Chapter Text
Leon’s first promotion.
And, most-likely, his last promotion ever.
Bait for a meaningless trap. Chum tossed into the sea. Leon panicked under his ex-boss’s horrid smile. He took a hasty sniff, scenting his own natural aroma at the base of his wrist. Irons’s smile grew as beads collected at the edge of the blonde’s brow.
God, he did stink.
The scent, albeit delightful in quality, only filled his stomach with heaping amounts of lead.
“That! It’s- There’s no way this would mean anything to something like that!”
The older man tutted. “I’ve got quite a good reason to believe-
Irons tapped on his own neck twice. “- it’s not my throat it wants.”
The blonde scoffed, rolling his shoulder to banish any ghosting teeth conjuring over his skin, attempting to disguise it as stretching. He turned his face away, not wanting to feed into the chief's disturbing speculation, causing the greying man to chuckle oh so cleverly. And while he hated to admit it, Irons may have spoken some sense. The beast’s grip, while powerful, did not hurt him. In fact, Iron’s manhandling left more aches and bruises than the cold, gloved hands of the monster. Maybe it was a good thing that he smelled like Dawn dish soap. He could be dead. Or worse, turned.
Leon rubbed at the skin on his forearms, trying to wipe away the fruit-like scent. He felt gross just knowing that smell came from him and that other people and things could notice. The rustling outside the cell pulled Leon from his unsavory thoughts. Irons scrambled to the back of the room, out of view and then back again. A grimince crossed Leon’s face as he saw what the police chief pulled from his storage. A long, sturdy looking ketch-all pole was held in the mad-man’s grip.
Christ.
Irons probably used that on several K-9 units over the years. And now, he was the dog.
Leon gawked. “Is that really necessary?!”
All Irons replied with was a deadly glare, again proving that the man was equally serious as he was desperate. But the blonde would be damned if he was going to put that makeshift noose over his head willingly. However, it seemed Irons was no longer feeling patient, quickly unlocking the door to the cell. The wire-thin mouth of the ketch flew over Leon's head as the chief swatted away the blonde's cuffed hands.
“Actually-” Irons started. “It is. I'm not getting anywhere within arms length to the Tyrant.”
The tether pulled tight and Leon was led out of the cell, a strangled cry of resistance being the only noise the rookie was able to make through his restrained windpipe. Leon wheezed and regretfully tugged against the pressure, seeing stars almost immediately from isolating his own brain’s blood flow. He was led through the hall they had trekked moments before, following the tug and shifts of the pole-arm. If he passed out here who knows where the blonde would wake up next, if at all.
The larger hall was thankfully still void of anything lumbering around- as far as Leon could tell. He hoped to God that a zombie wouldn’t grab him- cause him to tumble over and cause more unnecessary damage to his battered neck. The rookie turned to look at the police chief over his shoulder, only to stop midway when the hammer of a gun cocked somewhere behind his head.
“Keep walking, new kid.”
And that was all that Leon had to hear before he resigned his struggle and focused on breathing and walking exclusively.
Chief Irons steered them past the lounge and around the corner residing at the end of the hall. They ended up outside on a metal balcony, stairs leading down and into a small courtyard enclosed in chain-linked fencing. The throttling from the ketch didn’t lighten as they descended the stairs awkwardly; leaving Leon red-faced and winded as Irons retrieved a key, unseen to the blonde, and inserted it into the padlock obstructing the door. It creaked open, shrieking loudly as the metal rubbed against itself.
The new area was ominously clear.
Only the sound of the burning city in the background served as white noise. The pause allowed Leon to notice the cool nip of the September air and how light-headed the contrast between his bubbling insides and the outdoors made him feel. He felt sick. But, unfortunately, Irons gave him little time to recover.
“Move up ahead and to the right. Don’t stop.”
All Leon could do is rasp and march forth, afraid of recuperation from his chaotic captor. It became increasingly hard to see the ground where he was standing. Only a small circle of vision was left in the center of his eyes, the rest flickering into and from darkness. He barely managed to clear the first couple steps, stumbling and falling down the second ones.
He huffed out a cry, choking for a few seconds before Irons gave him some slack to breathe.
“God damnit, Rookie! Move your ass, I don’t have time for this!” A stern shove had Leon back up and over the stairs clumsily.
Well excuse him for not being able to fucking see. He’s let the asshole have it if he wasn’t on the verge of passing out. This shit really wasn’t meant to be used on people.
Makeshift graves littered the grassy opening and a tall gate at the end of the fence stood tall, blocked off by several boxes and crates. Irons made a hasty dash over to them, cursing and (thankfully) dropping the Ketch.
“Who the fuck?!” The chubby man ran his hands over the barricades, seeking the ruble for openings.
Leon took this moment of freedom to crouch down, resting his elbow on his knees. The world was starting to swim and even if Irons wasn’t holding the leash, the rookie couldn’t do much more than sit there. He wheezed shallowly, bringing his fingers up to the raw skin of his neck.
Maybe he could sit down for a minute… and just- just catch his breath. Without the consent of his body, Leon slumped down into the grass. The cool blades were downright comfy and compared to the nasty ensemble of recent events, he could lay there forever.
Luckily, Leon didn’t pass out, but the echo of shoes on brick pulled him from his haze. Behind him a gun clicked and a female voice rang out into the clearing.
“Leon!”
The blonde’s eyes shot open. Claire!? He turned his head, smearing rain and dew on his face. There in the opening that he and his captor walked through, stood Claire Redfield. Her eyes darted to Leon’s, widening when she saw the condition the rookie cop was in. She clenched her jaw aiming her pistol at the frantic police chief near the gate.
“Who did this? Did you do this?!” She yelled, approaching Leon’s side.
Irons, who had made quick work of the crates and debris, snapped his gun at Claire. The low lighting glistening off the crease of his wet brow. He growled at her.
“Stay out of this. This is my one chance to get out of this shithole and I ain’t givin that up!”
Leon tuned out the shouting, feeling his blood run cold. He was glad that Claire was safe but- Irons was unhinged, eager to kill and run. He weakly lifted his head, a moment of rest helped him regain some strength. He licked his lips, throat sore and hoarse. He was upset with Chief Irons, but he didn't think he needed to die. What could he say to her or even him to fix this fucked mess? Some of the only actual humans shouldn't be fighting each other.
“N-no, don't shoot…”
He wasn’t entirely sure anyone heard him. As the words left his lips, the sound of splitting wood cut through the intense atmosphere. The off-center walkway, leading to the front of the Police Station, was cleared in an instant. Large, familiar leather-clad gloves reached through the arches, allowing the imposing figure of the creature from before to squeeze through the stone door. Leon was speechless (and not just because of his crippling soreness), goosebumps littering his skin. The phantom teeth of the massive man, no the Tyrant, still ghosted his neck. Irons let out an alarmed cry, turning his gun on the behemoth immediately and opening fire. By the time the monster stood to his full height, Irons’ gun went dry.
“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Irons threw his gun down, flinging himself into and through the open crack of the door.
The titan shrugged the bullets off like it hadn’t been filled with several .45 rounds and snapped his eyes to the closest living thing in his proximity; Claire. The girl in turn, impressively kept her cool, although the lack of immediate action may have been a horrid miscalculation.
“What-” She trained her gun at the 8 foot creature. And without a second to spare, the titan charged.
In three long strides, the beast was upon her. She cried out, roaring courageously as she fired her gun. It snagged her by her red jacket, poised and ready to end her life with one mighty punch. Claire was going to die.
“HELP!”
A pitiful and cracked voice, much like a wounded animal, pierced the air. The beast froze mid-punch, tilting his head to assess the noise better. Leon’s hand was out reached towards the two, his breathing heaving. Only when the behemoth turned and looked down on the blonde’s fallen form did Leon realize; that needy cry came from him.
The pale, grey eyes locked onto Leon’s soft blue ones. The rookie could only blankly stare back, hoping that Claire would be released- and better yet, forgotten.
“Help me, please…”
And like clockwork, the titan dropped the girl like a sack of potatoes, not even reacting to her pained outcry from the manhandling. It stepped over her, planting its feet firmly before the blonde man- crumpled on the ground. Leon gulped, forcing his teeth to not chatter as the beast towered over him.
PleaseleaveClaire.Ohgodpleaseleave.
Leon wanted to look around the thick legs to see if Claire was indeed alright (and preferably retreating) but he restrained himself lest the tyrant follow his line of sight. Instead Leon pawed lamely at the Ketch secured around his neck with his cuffed hands, whimpering a little to add a cherry on top of his “save-claire-from-dying” plan.
And it worked like a charm. The massive man swooped down to Leon’s level with surprising speed, grabbing the wire between its fingers and pulling it apart like a wet spaghetti noodle. The blonde recoiled, shaking from the sheer amount of lethality that the tyrant portrayed. His neck screamed in relief, causing the tired rookie cop to slump forward towards the grass, except he was met with a strong and supportive hand on his chest, lifting him up and eventually off his feet.
Unable to struggle with the tyrant, Leon lazied in the beast’s arms, shaking. His head rolling onto a leather clad shoulder. Behind the beast’s back, he caught a glimpse of Claire’s retreating form from where the behemoth came from. He smiled weakly and closed his eyes, the smell of something warm and safe strangely resonated from his beastly hammock and it soothed him into a much needed rest.