Chapter Text
It seems a bit of a waste to go to work considering it's nearly 4 in the morning and he's also nursing a raging hangover, but Leon already messed up by missing his first day, so he figures overcompensating might be just enough to get his superiors off his ass.
He just wishes he hadn't dropped his phone in the toilet the night before. He'd been on his second bottle of tequila and tried to call Jessica again, but his fingers had fumbled and before he knew it, his brand new Apple that his mom gave him as a congratulations for graduating the police academy had been dead.
It still makes his chest throb from pain (because damn, with his rookie salary, he'll be lucky if he can even buy a Nokia by this point) to think about, but then that makes the ache in his temples even worse, and he stifles a burp that definitely would've turned into vomit as he carefully peels off from the highway.
He sniffles pathetically when he shivers in his car, even with the heat cranked all the way up. It’s a bit difficult to navigate the roads when it’s snowing this heavily, and he’s originally from Texas, which means it still baffles him that anyone would willingly live somewhere as cold as this.
But whatever, a job is a job, and Raccoon City’s apparently a few men short on the force, so Leon will take what he can get.
He squints when he sees something in the distance. It looks like the soft, blinking light of a police car, which mystifies him, because as far as he’s aware, the shift schedule he’d been emailed said that no one was supposed to patrol this area at this time.
He slows his car down and lets out a sharp breath out through his nose when he realizes what the problem is.
The lights are from a deputy’s car, which is overturned and about ten feet from the main road. There’s not enough damage to suggest that there was a collision, but maybe a skid because of the icy asphalt.
“Hello?” Leon says while climbing out of his seat. He waits for a response but there is none. That can either be good or bad, and so he makes sure his puffer is tight around him as his boots crunch in the snow. “I’m Leon Kennedy, I was supposed to report for duty yesterday, but, uh, extenuating circumstances held me back a bit. I’m here now, though, so… uh… hello?”
He feels a bit stupid for basically talking to himself as he approaches the still silent vehicle. He frowns when he realizes both front doors are open. At least it means whoever was inside escaped, right?
“Oh, fuck,” he says ineloquently when he squats and realizes he’s wrong.
The body of an unblinking officer sits perfectly still, his arms dangling in the air as the seatbelt keeps his hips in the seat. There’s blood that’s starting to freeze stuck to his face, and when Leon tentatively presses two fingers to his neck, he mumbles another curse under his breath.
Dead.
As a doornail, actually, and starting to feel like one, too, especially with how he’s exposed to the elements. His skin is only barely soft and starting to harden in some places like his ears, but when Leon accidentally brushes against his nape, he’s surprised to feel the slightest bit of warmth.
It’s not anything crazy, but it’s still there, and considering how cold it is, that means the officer couldn’t have been dead for long, and Leon sits back on his haunches.
He should call this in.
He reaches for the shoulder mic that dangles from the dead officer’s arm, but as soon as Leon touches it, he knows it’s a lost cause. The thing is covered in blood and also crackles unsteadily when he presses the button, so he lets it go and tries to crawl a bit deeper inside to fiddle with the dash radio, but that one’s so damaged that he doesn’t even try.
Shit.
He shuffles back out and runs a hand through his hair, which is already starting to feel cold and wet from the snow landing in it.
What should he do?
The most logical thing is to call the police, but he is the police, and any method of getting to dispatch is destroyed. He should have bought a crappy phone on the way here, but he’d honestly thought that he could at least get to work without a minor disaster happening.
“Last time I underestimate how much the world sucks,” he says wryly to himself as he digs through the pockets of the officer, taking care not to jostle him too much. Part of it is to preserve as much evidence as possible, but mostly Leon just doesn’t want to disturb the poor man, and soon enough his gloved fingers hit something that isn’t fabric.
It’s his badge and ID. Phil Nodds, and Leon glances over it before tucking it into his pocket. He digs around a little more and this time, his palm grazes over something that makes a soft, crinkling noise, and he pulls out a slightly crumbled piece of paper.
He unfolds it and reads.
Hey Kay,
Thinking about you again. Hope you’re doing well, I heard that you’ve graduated, and I’m so proud of you. Your mom said you aren’t sure yet if you’re going to go through with your med school acceptance, but that’s fine, pumpkin. You just do what you want to do.
Things aren’t going so good here, Kay. Don’t really know for sure what’s going on yet, but they’re dispatching everyone out into areas that aren’t technically a part of our jurisdiction. Some sort of emergency protocol for when we need all hands on deck, I don’t know.
I’m about to head down south and scope out a quieter area. Nothing here but a farm and a nice old couple, you’d like them, I bet. Better than the hospital anyway, which Mike has to deal with, thank god. That place is a nightmare, especially with the amount of traumas cropping up lately, so better him than me, am I right?
Anyway, it should be an easy job, and then I’ll write you again.
Love you,
Dad
Leon grips the paper so tight that he almost rips it.
He takes in a deep, biting breath of cold air and puts the letter in his pocket with more delicacy than he did the police badge. He wants to be careful for the sake of how Phil wrote in ink, and if the snow got to it, it would smudge his words.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Leon says to the body. He clears his throat and tries not to let his voice crack. “I’ll make sure Kay gets this.”
Leon stands back up and takes a step away from the car.
He tries not to let the weight of the letter in his pocket weigh him down, and instead he assesses the scene as best he can. The longer he looks, the more he doubts his initial conclusion that this was just a solo accident as a result of the weather, because the tires are studded and can’t slip on ice as easily.
It takes him another second to realize why the image unsettles him so much.
If the officer was alone, why are both doors open?
BARK!
Leon’s head snaps to the side at the sudden noise. His hand immediately takes out his glock, and he squints through the snow as he tries to find the source of the ferocious growling.
There.
In the distance, barely visible thanks to the blizzard that’s getting worse, is a faint glow.
What did Phil’s letter say again?
Leon fumbles for it, the barrel of his glock never faltering from its pointed position at the light, and he skims the paper.
Nothing here but a farm and a nice old couple…
That has to mean the other person who was in the car must have made it out, right? They probably saw the light and drew the same conclusion as Leon. If the farm is really that close, then there’s a possibility that it has a phone, especially if it’s occupied by the couple that Phil mentioned.
Leon hurries back to his car and shoves himself into his seat. It’s cold as hell inside and he wishes he had the foresight to leave the engine running, but hindsight is 20/20, so he taps the push to start button and waits.
And waits.
“What the fuck?” Leon mutters, and he taps again, then again, and then he’s full on punching the thing, but never once does the car start. It doesn’t even sputter with the effort, and he sits there in disbelief for a second, because why, why, why him?
He heaves a sigh and then gets out.
Looks like he’s walking.
The trek doesn’t take him more than ten minutes, which he’s grateful for. He isn’t made for this kind of weather at all, and when he reaches the electric fence, he eyes the disturbed snow on the ground with great curiosity.
It looks like the imprint of someone’s ass and legs, which confuses Leon, because he steps over the fence and lands neatly on his feet without stumbling. Maybe the person who ran from the car is just unfortunately short, but any thoughts of contemplation are thrown out the window when Leon reaches the barn and stares.
There’s a splatter of blood on the doors.
He crouches and inspects it carefully. It’s a good thing he paid so much attention in forensics, because he can tell that the blood is old, but it still disturbs him enough that he clips the safety off his glock and holds it high as he uses his other hand to open the doors.
It doesn’t smell like anything inside with how cold it is, but there’s definitely been some sort of struggle. The hay is everywhere and disorganized, most pulled from their neat rows of stacked bundles, and the old ladder that probably led to the loft is on the ground at an awkward angle.
And -
“Okay,” Leon says slowly as he cautiously approaches the - thing - dog? Is it a dog? He can’t tell - that’s… stuck… in the back wall. It looks to be a doberman going by its lean body and botched tail, but it’s not moving at all, which sucks. Leon hesitantly pats a hind leg. “Buddy? You okay?”
The dog doesn’t move.
What the fuck is going on?
Leon leaves the barn with more questions than answers, but he suspends any speculation in exchange for caution when he approaches the glowing house a couple dozen yards away. It looks perfectly fine, and there’s no mysterious blood splatters that raises his hairs, but the front door is wide open.
Fuck, he really needs a phone.
The house inside is what he can only describe as something his mom would like. The furniture is old but clean and the lights are never harsher than a warm, buttery yellow. The wallpaper makes him wrinkle his nose a bit, but other than that, there's nothing inherently wrong, except for maybe a couple drawers sticking out, like someone had frantically rummaged through them.
Well, that and the fact that there's a missing shotgun from the wall.
“Crap,” Leon says emphatically. That's not good. The situation is escalating from a vehicular accident to breaking and entering to stealing an armed weapon.
Leon's good at taking a hit, but a shotgun shell to his face isn't exactly something he can recover from, so he sheds his puffer for more movement, but as soon as he tosses the stupid thing aside, there's something cold and hard pressed to his back, and he wants to hit himself for making such a rookie mistake.
“Don't move.” The person speaking and also the person who's presumably got a shotgun pressed to Leon's spine doesn't really sound like the type to do that in the first place, what with how shaky his words are. If Leon concentrates, he can even feel the tremble in the barrel, which vibrates slightly against his shirt, like the holder can't control how unsteady his hands are. “A-Are you normal?”
That's definitely not a question Leon anticipates, but he needs to deescalate the situation, as he sounds as calm as he can as he says, “yeah, I am. Look, bud, put the gun down, okay? I'm with the police - “
“Bullshit!” The man behind him says shrilly. “You aren't in uniform, a-and I've been watching you from the second floor, you came in that shitty Kia - “
“First you press a gun against a defenseless man and then you shit on his car choice?” Leon says, pursing his lips.
“Defenseless my ass,” the man says. “You've got a handgun. You're holding it right now!”
“Safety's on,” Leon lies.
“You think I'm stupid or something, pal?” The man says impatiently. “I'm a freaking gold three in Valorant and silver two in Siege. Your safety's off.”
“Okay, fine, my safety's off, but I'm not lying about being an officer,” Leon says, trying not to sound impatient. “I was on my way to the city when I saw the overturned car. I followed the trail here, to you, so I'm assuming you know what happened there. I'm only trying to help. Put the gun down.”
For a moment, nothing happens, and Leon wonders if he's seriously going to have to get into a scuffle with a civilian, but then there's a shaky groan, and the oppressive sensation of the barrel is gone.
Leon immediately turns around and scrutinizes the man who had the balls to threaten a police officer.
He seems rather shaky, and he's clutching the shotgun like it's his lifeline. He has a lopsided beanie on and his nose is red, but Leon honestly can't tell if it's because of the cold or if it's because he's been crying. The only other notable thing about him is the little cooler he has strapped around him, and he keeps blinking wide doe eyes at Leon.
“You look way too young to be a cop,” the man blurts out abruptly. “Are you sure you shouldn't be, like, in class right now or something?”
Leon frowns at him. “I'm twenty-one.”
“Fetus,” the man mutters under his breath, ignoring the way Leon scowls. “I'm, um, sorry about trying to kill you. Thought you were one of them. I'm Bryan.”
“Leon. What do you mean one of them?” Leon says as he hesitantly accepts Bryan's pathetic handshake.
“The shit that's running around trying to kill me,” Bryan says, and the unfortunate part is he seems to be telling the truth. He sniffles again and pumps the shotgun before Leon can politely ask him if he's escaped from a nearby mental institution. “Anyway, it's not like I would've actually been able to kill you. There's no ammo in this thing, and I'm running low on this one.”
He nearly gives Leon a heart attack when he lifts his shirt and shows a haphazardly stuffed handgun that's sticking out of the waistband of his jeans.
“Don't put that there,” Leon says hurriedly, willing his heart to calm down. He keeps imagining the horror of it going off and blowing clean through Bryan's femur. “And - hey, wait. That's a standard glock that's issued to all American officers. Did you steal that?”
Bryan at least has the decency to blush in embarrassment as he hastily shoves the hem of his shirt back down. “C'mon, man, save the lecture for later. You can arrest me if you want, but for now, you think you can escort me into the city?”
“Fine. I need to file a report about what happened with the accident anyway,” Leon says, tucking away his own glock and giving Bryan a very strong, disapproving look when the guy pats his own handgun. “I'll take you to the city, but you're going to tell me everything that happened.”
“Fine, whatever,” Bryan grumbles. “At least help me find some shells for this baby.”
Leon sighs as Bryan pointedly pumps the shotgun again.
Jesus.
So much for an uneventful first day.