said, "You understand that people don't live like you did? So how about you explain it to us?"

Wesker looked down at the books he was clutching. "When am I expected to return these?"

"You're not," Mateo said quietly, "They're yours to keep."

"Wesker?"

"May I be excused to my room, Mr. Redfield?"

Chris was caught off guard by the sudden shift in the boy's tone. "You okay?"

"I am fine. May I return to my room now?"

"Yeah, if you want. You don't have to ask."

Wesker gave a short nod to Chris' guests and then fled, for it could only be described as fleeing despite the calm, measured steps.

"Sorry," Gary said quietly to Chris, "Guess I spooked him."

"Don't be, that's more than I've gotten out of him so far."

"Well tread carefully, that's how my kids used to be when they were naughty and tried weaseling out of a spanking by playing polite."

"Except I don't know what he thinks he did."

"Did you get access to the files from Arklay on him? Those might shed some light," Lake suggested.

"No, they're keeping everything they got from the mansion sealed up. I could try, next time Child Services checks in."

"Does he know what to expect from you?" Mateo asked.

"I laid out the ground rules yesterday."

"No, I mean does he know what to expect from you. How you are going to react when he misbehaves or screws up, when he does well, or needs something?"

"Oh. I guess I didn't think of that." But he should have. He'd gotten short with Wesker after the kid broke the glass, but that wasn't really at the boy but frustration at the whole situation… but how could Wesker know that? For all he knew Chris was going to beat his ass for a minor slip-up. Maybe that's how it had been at the mansion; the kids had been pretty battered.

He really did need to sit down and have a talk with the kid.

After that the conversation drifted away from Wesker and into work things or Lake's crazy grandma who still wanted to go to the welding plant in the morning to do her part against the Krauts and the Japs. (She was otherwise a delightful old woman, just incapable of listening when her grandson told her she shouldn't call people that anymore. Chris also wished she'd stop pinching his ass whenever he was in range.) At some point, Chris saw Wesker come and sit down in the hallway against the wall, watching them, but didn't call attention to him.

Eventually his teammates declined another beer and took their leave, calling out goodbyes to Wesker who'd again vanished into the safety of his room.

"Feel free to give me a call if you need anything," Gary offered as he stepped out the door, "With three kids I think I can say I got some experience."

Chris thanked him, gave a final wave, then shut the door with a sigh. He hadn't been expecting or wanting guests but he supposed it was a good thing his team showed up. If anything having their support and concern cheered him a little.

His team may not understand everything, but they had his back. He wasn't alone.

Wesker was sitting on his bed when Chris went to check on him, his legs just long enough his feet scuffed the carpet as he kicked them slowly. His new books were sitting on the dresser, pulled out of the slipcase but still stacked neatly. It was the middle of the day and yet the blinds on Wesker's window were drawn shut, making the small room stuffy and dark.

Chris leaned on the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

Wesker glared at him, or tried to. It lacked its usual intensity. "The door's open."

"It's still your space. I don't come in unless you let me or I think I have to. And if you give me back the knives you can close the door again."

Wesker looked to the floor, considering, then with a sigh got to his feet and opened the top drawer of the dresser, removing the butter knife and handing it to Chris.

"Okay, good. Now the other one."

"I don't have it. Honestly."

"I know you're lying. I'm gonna give you until tomorrow as a grace period, then I'm gonna have to come in and get it myself, understand? Now please give it to me."

Wesker shook his head and sat back down on the bed. "Come in if you want, I don't care."

The room was small enough Chris could converse comfortably from where he was but he accepted the invitation, such as it was, while he had it and came into the room, leaning against the wall opposite the window.

Wesker stopped kicking his feet and instead was rocking himself slowly.

"I'm not your jailer," Chris started, for lack of anything else, his mind suddenly blank, "I'm here to look after you. I know this hasn't been easy for you, but once we get past this rocky start… I want to trust you, and then I can allow you more freedom. This should be your home, Wesker, not just where you have to live."

"A home is where you live," Wesker said, his tone dripping with such derision Chris could almost see it dribble down his chin.

"Technically, yeah, but there's more to it than that."

"Enlighten me."

"It's… It's where your family is, or where you can be yourself or…" How could he describe something he himself hadn't felt in ages? When was the last time he had a place he thought of as 'home'? He couldn't remember. "It's somewhere you want to go back to."

"I want to go back to the mansion."

"Well you can't," Chris couldn't help the edge in his voice, "Hell, do you really want to? Really? Go back to being shut up in a mansion with those charming 'siblings' of yours?"

They didn't glow, but Wesker's eyes somehow lit in the dim light of the room. It made Chris shiver. "You don't get it, do you? We were not prisoners. We could have left if we really wanted to! We were taught survival, I've lived in the woods for days at a time by myself! We received the best education and training, we were chosen. In another year or so they were going to allow us excursions into the city, to see the world, and soon after that we were going to leave Arklay for good and make our own way. Father wants us to seek our destiny, whatever that may be, and prove the better and guide this world. Then you and your simpleton allies came and ruined everything and I am tired of playing along with your delusion of… I don't even know what you're doing."

"My delusion?" Did this kid even hear himself?

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go, but Wesker had said more in the last minute than he had in two days and it was not encouraging.

It had been years since Chris smoked and yet he really needed a cigarette all the sudden. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. Regardless how Wesker talked Chris was the adult here and couldn't be losing control. Wesker or not, this was a child and he was not going to get riled up by a bitchy, goading kid with delusions of grandeur.

"Okay, let's start over. I am not the bad guy despite what you think; I need to know what's going on in your head so I can give you what you need. I just want you to talk to me, for whatever reason, alright?"

"You are nothing and your concern is empty. This is only temporary," Wesker said in that mechanical way when he was just reciting something, the earlier ire drained out of him leaving him listing to the side slightly.

Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. What else was he expecting?

Be patient. Nearly a decade under Umbrella and their sickening ideals wasn't going to go away in a couple of days because Chris offered a better life. For one, Wesker couldn't see that it was better. The gloominess of the room irked him and Chris grumbled and reached for the blinds to open them.

Wesker did not flinch. That would mean he moved and Wesker was still, but as Chris reached out he shut his eyes. Not tightly in expectation, but resigned. He thought a blow was coming and was ready to take it.

The claws of the Tyrant ripped through the midsection and hoisted the body up, blood splattering everywhere, and then cast it aside.

Chris reared back, falling against the wall behind him. "Kid, I… I wouldn't…"

Wesker blinked at him in confusion with burning, red eyes.

"Shit!" Chris fled the room, stumbled into the bathroom, and threw up.

He had to force himself up to go make a lunch Wesker didn't want and Chris wouldn't eat. He threw a sandwich on a plate and handed it off to a pale-eyed Wesker who found the concept of eating in his room incomprehensible.

"I genuinely don't give a damn, Wesker, you can hoard an entire snack bar in here if you want."

After that Chris considered himself done for a while and lie down on the couch. The flashback was worrying but not unexpected, the hallucination however... Chris hadn't been mentally okay in a long time now and he knew it but he couldn't get help here. How would he explain it all?

Dinner was an uneventful affair. Chris reminded Wesker that they were going down to the school tomorrow and they would get him some new shoes while they were out but otherwise neither spoke. Wesker seemed preoccupied. The steak knife remained missing.

Chris had never been so grateful for a day to be over.

Something woke him up.

Chris lay in his bed, ears straining. It was almost two in the morning and Chris was groggy and yet still alert as his gut insisted that something was wrong. Despite the ensuing silence, Chris cautiously pulled back his blankets and sat up.

Then there it was: the slow, eerie cry of the creaky front door being opened by someone trying to be quiet.

Chris leapt out of bed and threw open his door, dashing into the front room and colliding with the side table in the darkness, cursing as the wood bit into his shins and he fell. The little shit had turned off the lamp Chris left on and dragged the table into the entryway. The pain turned into a boon as Chris' combat focus snapped on and he used his fall as momentum and rolled to his feet, heading straight for the front door.

Wesker saw him coming and bolted out into the night.

"No you don't!"

Chris barreled after him, the faster of the two but still worried Wesker could slip out of sight into the darkness. Fortunately Wesker made an instinctive run for the trees only to hesitate and redirect himself when he saw the outline of the fence, allowing Chris to gain on him quickly. The boy was wearing his backpack and Chris grabbed at it but didn't slow, reaching for Wesker's arm before he could slip out of the straps. Wesker spun, arm flicking across Chris' view before a sharp pain seared up his arm as a blade sliced through his flesh, deep and long. Chris cursed and let go.

Found the steak knife.

Wesker jumped back, knife held out expertly, but decided against trying to fight a grown man with it. He ran, changing direction and relying on Chris' injury to distract him long enough, but Chris was able to mentally discard it.

Chris was back on him in a second. He dove, wrapped his arms around Wesker, pinning one of his arms, before spinning himself around so his back hit the ground. He then rolled and pinned Wesker beneath him when the boy's heel nearly landed home in his crotch.

"Let go of me!"

"Stop fighting me and calm down."

"Let me go!"

Chris grabbed his arm and pinned it, "Drop the knife."

"No. Break my fingers if you want it."

Chris hated that he was tempted. Instead he wrestled Wesker's arms behind him and pinned them just below his backpack, swung his knee over the kid's legs to keep him from kicking, and then used his free hand to hold Wesker's head and shoulders down when he kept bucking. The boy was small enough that once down he was easy to hold.

"That's enough. You're not getting away so stop struggling."

"Fuck you."

"Damnit, Wesker! Get it through your head already, they ditched you. Your stupid Umbrella masters knew we were coming for days and still left you behind!"

"I'm going to find them, and then I'll be praised for my initiative. I'll prove the better." He was still angry, but the savage vitriol in Wesker's voice was quieting and his struggles calming. Chris didn't ease up his hold.

"They left you there on purpose. They wanted us to find you, don't you get it?"

"No, that's not…"

"You said so yourself, they were going to start letting you out soon. I'm guessing they decided to push things ahead. You wanted to go out into the world, well, here you are!"

Wesker stilled. "Everything is wrong," he said softly.

"No," Chris sighed, "everything is normal, but you can't know that. Everything you learned is wrong."

Wesker snarled and started struggling again. "We are trained and highly educated and..."

"It's shadow puppets, Wesker!"

The boy went quiet again. "What?"

Chris wasn't sure; he kind of just blurted it out. The memory was hazy, some unimportant thing from long ago. "Shadows…on the wall. Something about a cave. You've only ever known that mansion and what they've told you. That's your cave and everything you know is just shadow puppets on a wall."

"You're talking about Plato's Allegory of the Cave?"

"Yeah, that's it! Everything seems so wrong lately because you're used to shadow puppets."

"They were just shadows, Chris."

"What I'm saying is that you've been let out of your cave and the world is strange to you. You're educated as all hell, sure, probably more than I'll ever be, but you don't have the experience. That's why I'm here. I want to help you."

Wesker was quiet, considering.

"It's just eight years. Eight years being looked after and going to school and then you turn eighteen and can do whatever you want. If you still want to track down those people I won't be able to stop you."

Yes he would. He would have to, but Wesker didn't need to know that.

"So, what? I live with you, play nice, and you show me how to get by in the world?"

"Something like that," Chris sighed.

"The ground is cold."

"Are you going to keep trying to run away or kill me in my sleep?"

Wesker remained quiet a long time. "I will… stay with you until a better option presents itself."

"Good enough." Chris stood and dragged Wesker to his feet. He still didn't let go of his arm as he steered him back towards the house. Thank god the neighbors either didn't hear any of the scuffle or chose to ignore it.

"I'm honestly surprised you know about the Allegory of the Cave."

You're the one who told me about it, Chris thought. Nobody had liked driving with Captain Wesker anywhere as he would, without fail, find the most boring station on the radio and then talk about absolutely nothing for hours if they let him. He must have had so much shit in his head he had to get it out somehow, and Chris pulled the short straw once and listened to Wesker babble on about allegories and philosophy and somehow some of it stuck.

"I know I don't look it but I'm not a complete idiot."

"You know that's not what the allegory means, right?"

"No, and honestly, Wesker, I don't care."

He pushed the boy back inside, sliding off his backpack. It was heavy. He pulled it open and found some food from the pantry and tools from the utility room. When the hell had he pilfered those? Whatever. He dropped the bag on the floor to be dealt with in the morning and retrieved the fallen lamp, standing it up and turning it back on. Wesker blinked owlishly in the light.

"I turned this on for a reason," Chris said.

"I know, but I can see in the dark. You can't."

You can't either you little liar, though when Chris thought about it he remembered that Wesker had been traipsing around in woods at night with sunglasses on and could still shoot straight. Had the T-virus of all things made his vision worse?

A creeping pain that turned sharp made him realize there was blood still running down his arm. He wiped at it in a futile attempt to spare the carpet.

"I think it's time you gave me that knife back."

"I might need it."

"Well not that one I use it for food. And consider it a gesture of good will on your part, agreeing not to run again."

Wesker hesitated, then handed over the bloody knife.

"Good. Now go to bed," Chris said, then went to the kitchen. He tossed the knife into the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, pressing them to the wound before he dared cross the front room to get to the first aid kit in the bathroom.

Wesker was still standing there, watching him.

"I said go to bed, you've got testing tomorrow."

Despite everything, he was sure Wesker was going to keep his word and not make a run for it while Chris cleaned himself up, at least for tonight. Wesker would try another plan later. It's what he did. Chris was't foolish enough to believe he'd comletely swayed the kid. Yet after disenfecting and bandaging his wound (he might need stitches, damnit) he was surprised to find Wesker still standing in the front room, as though waiting.

"Wesker, I am very tired and I bet you are too. Go to bed."

The boy got that distressed look again, like he didn't know what he was supposed to do. "But I... I failed, and harmed you, and..."

"Look, we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Why tomorrow?" he hissed, as though being strangled. His proper mien began to crumble even more and he started to twist his fingers together.

Chris took a deep breath. He thought he was doing very well keeping calm and reasonable in light of being stabbed and everything, but his patience was nearly done.

"Wesker, get into bed. Now."

There was the usual hesitation but then Wesker obeyed and vanished into the hall. Chris stood and listened to him move around his room as he changed, waited for his light to go out, and then the rustle of bedclothes as he got into bed before he double-checked the front door, righted the now broken side table, and went back to his own room, shoving the chair under the door again. Just in case.

Chris didn't sleep for a long time, and for the rest of the night Wesker was quiet, not even making a bathroom run.