The Redfields reflect on the supposed curse that they both believe to carry.
Ok so I couldn't think of a better name. One shot. One of the fics that I've been poking at for a few months. Been wanting to do something like this for a while.
Reports, reports again.
Claire's fingers idly tapped away at the keyboard under her palms, occasionally halting to flex.
"Shit…"
A sharp jolt through the knuckles down to her wrist made her lean back and gently rotate her limb, but no amount of gentle therapy was destroying that horrid, throbbing ache that simply wouldn't leave her be.
"Chris! Chris! Come on, please! Come oooon… fuck! Come on! Get out! Wake up! Get out!"
She shivered…maybe a quick sip of coffee would help…yeah…maybe…
She leant back and slowly sipped her creamy coffee as the dull ache subsided in her hand and wrist, but was just as swiftly replaced by an equally dull aching annoyance in her leg.
"You ok? Claire?"
Claire used her not so dull aching leg to rotate her chair slightly, to the concerned face of Moira Burton. She twitched eyebrows and sipped a little more coffee.
"Yeah Moira, just…usual aches and pains."
Moira held that concerned face.
"Maybe you should speak to the doctors again, maybe you need different pain meds, you know?"
"The meds I have are fine," Claire grimaced as she readjusted her posture, "I've just gotta keep doing therapy."
Moira bit her lip and looked back at her own screen in silence, and Claire took the opportunity to slowly stand and stretch out the pain.
"Chris! You need to wake up! You need to get out! I can't move you! You need to move yourself!
"...Mrgh…"
"Chris! CHRIS! Come on! Give me your hand!"
Claire sat back down again with a grimace as more sharp stabs flooded her body, and she briefly closed her eyes to absorb the pain, until a beep on her phone drew a groan from her.
"Oh no…he's on the move, isn't he?" said Moira.
Claire opened her eyes and lifted her phone. There, a little notification was apparent; 'Chris Redfield is on the move'. Claire sighed.
"Yeah…let's see where he goes."
"I'm calling it, liquor store." mumbled Moira, and Claire twitched the corner of her mouth into a grimace.
"And then to the forest, no doubt," Claire added grimly.
She stood her phone up and watched the little blue blip update occasionally before seemingly coming to a halt.
"There it is…Hefton Avenue."
"God…Claire…"
Claire's heart slowly clamped up, like thick metal chains were being harshly twisted around it.
Hefton Liquor Store.
Claire sighed and waited for another notification that she was sure to receive.
"Your phone is gonna go off again in-"
Claire's phone pinged again, and Moira let out a pained sigh at her.
"He spent seventy bucks, Moira."
Claire's tone was flat. Deadpan. It hurt her immensely to see that money being spent at that store, even more so that said money was being spent by her brother on alcohol.
"Does he even know that you track him and have tracked his spending?"
"No. Nor does he need to know."
Claire lost herself in the constant updating of that blue dot, shifting up the road, turning onto another, onto another, and the faster, more frequent updates as it moved north on the city's route out of there.
"Yeah…he's going to the forest…" said Claire as the white either side of the map became green.
"Shit…Claire…"
"I'm going after him." Claire stood up and grabbed her motorcycle helmet.
"You sure?" asked Moira, and Claire glared at the younger woman; she didn't mean to pressure her under a threatening gaze, but Moira surely knew better than to question her.
"I don't want him to drink so much and then try to drive home again."
"But if he has started drinking by the time you find him, how will you both get back?"
"I'll think of something. I'll keep you updated, hold the fort, yeah?" Claire pulled her helmet on and fastened it under her chin. "Sorry for this again."
"Family comes first, Claire, I understand. Give Chrisosaurus a big hug from me."
"I will do, thanks Moira."
Claire left the office and made for the stairwell; it was six flights, but she still rather stretched the aches from her legs and back than awkwardly ride the elevator down.
"Chris! Oh my God…"
"Ji…where…"
"Chris, you need to move. Please bro. I can't move you…"
"Where is she?"
"Chris…"
"Chris…your arm…"
"Where the fuck is-"
Claire's heart pounded in her chest as she throttled the bike; speed limits be damned. She pulled over next to a soil embankment to refresh Chris' whereabouts.
"Damn…he is there again…"
Claire tucked her phone back into her jacket pocket, zipping it closed, and she kicked off again.
As she rode for fifteen more minutes she eventually could see her black SUV in the distance, pulled over into a muddy side road. She pulled alongside it and cut the engine, but Chris wasn't inside the car. She pulled her helmet off, ruffled her ponytail and scanned her surroundings before her eyes fell on blackened, ash peppered ground on the other side of the road.
She shivered.
"Oh God….oh God oh God… No Chris wait!
"Let me go! LET GO!"
"You can't, Chris!"
"LET FUCKING GO!"
"Chris you can't help her!"
"That's my fucking wife in there!"
"Chris…"
"Let fucking go, Claire!"
Claire drew her arms against her chest at the memory… four month's time lapse had never appeared so fresh, so raw…
She heard deep gulps and low guttural sobs coming from the other side of the SUV, and she sighed heavily. She rounded the hood, slipping her helmet onto her arm, and there, sitting on a bed of loamy soil and pine needles was the man she had pursued.
He hadn't shaved for several days. Again. His eyes were cast downward as he swirled a large bottle of bourbon in his hand, mumbling nonsensical words. He leaned back to pour more of the liquid down his throat, and his eyes snapped to Claire.
"Hi Chris."
He stared at her as he took four gulps, and as he pulled the bottle away he spilled some of the bourbon down his shirt.
"They're here. Hating me. Judging me."
"Chris…"
"Why, Claire?"
Claire slowly shut her eyes in solemn thought. Everything was the whys and what ifs these days.
"You're not cursed, bro…"
"Mom…Dad…Jill…"
Claire scrunched her eyes shut even harder, anticipating his next words;
"Baby Redfield…"
Claire exhaled softly as tears formed under her eyelids. He had lost everyone, she had been the only one of his family to survive everything life threw at them both.
And she felt nothing but sickening guilt because of it.
She slowly walked over to him and lowered herself to his side. Her leg and arm shot with pain, but she groaned a breath out of her nose.
"Why am I cursed to lose everybody I love?" Chris' eyes glistened with the tears of a broken man and the glaze of alcohol as he stared at the charred ground across the road. "I should have a three month old son. I should have a wife. Instead…"
He flexed the remaining three fingers on his left hand.
"Sir, your arm had severe lacerations, we've had to reconstruct the skin. We also had to amputate your third and fourth finger from your left hand. Your wedding ring degloved your ring finger, but the impact of the crash crushed the bones, we sadly couldn't reconstruct them."
"I don't give a fuck about my arm and fingers, where's my wife?! She's heavily pregnant! Eight months! WHERE IS SHE?!"
Claire wanted to say that she was still here, that she was still alive and here for him, but slowly, painfully, she was beginning to believe that it wasn't him that was cursed. It was her cursing him.
She breathed in to speak, but let it out as an empty, wordless breath to the air. No. Telling him that she was still here won't change a damn thing for him.
She heard the tell tale sound of liquid sloshing in a glass bottle, and looked at her brother. She sighed as he drained that first bottle…or at least she hoped it was his first.
"Chris…there is literally nothing I can say or do that will help. But…do you really think Jill would want you to be like this?"
Chris stood up shakily and limped to the car, tossing the empty bottle onto the backseat, and he slammed the door again with a brand new bottle in his hand. He twisted the cap with his teeth, spat the metal away, and took another deep drink.
"Give." Claire reached her hand out, but he pouted roughly at her, drawing the bottle to his chest like a child with an item they shouldn't be holding.
"I'm not going to take it from you, I just want a sip of it myself. Please."
Chris cautiously handed the bottle to her, and she did have a large sip, but Chris' grip remained firmly on that bottle.
"Now neither of us are going home. Give me your keys."
Chris ignored her demand and turned away from her, drinking more. She snapped her fingers at him and stepped towards him.
"Keys, Chris."
He still played ignorant like a petulant toddler, and she dove her hand into his jacket pocket, pulled his keys out and stepped away before he could react. She shoved them into the strap of her bra, and he narrowed his eyes on her. No matter how drunk Chris could get, there was no way he'd even attempt to lay his hands anywhere near her in that way, and they both knew that.
"It should have been me…"
Both Redfields stared at each other as they both spoke those words, their grief and pain vocalised as one. Chris raised the bottle again to his parted lips, while Claire looked to her feet.
No, it shouldn't have been Chris, it should've been her. She should've been the one trapped in that car after it left the road. She should've been the one to be consumed by the flames as Chris' car ignited. She glanced at her hand.
She should've sustained more than a fractured wrist and muscle damage in her leg and back.
She slowly shifted her eyes to her brother, and to his hand that lacked digits. She couldn't see the damage to his arm through his jacket, but she knew he had heavy scarring and muscle damage.
Muscle damage for both of them.
Jill could've had a fractured wrist and muscle damage. Sure, maybe an emergency caesarean too, but that wasn't the case.
Jill, the wife, the long time partner, both professionally and romantically, was dead.
And she, the cursed little sister, was alive.
All because Jill decided to switch seats with Claire for the journey home.
It should've been me, Claire painfully thought to herself.
She blew a trembling breath.
For how much longer was luck going to be on her side? Chris should be in the early beginning of a family of three, a father to a boy that Chris couldn't bear to name.
Jill's grave inside one of the city's many cemeteries was proof of this; "Jill Valentine-Redfield, at rest with her son."
No name. No legacy for a little boy who was never to draw his first breath, never to grace his father with his first cry or gaze, never to babble his first words at him.
Claire blinked away the image of that black marble headstone and cast her eyes to the tops of the trees.
Chris let out a bellow of grief and harshly pulled Claire into him. She didn't question his actions, and simply cradled his head as he sobbed deeply.
"I know it's not the same…but I'm here, Chris…it's no silver lining…it's no-"
"I'd have killed myself if I lost you too…" wailed Chris, and Claire couldn't keep her tears in check any longer.
"None of us would have wanted that…we wouldn't-"
"I wouldn't have had anything left, Claire!" Chris suddenly pushed her away from him and raised his voice. Birds flew from a tree nearby, startled from their perches by the Redfield man's voice, and he sharply jabbed his fingers into his chest.
"You're the only person keeping me here!"
"Then stop drinking! You'll drink yourself into a grave, Chris!" Claire wrenched the bottle from his hand, "Stop! That's enough!"
Chris wailed loudly again and squatted down, covering his face with his hands. Claire felt her emotions conflicting. She glanced down at the bottle in her hand and sighed, taking in the figure below her; a shell of a man that once was her determined, confident and happy big brother, completely crushed and plagued by tragedy after tragedy.
She squatted down next to him and wrapped her arm thinly around his neck before sipping from the bottle.
What could she do, really? Years ago she was barely capable of keeping him together if he had moments of low mental tides, but now?
Not a chance. Her presence was doing nothing for him. She breathed in lightly, daring herself to speak her dark thoughts.
"You'd have better luck if I wasn't around…"
Chris briefly but sharply halted his sobbing, and Claire felt his head turn to look down at her. She couldn't be sure if he was shocked at her words, or whether he silently agreed.
She wished it was for the latter; she was nothing but bad luck to him.
In the distance was the gentle pattering of rain against the trees, and petrichor gently began to rise up; pine, bracken and soil mingled with the sudden influx of air pushing away from the rain.
Chris took her hand and pulled them both to their feet, albeit with an awkward stagger, and he opened the back door of the car. He clumsily found his way to the lever on the seat shoulder and lowered the seats, revealing five more bottles of bourbon in the trunk. Claire twisted her face sadly, and he clambered inside before holding his hand out for her. She hesitantly got in with him and closed the door, just as thick sheets of rain hammered down on the vehicle.
Claire glanced up at the tapping noises on the roof, and she felt Chris' fingers entwine with hers.
"You're my lucky charm, Claire…" Chris whispered through his tears.
"I'm not though," Claire gasped through her own tears, "Everywhere I go, people die. Everyone you care about dies, and I'm the dumb piece of shit that's still haunting you."
Chris chuckled and reached for a fresh bottle, leaving Claire with his previously opened one. He twisted the cap off and spat it across the car where it clanked against the window.
The liquid sloshed in the glass as he tipped it to his lips, and he roughly shoved his free arm around her shoulders.
"Everyone dies on me too…" he mumbled, and Claire felt his bourbon flecked breath on her face as he turned his head, "but not you."
She brought her knees to her chest and drank from Chris' old bottle.
"I just bring sorrow for you…I should just get away from you and-"
Chris brought his bottle down onto the upholstered trunk bottom and sharply turned to her, pointing one of his remaining fingers at her.
"No. I need you, I need you, Claire," Chris's voice cracked as he spoke her name, and his hand trembled, "You're all I have…I need you…"
"But, Chris-"
"You're the only person I have, the only light in my life to illuminate my darkest moments…I fucking NEED you. I need my baby sister…"
"Chris…"
"You can't leave me alone…please…"
"But-"
"You've fought for yourself and for me, don't think that I haven't noticed, Claire…and right now I need you more than ever, so we can fight together…"
Claire blinked tears out of her eyes and glanced upward again.
He was right.
They've been at their best when fighting their demons and their tragedies together, and right now, he was desperate for her company, desperate for her comfort.
Desperate for his little sister.
"I'm sorry that life keeps shitting on you, bro…"
Chris shook his head and sighed.
"All I can do is try to move on…but it's so hard…" he slowly inhaled before continuing, "I'm meant to be a husband, a dad to a little boy…you're meant to be an aunt with a little nephew…"
"Jill and little man wouldn't want you to pine after them forever…" Claire looked at her knees and nodded slowly to herself, "it was no-one's fault…I just wish that I never swapped seats with her…"
Chris blew a shaky breath and gripped Claire's hand again.
"She was uncomfortable from being heavily pregnant…she knew she'd find it comfier in the back seat…"
Claire closed her eyes as the image came back to her.
She had clambered out of the front passenger window in the upturned car, staggered away and turned. The rear of the car had connected heavily against a tree; one side was still against it, the side that Jill had been sitting on, behind the driver's seat. The passenger door away from the tree had been jammed closed.
"Jill! JILL!"
Claire had first tried the door, but to no avail, and had she peered inside. Jill was still in her seatbelt, very unconscious with a large laceration to her forehead. Claire had heard the telltale "woof" sound of an ignition, and heard the groan of Chris, she-
"Claire…" Chris' voice broke her free of the reimagining of that evening, "you saved me that day…you pulled me from the wreckage…"
"Yeah but…if I didn't…you, Jill and baby-"
"But then you would have been left alone…"
"Yeah but-"
Chris drank from his bottle again and pulled her into his chest, tightly folding his arm around her torso.
"I can't bear the thought of dying on you, Claire…"
Claire's tears fell again, and she pulled away from his arm before nodding at the stash of alcohol.
"But keep drinking the way you do and you will die on me…"
Chris glanced at his bottle and tilted it, as if reading the label, and he glanced back at her with a meek smile.
"Help me get through these bottles, and I promise I'll get whatever help and counselling I need."
"No," Claire shook her head, "just stop right now. Give the bottles away and we'll go home when we've both sobered up." She wanted to note to him how much he had spent but of course, he didn't know she was tracking his spending.
"Just a few bottles then?"
"Chris…"
"I can't waste all of this, surely?"
Claire sighed roughly before reaching down and grabbing the open crate, placing it at their feet.
"Fine. We finish another bottle between us, and then I want you to drop the rest off somewhere. Somewhere where you won't get to them."
She moved her hands away and a thought dawned on her; this wasn't exactly alcohol for a casual night out, this stuff was high volume.
This was going to be a long night with painful consequences tomorrow.
They drank in silence as rain came down harder, and Claire could barely hear her own thoughts.
"I didn't even see him…"
Claire turned to watch Chris drain the bottle, and he reached for another. The final one that she intended on sharing with him.
"They took him out of Jill…they gave me a choice…and I said no…"
He sniffed and lightly pressed his fingers into his eyes, and he heaved a huge sob.
"And I regret it…the least I could have done for my son was to see him…to hold him…but I was too much of a coward…"
"Maybe…I don't know, maybe you didn't want the only image of him in your mind to be…"
"They took a photo for me…" sniffed Chris, "Just in case…but I'm scared to look at it…"
"Where is the photo?"
"In my pocket in a hardback envelope…"
Claire sipped the bourbon and convulsed at the taste; God it was never on the first, second or third sip…it was always once she was already invested in the bottle…she didn't even drink bourbon!
"Maybe it's time to see him, Chris…"
Chris inhaled with a tremble.
"I'm scared…"
"It's up to you, Chris…"
"I don't know how I'll react…"
"No one knows…but no one will force you to look at that photo…"
Hesitantly, Chris pulled out a brown hardback from his pocket, and edged the inside photo out, though only by a few millimetres. He held the envelope side to Claire, and she understood what he wanted her to do. She pinched the edge of the envelope lightly, and with bated breaths they moved their hands apart to reveal the little photo.
"Oh my God…" gasped Claire, and Chris snorted into his hand, breaking down into tears once again.
"He looks like me… oh my God…I'm such a fucking coward…"
"You're not, Chris…"
Both Redfields cried as they observed the photo in silence; a pudgy little baby boy wrapped in a white blanket, with shocks of blond hair. Blond hair that no doubt would have darkened as he got older, just like Chris' hair had.
Claire thought back to when she found an old family album, full of photos of Chris as a newborn, and this image could easily have been taken from that album, the resemblance was so uncanny.
"How could I have not named him…how could I be so stupid…"
"Is it too late to name him?"
"Yeah…"
"Officially or…"
"Officially."
Claire coiled her hands around her brother's arm and looked at his tear streaked face.
"You could still name him…something to refer to him as…to keep his memory alive…"
"How could I be so stupid…I don't even remember the name Jill picked…"
Claire wasn't sure if he was listening, but she didn't press him further.
They both cried silently as they stared at the boy that could've been, the son, the nephew, ripped from this world because fate had other plans.
"Jules."
Claire jumped at his sudden outburst, and she looked back at his face, now stout and solemn. He in turn looked back at her; "It sounds like Jill."
"Jules Redfield…"
They fell back into silence only broken by the occasional sniff and sob, and before long Chris opened another bottle with his teeth.
"You're gonna fuck your teeth up, bro…"
She didn't argue that he had already opened what was meant to be their last bottle as he passed this fresh one to her.
He shoved his arm back around Claire's shoulders and held his bottle to her. She stared at him blankly, and he gestured to the bottle again before she got the idea. She clinked her bottle against his with a confused frown, and he held his bottle aloft, staring up at the roof of the car.
"Here's to you, son. I'll make you proud, Jules, I promise."
Claire lowered her head and bit her lip at his words, so simple but beautiful, and yet so painful.
And she knocked back that older bottle before starting on the one she toasted to her heavenly nephew.
When Claire opened her eyes she was greeted to moonlight filtering down through the pines and into the trunk where they both had fallen into a drunken slumber. Rain still lightly tapped away at the car, clearly coming to an end with the moon being visible, and Claire adjusted her position. Trunk floor was not a good place to sleep while still recovering from a crash, she thought. Against her right side was a soft warmth, and she glanced up with aching eyes to the face of her sleeping brother.
At some point he had pulled a metal blanket from that "emergency break down box" that he had always kept in her car. Yes. Her car. She remembered now; she let him use her car after his was destroyed by the crash and subsequent fire.
In a million years he never would have considered having a box of metal blankets or water or a first aid kit in his own car, but for reasons unknown even to her he was methodical about her safety.
She smiled thinly.
They weren't unknown reasons, how silly of her.
She lay back down with her head on her brother's shoulder.
Maybe he knew…maybe he knew that she'd be the only one relevant to him that would survive everything life threw at her, or maybe he indeed was terrified of losing her. Maybe he was just bolstering her chances of survival.
Chris stirred ever so, and Claire remained perfectly still as he turned his face into her hair.
"Love you, sis."
His voice was merely a croak from hours of crying Claire touched his fingers and closed her eyes, knowing the next time she'll open them, she'll have the hangover straight from Satan's ass plaguing her.
"Love you too, bro."
Short but (bitter)sweet, hope you enjoyed it!
I am still working on RMRY as well as some others, but still struggling to find that kick up the ass that I need.
Hopefully the next thing I upload will be RMRY or WtBSAA. Also still working on my xmas special for this year!