Chapter Text
Leon was no stranger to nightmares.
Being thrown head-first into an apocalyptic zombie outbreak on your first day at work has a tendency to stick with you for life after all.
Sometimes, these nightmares were just flashbacks to the horrors of Raccoon City: the screaming, the fires, the smell of burnt flesh, the taste of blood in his mouth and in the air. But worst of all, the faces. Faces of people he failed to save. Elliot Edwards, Lt. Marvin Branagh, Annette Birkin. People who would have been alive if he were just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, a little bit smarter. His government-appointed therapists had tried to encourage him through the guilt by pointing out that he WAS strong enough to save many people that night as well. Claire, Sherry, and Chris would later tell him that he might have indirectly helped save Jill and Carlos that night as well.
Other times, however, the nightmares were of what could have been. These were always worse. Countless nights, he screamed as he saw Claire or Sherry die in horrific manners that Raccoon City had in abundance. He would jolt awake, soaked in a pool of sweat, hand gripping the knife he always has under his pillow. He would practice the breathing exercise Jill taught him. Four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out.
Over the years, he woke up less, but the nightmares became more diverse; it wasn’t just Raccoon City anymore. It was Ashley, Chris, Jill, Ada, and so many others. Hunnigan even became a victim of his nightmares once, not that he would ever tell her that.
By now, he doesn’t wake up from nightmares anymore; his line of work doesn’t exactly reward loud screaming while on the field, and he could really use any seconds of shut-eye he could squeeze in.
And so he would always wake up exactly when he was supposed to, each time with just a little bit more bag under his eyes and a little less light in his gaze.
This time, it was Spain again, judging by the antique wooden look of the room he was in and the Spanish newspaper on the bedside table next to him. Strange, he thought, I’ve never had a nightmare that starts this far back in Spain before.
He glanced at the newspaper again. The three months of remedial conversational Spanish Claire taught him years ago fought their way to the forefront of his mind. November 3, 2004.
His head tilted in confusion. He didn't remember reading the paper so carefully back then to have such a clear mental snapshot of it now. Further down, article after article about the recent disappearances in the mountains was interspersed with reports of strange creatures being sighted along the trail towards Castle Salazar. The front page had a foreboding "Mayor Warned Citizens Not To Use Hiking Trail Before Authority Approval" headline stretched right across the page.
"Leon. I hope you can hear me." A static-y voice came through his earpiece, bringing him out of his musings. Hunnigan?
"I'm Ingrid Hunnigan. I'll be your support for this mission."
His nightmares about Spain have always been from within Valdelobos or the nearby island fort, not in this little town that he barely remembers staying at before traveling to the village. His earpiece was never a part of them either; his psyche much prefers to just let him be a hopeless audience to whatever fucked up scenarios his guilt-ridden brain can muster.
"Leon? Can you hear me?" Hunnigan's voice came through again, a little louder this time.
Leon pulled out his phone, and sure enough, she was there. "Hey, Roost. Condor One here. I can hear you loud and clear."
She held back an amused smile. "Code names? I didn't take you for a code name kinda guy."
He shrugged. "They told us to always use code names in the field. Something about operational security."
"Well, be my guest."
He heard typing noises right before his phone vibrated; a file was transferred through.
"Your target for this mission is Ashley Graham. She was last sighted by our intel at the hiking path leading from where you're at to a small village called Valdelobos. I just sent you some of the last known maps of the local area, outdated as they might be."
"Copy that, Roost." He gathered his knife and handgun. "Any idea how the President's daughter got all the way out here? He doesn't seem the type to have vendettas against 19th-century Spanish villagers."
A frustrated sigh came through. "We are still trying to figure out who would have the access and skills to bypass her personal Secret Service details. I wish I could give you more info than that."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll find out something once I extract Baby Eagle from here." He really didn't expect STRATCOM to have known about Krauser's involvement, but it was good to hear it confirmed.
"Don't sound so down, Condor One. I've arranged a couple of local cops to give you a ride up to the village. Saves you a few hours of hiking. They are meeting you outside your inn in half an hour."
“Appreciate that, Roost. I’ll keep you updated. Condor One, out.”
Slotting the phone back into his side-holder, Leon sank down into a nearby chair. This feels like either the most realistic nightmare he has ever gone through or, the much more impossible option, that he has somehow managed to travel back in time nearly two decades.
The last thing he could remember was going back to Raccoon City to chase down Victor Gideon with Grace. Then he had met Zeno. He remembered trying desperately to fight against the superhuman blond, trying to give Grace a chance to escape the collapsing facility. He remembered looking up at Grace’s outstretched hands before hearing a faint click of the trigger behind him.
Oh.
So he had died?
And somehow, he was back in 2004 Spain, trying to rescue Ashley Graham all over again.
He raised his hand against the morning light from the window. The creeping black lines of the latent t-Virus infection, Raccoon City Syndrome as Gideon called it, were nowhere to be seen. Through the suddenness of it all, he had just now realized the distinct lack of gnawing pain and ache in his body.
It had been silent at first; whether because there was no pain that came with it or because he always seemed to be suffering from much worse and more immediate pain from his work, mattered little to him. However, by the time the ARK was collapsing with him and Zeno in it, the pain had become unbearable and debilitating. He told Sherry he had gotten used to it every time he went back out on the field. It was a lie, and he knew Sherry knew it was a lie from her own experience with it. They’d both shot each other a weary, acknowledging smile and gone back to work.
His clock beeped. It was 5 minutes until the officers would arrive to pick him up. He gave the room one last glance, strapped on his gears, and headed downstairs.
The chill November wind blew against his jacket as he took in the scenery of the town. It was rustic in its own charming way, distinctly different from the dilapidated time-frozen state of Valdelobos. Faint greetings that he couldn’t quite decipher weaved themselves into the morning light.
A steady engine rumble alerted him to the approaching patrol car. It parked in front of him, and an officer jumped out from the passenger side.
He squinted down at a scribbled notepad, mentally sounding out the foreign name. “Leon Kennedy?”
Leon nodded. “That’s me. You my ride today?”
He reached out to shake Leon’s hand. “That’s right! Chief called down yesterday, telling us to come help you get to the village up in the mountains.”
He returned to his seat and waved Leon inside. “It’s a bit of a long ride, so best we get started early.”
They only got to the village way after nightfall the first time around, which gave him almost an entire day in the car to actually collect himself.
He really didn’t think this was just a result of him being injected by some new variants of hallucinogens Gideon or Zeno created and having the most lucid dream of his life. The details were too sharp, the sensation of his old pistol against his palm too rugged and real for this to just be another nightmare of his. Add on to the fact that he was certain he never introduced himself to the cops the first time around, opting for just a simple nod and letting US-STRATCOM handle the rest of the logistics.
He felt like he should be a lot more shocked about the prospect of having potentially time-traveled after his assumed demise. Although after nearly three decades of constantly being thrust into the next big thing in B.O.W. technology, maybe he had lost his sense of awe along the way.
He tried to think back to the “life” he had left behind. He never had any real relationships to speak of. Claire was always too busy with TerraSave, and they both knew their goals in life regarding bioterrorism were too different for him to lend her any real support. Chris and Jill were always tied up with BSAA business, which was always conveniently (intentionally, they would agree) on the other side of the world from where the DSO would send Leon. The only real person he has regular contact with these days was Sherry, mostly because she ended up with the DSO as his unofficial handler after her recruitment. He held back a sigh and let his eyes drift across the speeding Spanish countryside outside the window. He supposed he should be a lot more distraught about leaving his entire life behind and being set back decades of B.O.W. elimination progress, and maybe his brain was just numbed off to keep himself from going into shock. “A very common coping mechanism when faced with excessive trauma,” his therapist told him once. Right now, though? His only real regrets about this mess were not being able to ensure Grace’s escape from the ARK and not being there for Sherry when she (and he) finally succumbed to the infection.
But time travel, huh? Maybe I’ve finally gone nuts.
Throughout the years, he had definitely thought about time travel a lot more than rookie cop Leon ever thought about zombies and Tyrants before 1998. Which he supposed is a good comparison, as any, to prove that time travel could theoretically be real.
He remembered joking once with Claire about Umbrella creating a time gun to send him back to Raccoon City that night to make sure he didn’t make it out alive and ruin their future business.
She hadn’t laughed, but just looked at him with a sympathetic smile. Suddenly, the joke wasn’t funny to him anymore either. He’d put down his glass of wine, definitely not his first that night, and slumped his head over the back of the couch. It had been three years since Raccoon City; three years since he had signed his life and soul away to the military to protect Sherry and Claire. This was one of the few reprieves they allowed him to visit the two, all under the watchful eyes of the multiple security agents parked just across the street from their hotel room.
A comfortable silence settled in between them; Sherry had gone to bed a few hours ago.
“You did your best, Leon.” She reached her hand out to his, ignoring his instinctive flinch to hold on to it.
He looked up at her through the creeping haze of the alcohol, giving their hand a weak squeeze. “Do you eventually grow into believing that?” The second part of ‘Would I too?’ remained unspoken.
She held his gaze for a few seconds before taking another sip of her own wine. “No…not really.”
She set her glass down and turned on the couch to fully face him. “But I think we have to at least try to believe it.” She ran her other hand down the side of his face as they both searched for something unnameable in each other’s eyes. “You look like your guilt is going to kill you before any Tyrants have a chance to, Leon.”
He chuckled darkly, eyes still held on hers. “Maybe that’s their real killer virus.”
She smiled. He was reminded of the warmth he had assumed his mother had in her smile as well; that, too, was slowly becoming an increasingly unreachable memory for him with every passing day. “You are the strongest person I know, Leon. I know you…We can get through this.”
He leaned away again, head resting against the couch. “I have to. For Sherry.”
The silent ticking of the clock blanketed them as he felt sleep claiming him.
“I think they wouldn’t want to make that mistake, though.” Claire’s voice reached out from the darkness as he felt a gentle prod on his shoulder.
“Hmm?”
“Sending you back in time. I think that would be a mistake they could never recover from.” He felt her squeeze under the sofa blanket against his side and draped his arm down over her shoulder. “You managed to blow their whole operations open in their home city as a rookie cop. Imagine what super soldier Leon Kennedy could do to them then.”
His clock read 19:23. They were half an hour away from where they dropped him off originally. Sensing his movement, the older cop in the passenger seat turned around.
“So, what sent you to this middle-of-nowhere town? Not really the greatest vacation spot this time of the year.”
Leon looked down at a cutout picture of Ashley Graham that the President had provided him.
He didn’t really have a chance to catch up with her after they got back to America. Between his constant deployment across the world, her school work at Harvard, and the end of her father’s term, they only briefly talked a handful of times through secured phone lines.
“I’m looking for someone.” He stashed the picture away.
The jovial look fell from the man’s face as he sent a worrying look over at the driving officer.
“Well…just between us here, there’s been a lot of people going missing along these roads in the last few months.”
“So just another day in the office for you guys then.” Leon decided to play along for now.
“Just last week, a group of hikers went missing along these trails.” He turned back around to face the winding dirt road. “The Chief had been trying to get the Mayor to send for backups from the government for weeks, but no such luck.”
“Well, hopefully I can find out some answers too.”
“Hope so. Maybe that’s why the Chief was so excited to have you come here.”
Through the dense thicket of trees and vegetation and the encroaching darkness of the night, Leon started to make out a few logging cabins deep past the treeline. He looked down at his watch. The village entrance wouldn’t come up for another 15 minutes. By then, they would be way too deep into the infection zone for these two officers to have any chance of escaping, even if one of them didn’t wander into the woods by himself.
Leon was no movie buff — most of his pop culture knowledge came from Sherry and the occasional younger recruits in the DSO —, but he was certain that it was a cardinal rule of time travel movies not to mess with the timelines. Maybe he would be completely erased from existence due to paradoxes, or maybe he would fuck up the situation even more due to some ripple effects. He tightened his jaw; he couldn’t live with himself anyway if he would willingly and knowingly let someone die just because of some invisible, arbitrary rules.
A quick mental check of his gears. “You guys can drop me off here.”
“Really? The village isn’t for another kilometer.”
He patted the knife strapped into the front of his vest and the gun at his waist. “I’ll be fine. I want to do a little investigation work outside the place first.”
The car slowed to a stop, and he stepped out. “Hey, you want us to come with you to help out? The Chief was very insistent on making sure you get all the help you needed here.”
Hunnigan must have pulled some serious strings on these guys. “Don’t worry about it. You guys have been a big help getting me here. You guys better head back soon before the wildlife gets rowdy, though.”
He only caught a few words of their whispered exchange and understood even less, but “bigger guns” and “not our job” apparently were enough to convince them to agree to his proposal and begin turning the car around.
Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the dusky darkness, Leon pulled out his handgun. The Silver Ghost sat much lighter and smaller in his hand than Requiem, but that was an adjustment he would have to get used to for at least another half a decade. With a final glance at the retreating headlights of the cop car, he steeled himself and took a step towards Valdelobos.