[fic] RE8: fish food
Jun. 24th, 2024 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hexmixhere's a little quadruple drabble i wrote for lightmod, who wanted "a drabble of what the fuck happens to chris after he is hit full force by a giant fish." my first thought was "Hound Wolf gathers around him with blow dryers so he's all dried out in time for his next cutscene" but i ended up going with something serious instead :p
“Come on,” Chris muttered, grunting with Dion’s weight, his gear all the heavier soaked-through. He pulled the younger man more fully onto the squelchy sinking shore, Dion doing what he could to help, slipping in pond-slick mud.
Chris could hear the distorted bellows in the distance interrupted with gunfire–-Ethan fighting Moreau–-and set his jaw.
If only Ethan would just listen.
“Alpha,” Rolando’s voice was little more than static in his earpiece. “--eyes on Heise--”
“Go,” Dion grit out between coughs. He spit on the ground; that foul reservoir water. “Go on, I’m good.” His voice sounded strained; lungs-burning sore.
Chris reminded himself not to grind his teeth and ignored Dion by helping him to his feet; the both of them nearly slipping and faceplanting in the muck three times before they made it up the slope to the road.
The cold was becoming increasingly insistent; Dion’s teeth were chattering and Chris could feel the ache of it in his joints, his knees protesting all the way up that incline. He forced them into a beeline to the SUV, its dark shape in the middle of all those snow-leaden branches a kind of relief.
“Alright,” he said, swallowing the kid he’d wanted to tack on–-knew Dion hated it, “let’s get you dried out.”
Dion managed a “Said I was good, boss,” but allowed himself to be shepherded into the passenger seat. Chris followed after, getting the key in the ignition and the heat on. Sat for a beat too long trying to decide if he should go after Ethan; the gunfire had tapered off by the time they’d made it to the SUV, but who the hell knew what that meant; he could feel the bruising seeping up all along where Moreau had hit him.
“Moreau’s down,” Tundra’s voice crackled over the line. “Winters is on the move.”
Chris allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment. Just to catalog his own aches along with the way Dion was trying to hide his own shaking, hunched in on himself. So damn young too. Chris shouldn’t have brought him. Wasn’t going to, but hadn’t liked the thought of him alone while those vultures at the ‘BSAA’ circled any better.
He turned the heat up instead. Let it roar into the silence between them. Sort of stifling but better than the way he was icing up all inside, starting to freeze.
lightmod, who wanted "a drabble of what the fuck happens to chris after he is hit full force by a giant fish." my first thought was "Hound Wolf gathers around him with blow dryers so he's all dried out in time for his next cutscene" but i ended up going with something serious instead :p“Come on,” Chris muttered, grunting with Dion’s weight, his gear all the heavier soaked-through. He pulled the younger man more fully onto the squelchy sinking shore, Dion doing what he could to help, slipping in pond-slick mud.
Chris could hear the distorted bellows in the distance interrupted with gunfire–-Ethan fighting Moreau–-and set his jaw.
If only Ethan would just listen.
“Alpha,” Rolando’s voice was little more than static in his earpiece. “--eyes on Heise--”
“Go,” Dion grit out between coughs. He spit on the ground; that foul reservoir water. “Go on, I’m good.” His voice sounded strained; lungs-burning sore.
Chris reminded himself not to grind his teeth and ignored Dion by helping him to his feet; the both of them nearly slipping and faceplanting in the muck three times before they made it up the slope to the road.
The cold was becoming increasingly insistent; Dion’s teeth were chattering and Chris could feel the ache of it in his joints, his knees protesting all the way up that incline. He forced them into a beeline to the SUV, its dark shape in the middle of all those snow-leaden branches a kind of relief.
“Alright,” he said, swallowing the kid he’d wanted to tack on–-knew Dion hated it, “let’s get you dried out.”
Dion managed a “Said I was good, boss,” but allowed himself to be shepherded into the passenger seat. Chris followed after, getting the key in the ignition and the heat on. Sat for a beat too long trying to decide if he should go after Ethan; the gunfire had tapered off by the time they’d made it to the SUV, but who the hell knew what that meant; he could feel the bruising seeping up all along where Moreau had hit him.
“Moreau’s down,” Tundra’s voice crackled over the line. “Winters is on the move.”
Chris allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment. Just to catalog his own aches along with the way Dion was trying to hide his own shaking, hunched in on himself. So damn young too. Chris shouldn’t have brought him. Wasn’t going to, but hadn’t liked the thought of him alone while those vultures at the ‘BSAA’ circled any better.
He turned the heat up instead. Let it roar into the silence between them. Sort of stifling but better than the way he was icing up all inside, starting to freeze.
