Chapter Text
Three months had passed since little Dicky was born. Three long months under observation, filled with endless tests, before doctors and scientists finally acknowledged there was nothing more to learn under laboratory conditions, and that there was no risk of the infant mutating into some monstrous creature.
Several relocations between different bases followed. Due to concerns about traceability. The secrecy and security measures exceeded most previously known cases, including Sherry Birkin's.
Still, they'd made it. Chris pulled one of the boxes with his belongings out of the car and looked at the house where they'd be living from now on. A classic two-story clapboard, painted white, with a black tin roof. A small front yard with a neat walkway, a small back porch, and a yard with a shed and a garden. And a white picket fence. Like something out of the suburbs.
He'd never thought much about the future, but whenever he'd tried imagining what his life might eventually look like, this definitely hadn't been it. Even without knowing they were still technically on a military base, and that the surrounding houses would certainly be occupied by heavily armed agents, it was... mildly depressing.
Instead of joy that he, Jill, and the little one were finally getting at least the appearance of normalcy, he felt strange. He glanced back. Jill was just taking the carrier with a babbling Dicky out of the car, talking to him. Explaining to the infant that this was where they'd be living now, and the baby babbled back, as though trying to answer.
He couldn't help but smile. Even if a slightly sad one.
Jill was doing well as a mother. More than well. She handled everything. But she was also running herself into the ground. She wouldn't let him help. He felt like she was pushing him away. When he offered to take care of the little one, or handle something, she'd smile and decline, with thanks. He didn't want to force himself on her; in a way, he understood her wariness, but it ate at him. As did the fact that he still hadn't quite figured out how to act around her. As though some kind of barrier had grown up between them. A glass wall he couldn't get past.
With a sigh, he hefted the box. He didn't own much, and Jill even less. Being declared dead for a couple of years tended to strip you of unnecessary possessions pretty easily. The move itself had been fairly simple, then.
"Ready?" he asked, once they'd joined him.
Jill looked at the house for a moment too, with that same distrustful expression that told him she was thinking exactly the same thing he had been, just before. A white house with a picket fence in the suburbs — clearly, neither of them had pictured this.
In the end, it was Dicky who answered first, with a babble that drew a smile from both of them.
"Let's go, then," Jill smiled, and together they stepped forward.
Chris found himself thinking about the little one, as they walked.
"You've completely lost your mind," was how Claire had assessed the news that she was now a step-aunt. He hadn't expected her to jump for joy, but he also hadn't expected a reaction that sharp. Claire had a soft spot for kids. "I know I kept asking you when I'd finally get to be an aunt, but this? Wesker's kid?" she'd asked, distrustful, pacing the room where the guards had led her to wait for clearance to visit Jill.
"He's Jill's kid," he'd answered, simply, defensively. It had taken everything he had not to just shut down and walk out.
"Look, you can't ignore the other half of his genes... Chris... Didn't you do this just out of guilt? What happened wasn't your fault... You don't have anything to punish yourself for..." she'd appealed to him.
"I don't have any guilt!" he'd snapped, earning a sharp look from his sister. "Fine, okay, but that's not what's driving this," he'd sighed, finally.
"So what is driving this, then?" she hadn't let it go.
"I don't know... Trying to do something right, for once? You're worse than Doctor Herbert with his psychoanalysis... I've already been through enough tests, just to get approved for this!" he'd defended himself. Claire hadn't been the first to question his impulsive decision, one he had no intention of backing down from.
"Look, Chris... I'm just worried about you. What if that kid turns out like his father, in the end? What if he mutates? Or worse, what if he tries to take over the world too? Jill's his mother... If she's protected him this far, chances are you'd be the one who'd have to stop him. Are you sure you could do that?" she'd voiced her fears, and Chris had involuntarily looked away.
"He won't be like Wesker. He's a child. It depends on how he's raised... Weren't you the one who used to say monsters aren't born, they're made?" he'd tried to explain how he saw it himself.
He'd had his own doubts too. But when the little one, during his first bottle feeding — one Jill unfortunately couldn't manage herself, due to her post-op recovery sleep — had gripped his finger and looked up at him with those blue eyes... He'd just been a child. A baby. Not some monster. He'd known it.
"Are you even listening to yourself?" she'd sighed, resigned, and shaken her head.
"I know I sound crazy. Sometimes I feel that way too," he'd admitted. "Just give him a chance," he'd asked, shortly before a soldier arrived with word that the civilian had been cleared to go up to the room, and so she really would get to see the little one.
Even though she'd tried to stay guarded, Chris could see that she understood. Her soft spot for children had made her stop protesting. Especially once Dicky, already smiling like sunshine and babbling at two months old, worked his charm. Even trying to stay reserved, she couldn't help reacting when he'd started cooing at her, demanding attention. And when she'd leaned over him, he'd managed to grab a strand of her hair and tug. Gently. Ordinary baby strength, no superpowers. When she'd freed herself, she'd laughed, called him a little rascal, and straightened his blanket.
"Don't let this get out of hand... If it goes wrong... it'll destroy you," she hadn't been able to resist one last warning, as they said their goodbyes. He understood. He was aware of it himself, too. But somehow, he no longer saw a way back.
He hadn't even needed to hold himself at a distance on his own, though. Jill had been managing that for him. Which was why he was the one carrying the box now. When he'd offered to take the carrier with the little one, he'd been thanked and turned down again. All he could do was stand nearby, watch, occasionally make the little one laugh with a funny face, or tell him stories. But always from a distance. A glass wall.
And so, now, the three of them headed toward the house where they'd spend the next several years, and Chris found himself wondering whether this had really been such a good idea, after all.
A few days had passed since they'd moved into the house, and Jill was starting to wonder whether that hospital room deep underground hadn't actually been better.
It was the dead of night, and Dicky was crying again. She could hear his panicked wail through the baby monitor. Something had scared him again.
He was a good boy. A good baby. In their original room, he used to sleep well, only waking for a midnight feeding, then quiet until morning. But after the move... Not that he was the only one in the house who woke at the smallest sound. Neither she nor Chris were heavy sleepers.
"Keep sleeping, I'll go," Chris offered, half-asleep, and Jill suppressed a flash of irritation.
"Thanks, but it's fine, I'm already awake anyway," she declined, for what must have been the thousandth time. She tried to see his efforts as an attempt to help, but it was getting harder and harder. Especially when he kept his distance from her, as though she carried some kind of plague.
Every bit of contact, she had to initiate herself. Every scrap of closeness. He never showed the slightest inclination to be near her. Always just Dicky. Him, he'd hold, cuddle, play with... But her? Absolutely nothing. It wasn't just that he'd stopped acting the way he used to, like a friend. She had the feeling he was deliberately avoiding her. She kept trying to prove she was fine, in case he had any doubts, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to her that he probably just felt disgust toward her.
Just yesterday, they'd found a moment to sit down together over the crossword again. She'd gathered her courage. She'd wanted to break through that uncomfortable situation. Find out where she stood. So instead of sitting in the chair beside him, she'd perched on the arm of his chair and leaned lightly against him. She'd felt him go rigid, but he hadn't fled. Not right away. They'd solved the puzzle, and when she'd straightened up a little to stretch, he'd used the opening, gotten up, and gone to do something else.
Instead of just saying something, he'd kept playing house, and it wore her down worse, almost, than getting up for Dicky did.
She headed for the nursery, where her little one was wriggling in his crib. He'd already kicked off his blanket, so his little arms and legs waved freely in the air, as though fighting off something. Her heart clenched with pity.
"Hey there, little one, it's okay now. Mommy's here. She won't let anyone hurt you," she picked him up and began gently rocking him. She didn't even try figuring out what had frightened him this time. Over the past three months, the doctors had noticed he had sharper senses than he should have had at his age. He reacted to people as though recognizing faces, even though he shouldn't have developed that yet. He turned toward sounds earlier than he should. In that underground room, he'd only had the bare minimum of things that could upset him, but here?
He didn't know this place. On top of that, he was still just learning to sleep without his parents' presence. Exhausted as she was, she understood, and couldn't be angry at him. Especially once he started calming down quickly in her arms, down to the occasional whimper.
"Hey there, buddy, rough night?" Chris's voice came again, and Jill clenched her jaw. Hadn't she told him she could handle it? Did he think her completely incapable? Or did he just want to worm his way in, so he could steal Dicky from her? She chased that last thought away, even though it kept surfacing in her mind more and more often. The more convinced she became that he found her disgusting, the more often she found herself asking that question, because he kept trying, more and more insistently, to get involved in caring for Dicky.
The little one calmed even further at the sound of his voice. She pressed her lips tightly shut, so she wouldn't say something she'd regret. She tried to be glad Chris wanted to take care of the little one. That he'd accepted him. And yet it warred inside her. He'd accepted the little one. Not her. She wanted at least the relationship they'd had, back before all of this began. At least that, before this hell.
She kept soothing the little one, while Chris started telling some story from his youth. He worked on Dicky like some kind of snake charmer. And Jill had to admit, he worked on her the same way. She liked listening to his voice. She enjoyed that protective presence, the sense of being safe. Even though all of it was really meant for her son. Which only made it hurt more.
"At least get a little extra sleep in the morning, I'll handle everything," he suggested, once they were heading back to the bedroom, after the little one had fallen back asleep. She wanted to refuse, but she was tired. Genuinely tired.
"That'll depend on Dicky," she answered instead. Before she could send him packing for good, one thing he'd just reminded her of held her back.
Mornings.
Their house had a bedroom with a shared bed. Whoever had furnished the place had simply assumed they were together, given that they had a child. Just as they'd wanted it to look, when Chris had put his name on the birth certificate. Neither of them had wanted to disrupt that illusion by requesting two separate beds. And neither of them had wanted to make the other sleep on the couch. It was supposed to be easy. Normal. At night, they lay down like two acquaintances. Each on their own side, with no hint of closeness. But they woke up in each other's arms. As though some barrier holding them apart while awake simply collapsed in sleep.
That was exactly what confused her, and gave her hope. Maybe if she just tried a little harder... If she could prove to him she was fine... She was sick to death of this uncertainty. She didn't want to give up, but this would have to be settled, soon. Or she'd go out of her mind.
The atmosphere in the house was growing heavier. Dicky's sleep wasn't improving, and he'd started getting restless during the day too, and Chris was fairly certain it was because of the tension hanging between him and Jill. Suspicion was creeping in on him, insidiously, that she saw him more as an enemy than anything else, and it was starting to piss him off. What had he even done to her, besides trying to help and giving her space? He wasn't forcing himself on her in any way. What the hell more was he supposed to do?
Dicky was down for his afternoon nap when Chris got back from another one of a string of training sessions, preparing for his future work training new recruits. He'd expected Jill to use the time to rest as well. He'd been thinking he might surprise her, pick up her favorite ice cream while the little one slept. He just wanted to grab a small bite to eat himself.
Those plans fell apart the moment he found Jill in the living room. Not only was she not catching up on lost sleep from the night. That stubborn woman was working out. She'd thrown herself into a bodyweight strength routine with total abandon. His eye twitched at that stubbornness. Sweat was pouring off her, her face flushed red, and she kept forcing herself through the routine as though trying to completely wreck herself.
"Hey, can I ask what you're trying to accomplish here?" he managed to say, calmly enough not to fully lose it. Sure, after those years in captivity, she wanted control over her life. He'd already understood that. But what she was doing here was insanity.
"Can't you see? I'm getting back in shape, I've gotten lazy," she snapped back, and if looks could kill, he'd probably have been lying in a pool of his own blood already.
"I can see that, but you're exhausted. You should rest a little," he warned her, still tense, wanting nothing more than to force a bit of sense into her.
"What the hell is your problem?! You want me to stay weak as a fly?!" she launched at him. That hurt. Still, he made himself hold back, once more. For her sake, and his own. He didn't want to hurt her. Not even with words.
"I'm not your enemy, Jill. You're piling way too much onto yourself. We can train together, you know I'll support you... But for God's sake, ease off a bit. Let me actually help you a little with Dicky," he answered as reasonably as he could manage. "We're supposed to be a team," he added. He wanted, so badly, for things to at least be like they used to be. Even if this didn't work out between them as a relationship, he wanted her to at least stay his friend. Right now, he genuinely regretted not controlling himself, not just keeping things at partnership level.
"A team?!" she laughed, harshly. "What team, exactly? I'm not the one who treats you like you've got some kind of contagious disease!" she accused him, bitterly.
"What are you even talking about?! I'm trying to help you! I'm doing everything I can to make things easier for you, and you're sabotaging it!" he couldn't take it anymore, and bristled openly. He clenched his fists and stepped closer. He didn't want to intimidate her, but that accusation had stung. It insulted every bit of effort he'd been making.
"Me?! What am I sabotaging?! Your little happy-family act?! I told you, me and Dicky are a package deal! You can't have one without accepting the other!"
"I am trying! You won't let me do anything! You want to handle everything yourself, all the time! It's like I'm not even here!"
"You and not being here?! I've been trying this whole time! You're the one who always runs off! Why don't you just admit it? That the whole idea disgusts you?! That you still see Wesker?!" she hissed, like an enraged snake. That was too much for Chris.
"All I've done is try to bond with that kid. If I'm going to be his father someday, I have to. And what else am I supposed to do besides leave, when you won't let me?" he accused her. "I want to accept both of you," he added, ice in his voice, ready to walk out. If this was how she saw it, they probably had nothing left to talk about.
"And that's the fucking problem!" she exploded fully. "I'm here too!" she called after him, as he turned, genuinely ready to disappear from her life, if that's what she wanted. That stopped him.
"What are you even talking about? I'm trying to make everything easier for you... I'm giving you so much space it's driving me insane... What the hell more could you possibly want?!" he got crude too, now.
"Space? You run from me like I'd infect you with something. You never touch me, not once, on your own. When I do it, you bolt. The one time I felt like I meant something to you beyond a roommate, in the morning, you immediately apologized, said you hadn't meant to sleep with me!"
"I'm giving you space..." he objected.
"But I don't want it! I want it to be like it used to be! I'm not made of sugar, and I'm not broken, damn it! Can you really not see that? I can handle everything... I don't need distance. I don't want you constantly backing away from me," was it his imagination, or had he caught a flash of tears? He could see the pain in her face, for certain. "Just admit it. When you look at me, you see him..."
Now he understood. That mention of Wesker. That distance. It hadn't been about Dicky. It had been about her. The realization paralyzed him for a moment. And then came the shame. How had he not seen it?
"I don't see him," he answered.
"Sure..." she looked away, and reined her voice back in again. He could practically feel her armoring herself in coldness, to hide that flash of vulnerability.
"I see you. The woman who survived hell. And that left scars. I don't want to hurt you..." he tried explaining why he'd kept avoiding touching her. He'd felt as though even a simple caress might reopen wounds that hadn't healed yet.
"This hurts me," she admitted. "I don't want this anymore. I don't need protecting. I need someone who'll trust me..." she answered, softly, and dropped that perfect mask. Her voice carried more vulnerability than he'd ever heard from her before. It was stronger than that moment, back in the hospital room, where circumstance had forced her honesty out of her. This was the first time she'd exposed herself voluntarily.
"So how am I supposed to act, then? I've been trying to have your back this whole time... What do you actually want from me?" he let himself sound desperate, because the situation was desperate.
Silence fell. A heavy silence, like the moment before lightning strikes down from a storm cloud.
"This," she murmured, and closed the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck first, then lifted her head and kissed him. For the first time while awake. He went rigid for a moment, completely caught off guard, but recovered quickly and kissed her back. For one insane moment he had the feeling he was the one asleep now, and this was his dream. He'd wanted to do this so many times already. Practically every morning, waking up close to her. Ever since that sleepwalking kiss, he'd been dreaming about doing it again. He'd never once let himself act on those dreams.
"I think I'm dreaming this," he mumbled against her lips, once they broke apart.
"Same here," she smiled. "The next one's on you," she challenged him.
"What if it's too much for you..." he hesitated.
"Then I'll just say so. I do have a mouth... Stop tiptoeing around. If you want something, say so," she answered, firmly.
"All right, then," he smiled. He felt lighter. As though an enormous weight had lifted off him. And so he decided to meet that challenge right away, and this time, he kissed her. He let his hands wander down to her hips. Slowly, carefully, giving her plenty of time to send him to hell. Instead of resistance, though, he met only welcome.
He could feel his blood heating up. Still, he hesitated over the next step. Even though she'd just made her feelings quite clear, he still wasn't certain whether to try going further. Fortunately, he didn't have to be the one to decide. Dicky's cry from the monitor decided for them.
"Want to come with me?" she offered, once she slipped out of his arms and headed for the stairs. The first time she'd ever asked for his company on her own. He accepted, gladly.
That evening, Dicky cried again. Jill suspected the squirrels living in the tree by his window weren't doing him any favors, though she wasn't sure whether he could even see them from there. With a sigh, she started getting out of bed. She had to admit Chris had been right. Sleep deprivation was starting to take its toll on her. Over the past several days, only sheer stubbornness — refusing to look weak — had been keeping her on her feet.
Right now, she especially didn't want to leave the bed. For the first time since they'd moved in together, she'd been able to fall asleep in Chris's arms, and it had felt so nice...
"I'll go," he spoke up again. She tensed. "Jill..." he sighed.
"Okay," she accepted, hesitant.
"Really?" came from him, uncertain. In the dark, she couldn't see his expression, but she could imagine the surprise from his tone.
"Really," she confirmed, and to prove she meant it, lay back down. Everything in her was screaming not to do it, but she wanted to trust him. She needed to.
The rustle of blankets, the shift of the mattress, quiet footsteps — all told her he'd taken on his task with a speed bordering on enthusiasm, and she smiled a little. She closed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep. The sounds from the monitor quieted quickly. She heard soft humming, and Chris's soothing voice. She wanted to sleep. But she couldn't. Despite the calm, all kinds of thoughts kept racing through her head.
After a while, she couldn't stand it any longer, so she slipped out of bed too, and headed for the nursery. She stayed in the hallway, though, watching through the open door as Chris gently rocked the little one in his arms. It was almost funny. Such an unusual sight... She couldn't help but smile. Especially once she caught what Chris was saying to him.
"Don't worry, little one. I owe you a lot. For what you did for your mom. I promise I'll protect you. No one's going to hurt you, not while I have anything to say about it," he vowed solemnly, his back to the door, so he had no idea she was there. Once Dicky finally fell back asleep, he returned him to the crib. A little clumsily, but nothing practice wouldn't fix. She realized she'd been making a mistake, putting herself between the two of them.
"Jill, you were supposed to be sleeping!" he whispered, gruffly, when he finally turned and startled slightly.
"Sorry, I couldn't help it... I had to see if everything was okay. To be sure," she apologized, sincerely.
"So, how'd the inspection go?" he sighed, tiredly, but the irritation was gone.
"Excellent. I think next time I'll manage to actually stay lying down. Can't promise I'll fall asleep, though," she admitted, gently.
"Understood," he confirmed, and as he passed by her, put an arm around her shoulders. She happily leaned into him, and they went back to bed together. The rest of the night passed peacefully after that.
Meanwhile, in the deep pits of hell, in the lake of lava where various demons had, up to that point, been diligently and physically torturing Wesker, depending on whose shift it was, a strange change came over things.
It took him a moment to realize a calm had settled over the place. Blinded by fury over having lost every fight and having then served as a plaything for those creatures, he raged for a good ten minutes before he noticed that none of his tormentors were lurking anywhere around his private dimension of suffering, and so he could finally take off the little pink unicorn hairpins and rip out the fairy wings growing into his flesh, courtesy of the last demon, who'd turned him into a living doll.
He wondered immediately what could have happened, and once he'd confirmed there really was no one around, he started scanning for a way to escape.
His attempt at a grand return to the land of the living, though, never even got the chance to begin. A crack in the air, there was simply no other way to describe it, soon opened, and one of the devils stepped through — hideous face, massive horns, and musculature next to which he could only pale in envious silence, even in his own mutated form.
"Hey there, Alby! So, how do you like it here? What do you think of our little program?" the demon mocked.
"Pathetic and predictable. This is supposed to be the legendary hell? One big disappointment," Wesker snarled back.
"Sure, the procedures so far were a bit old-fashioned, but don't worry. I've got something special lined up for you. Something you'll really enjoy. A real treat," with that, the beast snapped its fingers, and through the gap between dimensions, two lesser demons squeezed in, dragging a large crate behind them.
Wesker immediately braced for a fight. He might not have had the advantage of speed or strength against them, but he had no intention of going down cheap. Defiance had become the thing keeping him sane. The demons, though, showed no interest in fighting. They set the crate down in the middle of the lava lake and stretched their backs heavily, groaning as though they'd carried something extremely heavy, even though the crate didn't look remotely inclined to sink into the lava anytime soon. Or catch fire.
A moment later, another hideous creature entered, carrying another box. This one smaller, and flatter. Then they began unpacking.
The enormous crate contained a large, comfortable-looking couch. The smaller one held a modern plasma TV, one that, somehow, was capable of levitating in midair.
"Are you planning to torture me to madness with old sitcoms?" Wesker said, skeptically. He'd expected new instruments of torture, maybe even an iron maiden. Not TV night. He was fully convinced that nothing they could show him would be worse than being left entirely at their mercy, a helpless puppet. No physical pain could rival that feeling of helplessness.
"Sitcoms? Oh, that's a pretty good guess, Alby, really quite good. But we've got a program lined up specially for you. Shall we sit?" the head demon smirked, and with a snap of his fingers, made his helpers vanish again.
Wesker had absolutely no interest in watching anything they might put on. And definitely not sitting beside a smooth-talking demon. That demon, though, grabbed him by the shoulders in a friendly manner and dragged him toward the couch as though he were nothing more than a ragdoll. He shoved him down onto the cushion, and Wesker felt himself sticking firmly to the soft material. As though he were fusing with the couch itself. He immediately tried to get up, but couldn't move at all. Only a moment later, the devil settled comfortably in beside him, and picked up a remote he'd apparently been hiding somewhere Wesker preferred not to think about.
The screen of the hellish television soon lit up, revealing a view of a white house with a picket fence. Then followed a shot of a nursery, where a familiar woman was just putting a small child down.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he breathed out. He couldn't believe his son hadn't ended up on some dissection table somewhere, as research material. Or that Jill would actually want to take care of him — a piece of himself.
"No. It's a live broadcast. Your son is alive, and doing well, all things considered. Better than well, actually. Just watch," the demon smirked, his eyes practically ablaze with amusement.
"Fools. My blood... Vengeance shall be mine," Wesker rejoiced, and eagerly obeyed the devil, fixing his gaze on the screen.
Someone else entered the room in the meantime, and Wesker went rigid. He didn't like where this was going. He'd have recognized Chris anywhere. And when that man took his son from Jill, to rock him for a while before they laid him down together, Wesker felt, even through the surrounding lava, ice running through his veins in place of blood.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he hissed, horrified.
"Oh, you didn't know? Those two decided to raise your son. To give him all the love in the world. Turn him into a good man, someone who'll protect people. Or at least won't want to harm humanity. Amusing, isn't it?" the demon cackled.
"No, that can't be true... I don't believe it," Wesker forced out. In his darkest moments, he'd at least comforted himself with the knowledge that he'd broken his rival, morally and psychologically. And that he'd broken that traitorous woman too. But on the television, they looked happy. Even content...
"Just wait, it gets even better," the demon squirmed with excitement, and so they watched as the boy was put down to sleep and the two adults left. The demon sped the footage up a bit, to get to the part he considered particularly interesting.
The infant on screen was roused from peaceful sleep by a rustling sound cutting through the night's darkness. The boy's eyes snapped open, and he began squirming, restless. Scratching against the glass, and quiet chittering, visibly frightened him more and more. Wesker and the demon both watched the source of those sounds as well. A quick, furry animal with large, glinting teeth, digging at the edge of the window, as though trying to force its way in. A squirrel, trying to stuff its stash under the siding boards.
And the boy burst into terrified, panicked tears.
"My son... My blood... Afraid of... squirrels?" Wesker stammered, horrified, while the demon beside him nearly died laughing.
"And it gets worse," he managed to get out, between fits of barking laughter. "Shame I can't watch the whole thing with you, but don't worry. You'll see absolutely everything," with that, the demon rose, and vanished with a malicious laugh and a snap of his fingers. And throughout the pits of hell echoed roars and pleas for more physical torture, if only this would stop.