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Leon blearily blinked his eyes open, a yawn escaping him. He felt like he had slept for decades, what with how his muscles protested his stretching and his joints popped like popcorn. He raised a hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes—
His hand was covered in blood.
Well, that was odd. He clenched and released a fist, watching his fingers move. That was indeed his hand; what happened?
And, now that he thought about it, where was he? He couldn’t see his surroundings particularly well, given the thick white smoke that obscured his view, but he definitely wasn’t in his tent. And why was he laying on the ground?
What on Earth happened here?
Waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke, Leon blinked confusedly. Something was wrong, he just had to figure out what. When the smoke eventually cleared enough for him to see and he was greeted with the interior of an abandoned church, he remembered:
Dante, digging through his torso with that cursed dagger. Feeling his blood pool around him on the floor. Struggling to even breathe as all strength left him.
He had died. Dante had finally come for him, and he had died. He remembered seeing the afterlife, wandering through a quiet forest full of gentle, friendly animals and colorful wildflowers. He remembered finding a shack with a reel-to-reel projector broadcasting Ryker’s grief. He remembered mourning with them, eventually unable to watch as they spiraled into despair.
He was meant to be dead. No, he was dead— his heart had stopped beating, his brain had ceased to function, his spirit had moved on. So why…?
Coughing from behind him snapped Leon out of his daze; he wasn’t alone. Shaking, he pushed himself to his feet, his entire body straining with the effort. He swayed unsteadily, nearly falling over until somebody caught him and helped him stabilize. He latched onto their shoulders, gripping them tightly as they looked up at him sadly and oh, Leon would know that face anywhere.
“Leon,” Ryker whispered oh-so-quietly, like if they breathed wrong he would disappear, gently cupping his face in their hand. Leon tried to say their name but ended up growling something more akin to the call of a wild animal. Ryker didn’t care, surging forward and embracing him so, so tight. Leon hugged them back, putting all his strength into his decaying muscles to grip them as tightly as he could.
This could only end badly; he was on borrowed time as it was, and defying nature and life itself to extend that would surely have disastrous consequences. Still, he was here with Ryker again, reunited with who he could only call his son.
He would enjoy this as long as it lasted.
---
Getting back to the hotel was a hassle, to say the least. Bundled up in obscuring clothes to hide whatever the hell was left of his face, stumbling alongside Ryker as they led him. Every step took extraordinary amounts of effort, making the nine-and-a-half kilometer walk back to their lodgings seem like an insurmountable trek around the world. But eventually, with his entire body trembling with exhaustion, they made it home.
Ryker instructed him to bathe, so he made his way to the bathroom. He made the mistake of glancing at the mirror as he passed it and had to double back to get a proper look at what he saw; his entire face was clear of skin, only pinkish muscle left visible. One eye socket was completely empty, leaving a dark cavity behind, the edges lined with eggs and maggots. His other eye was barely holding on; every time he blinked he felt it move like it wanted to fall right out. His jaw was reduced to fragments of shattered bone buried in half-melted flesh, his tongue hanging loosely out from between crooked teeth.
Yikes. No wonder Ryker had covered his face.
Well, there was little to be done about it now; it wasn’t like anyone could un-decay his face. Leon began to make his way to the bath when, at the most inopportune of times, his bad foot finally gave out from under him. Like a slap-stick cartoon, his ankle rolled and he was sent tumbling to the ground, knocking over many toiletries on his way to the floor. He groaned frustratedly, listening to Ryker’s frantic footsteps as they ran to assist him.
He grumbled as they helped him to his feet, pointedly avoiding the concerned glances they kept sending him. He was fine, he could take care of himself, thank you very much. They didn’t need to hover over him like a mother hen; the walk might have been hell on him but he could still function—
And then his knee buckled and Ryker had to catch him before he hit the ground again.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t totally fine. But that didn’t mean that they needed to burden themselves with assisting him; he was a grown, older man for Christ’s sake, and he was fully aware of just how gross he was. He looked up at Ryker from his seat on the lip of the tub, and they reminded him of when they cleaned his wounds for him way back when they were first getting to know each other and oh, fine, but only because they looked at him with those stupid puppy-dog eyes they were far too good at.
He shucked off his clothes and crawled into the bath. Ryker looked horrified at the severity of his wounds and it hurt his chest to see. He had left them in that confessional for a reason; they never should’ve had to see him like this, tattered flesh just barely hanging on to deep, serrated wounds, marred with blood and general detritus… he could only imagine how much he hurt to look at.
While Ryker cleaned his hair, he thought of his death. He had done everything he could to protect them; he surprised them with their favorite cake, he hid them in a confessional, he purposefully died away from them so they’d never have to see the horror of his corpse, but even with all his effort they still ended up so traumatized and grief-stricken that they’d decided their only option was to defy reality itself and bring him back from the dead. He’d tried so hard to protect them and he still didn’t have enough.
He felt like a failure. Ryker had already been through so much, what with their less-than-happy home life and leaving their family (for him , too. Christ, Leon, haven’t you caused the kid enough pain?), and despite his best efforts he had managed to make things ten times worse for them. He struggled to understand how they weren’t upset with him.
Upon realizing he couldn’t talk particularly well, Ryker seemed apologetic enough, but Leon was still disappointed he couldn’t converse with them. Long talks through the silence staring up at the stars had made otherwise hellish nights bearable.
Inevitably, he got shampoo in his eye. He gave up trying to rub it out and simply pulled his eye from its socket— it wanted to fall out anyway, so he wasn’t really causing any harm. Upon putting it back in its proper place, he remembered, oh yeah, Ryker was still watching this. He smiled sheepishly (as much as he could without a mouth) and put his hands in his lap.
Ryker was seemingly surprised about him not being able to feel pain, still being ever-so-careful plucking insects out of his wounds, but Leon wasn’t quite sure why— hadn’t they literally just watched him pull his eyeball out of his skull? As smart as they were, sometimes they didn’t quite connect the dots. The thought made affection swell up in his chest.
Meandering his way back to the main room, Leon was content. Things weren’t perfect, of course, but it was nice to be back with his son friend again.
Then Ryker let it slip that they had been to Rosso Cadere.
As beautiful as the place was, Rosso held horrible secrets that nobody should ever have to bare, let alone someone as young as Ryker. Even worse, they had explored the Basilica (capitalized— this was not just any old basilica).
Oh, the things they must have seen. Leon could read them like a book— despite how they tried to hide it, he could see the pain in their eyes, the way they instinctually tensed at the subject, the way they ran their tongue over their teeth. Terrible things had happened here, and there was no doubt in his mind that they hadn’t been spared from the horrors of that cursed place.
Leon apologized. He felt the need to— there were things hidden there that felt like they came from the deepest bowels of hell. They should never have had to see any of it, and as much as they tried to insist it wasn’t his fault, he was still the reason they went. How could it not be his fault? He wished that he could wipe their memory, make them forget all they must’ve seen.
They went to bed, and it almost felt normal again; having Ryker breathing deeply right next to him was comforting, and despite the events of that day, he fell asleep rather quickly.
---
The journey back to Rosso Cadere was, admittedly, frustrating, but it left Leon in a nostalgic, slightly melancholy mood; it reminded him of when he’d first made the trip down here, back when he was younger and more innocent. The sights were just as beautiful as they were the first time he saw them, the cerulean sea glistening in the sunlight like a sapphire. The foliage had turned multitudes of rusty oranges, crimson reds, and mottled browns, transforming the entire town into a gorgeous example of beauty in death.
Even Ryker’s house was cute, in a way— a cozy little chalet filled with tiny souvenirs and memories, with fuzzy rugs, a soft couch with puffy throw pillows, all topped with various plants.
The plants caught his interest— he had always liked them, and finding out they were individually named only made his affection grow. Then he came across a small potted hydrangea named Leon and he nearly cried, especially once he took a moment to ponder the symbolism of said flowers; among other things, they represented family. It made his heart ache in a very bittersweet way to know they considered him family.
They were just discussing their housing situation when there was a knock at the door. Ryker went to answer it and only returned after a very tense few minutes, guiding a fluorescent purple man beside them. When they came to a stop everyone looked tense. Leon figured he’d be polite and shake the new person’s— Accardi, he was introduced as— hand. He approached slowly, trying not to startle him, and held out his hand. Accardi gave him a handshake, and Leon backed off.
Perfect. Another Social Interaction™ accomplished. Congratulations, Leon, even after being dead for a year you can still communicate with other humans.
He went back to tending to the plants, only picking up vague pieces of the conversation Ryker and Accardi were having. Some of these plants looked a little sad, he noted, maybe they needed a bit of fertilizer—
And then Ryker mentioned they had found the ritual that brought him back in the basement of the Basilica.
Leon whipped around to stare at them in horror. He wasn’t particularly familiar with the magic that his brother had dabbled in, but he certainly knew of that one— the Black Vulture, as they had dubbed it, could bring someone back to life, but they would only have maybe a month and a half before they started to change. They’d become spacey, dissociative, and then eventually aggressive and animalistic. Once they got to that point there was no saving them. He never saw what happened then, only that they’d be gone once their family had given up.
Cold dread pooled in Leon’s gut. If that was how Ryker had brought him back… oh, they were setting themselves up for so much hurt. He knew from experience the spiral into madness was terrible to watch and he shuddered at the thought of what it might be like to live through. He knew when he first woke up that things would go badly, but he didn’t expect things to be this bad.
Ryker caught him staring; he quickly looked away. Well, if they only had so much time, he wasn’t going to waste it acting solemn.
He would enjoy this for as long as he had. And he’d make sure Ryker felt as little hurt as possible.
His mind went blank as he continued to tidy around the house, until Accardi approached him and began to speak in rapid, muttered sentences. It took a moment for his lagging brain to process what he was saying, but once he did, he nearly fainted.
Accardi had asked for Leon’s blessing. To marry Ryker.
First of all, that was way too damn cute. Secondly, Accardi felt the need to ask, which meant that he also saw him as Ryker’s father-figure. And third, Ryker was now losing their shit and slandering Accardi in French.
This was nice.
He was going to be so upset when he had to leave again.
---
Things were good for a while. Spending time with Ryker and Accardi proved to be as affectionately chaotic as the first time; botched cooking sessions, silly board games, everlasting movie nights, everything felt normal again. Leon was happy to be back. He could almost forget what was waiting for him.
As the days went on, Leon knew he was running out of time. He started to feel spacey, like his brain was clouded with a thick haze of fog that only seemed to get worse with time. He developed a bad habit of picking at his hands, focusing on the feeling of his skin breaking and peeling to ground himself. It worked at first, but eventually, he’d fall back into that dissociative headspace and lose himself pick-pick-pick ing at his skin.
He lost his appetite, too. He never felt truly hungry anymore, but still, an emptiness clawed at his gut constantly. He habitually bit at the inside of his mouth, tearing little grooves into his flesh in some vain attempt to stop the void churning within him. He couldn’t even sleep to escape it; any time he laid down he was hideously aware of every sound, every twitch, every microscopic iota of disturbance, each one echoing in his head and setting off thousands of everlasting alarm bells. No matter how long he laid with his eye closed, no matter how still he sat, no matter how mentally exhausted he felt, he simply could not fall asleep.
He was falling. It was only a matter of time.
He clung to his daily routine for some sense of normalcy: wake up, water the plants (taking special care of flower-Leon), tidy the house, greet Ryker when they come home, help cook dinner, spend time with Ryker, go to bed, repeat. Wake up (he had never fallen asleep), water the plants (what was this flower’s name again?), tidy the house, greet Ryker when they come home (what time was that? They surprised him often nowadays), help cook dinner (Ryker didn’t let him handle delicate things now; he forgot what he was doing mid-action too often), spend time with Ryker, go to bed (he still never slept), repeat. Wander out of bed, put things away (why was this tin full of water?), greet his roommate when they come home…
His roommate.
Leon scratched his hands. What was their name again?
Cold dread pooled in his gut, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He got the feeling he had forgotten something really important.
What was it… Rylee? Ryan? No, it had a “k” in it somewhere. Kayden? Or maybe Kardi?
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know why he was freaking out so badly; it was just a name, and the name of someone he wasn’t particularly close to anyway (was he? That felt wrong.), but it still upset him to the point his breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking.
Kylie, maybe? No, it wasn’t feminine. Kevin?
Oh well. He’d remember at some point.
---
Leon was alone. He had always been alone— at least, as far as he remembered. He couldn’t think of any family or pups (pups? Kids, Leon, they’re kids, where did pups come from?), nothing smelled familiar, and he certainly didn’t see anyone around, so he must’ve just been a loner. He got the feeling that was weird, and sort of wrong, like he did have family and pu— kids somewhere, but his mind was peacefully blank.
Keys jingled. A doorknob rattled. Someone was coming into his den.
As soon as the door opened, he was flooded with the smell of cigarette smoke and oranges. It was a comforting, familiar smell, one only found in the closet in his nesting room. That’s right, that was his packmate. How had he forgotten his packmate?
They dropped their belongings on the kitchen table, gazing at him longingly. They looked very… sad. Why? Everything was just fine.
They looked away and sighed, saying something Leon couldn’t understand. He blinked at them, but they didn’t see, having already started cooking.
They ate alone and retired to their nest without saying another word. Leon spent the night picking at his hands— a habit he had always had, as far as he knew— and watched them leave the next morning, leaving their scent to linger around the den.
Leon simply sat around. He had nothing to do, really, and he had to stay here for some vague unknown reason, so he sat and waited for his packmate to return.
As time passed, their scent started to fade. Whose scent was it? He couldn’t remember. He was alone, as he had always been; no pack or pups to call his own, but his den smelled faintly of another. Who?
Keys jingled. A doorknob rattled. Someone was coming into his den.
Time seemed to slow. He heard footsteps behind him, cracking like lightning in the silence of his den. The stranger smelled of smoke and fruit— not a natural scent by far. His hackles raised as he stood. He was caught at an impasse; half of him wanted to whip around and defend his territory, to dig his claws into the intruder’s flesh and gouge their eyes out of their skull and rip their throat out and taste the blood that would flood from their wounds—
But the other half of him was scared. Begging quietly in the corner for him to just hold still, to think for a moment, to hold the intruder close like they were kin. That half of him shuddered at the thought of attacking, of biting, of tearing, of killing. That half of him knew that if he attacked now, it would be all over.
But it didn’t know why.
And so, when the intruder made contact with him, he attacked.
He lunged at them, slashing down their face and tearing through their skin with his claws. He relished in the terror that flashed across their face as he grabbed their throat. He felt their blood pulsing beneath his fingers, he heard their heart pounding in their chest, he smelled the raw adrenaline coursing through them. He snarled wildly, savoring every second as they weakly kicked out in a vain attempt to escape. He felt their heartbeat start to slow, watching as they began to grow limp, tasting the fear in the air—
Ryker keeled over, clutching their abdomen. “My chest and stomach hurt really bad,” they wheezed, tears gathering in their eyes. “I can’t sit comfortably and— hh hhh —”
Leon blinked. He remembered.
He instantly released Ryker, letting them drop to their knees. They gasped for breath, coughing as air caught in their ragged throat. Leon took several panicked steps back, holding his hands tight to his chest. He could still feel their pulse beneath his grip, their blood on his fingers, their desperate clawing at his hand—
He reached out, wanting to comfort them.
They flinched.
Leon broke. Scrambling back, he kneeled down, apologizing in sign as fast as he could with his shaking hands. Ryker tried to reassure him, whispering worthless affirmations in his ear while they hugged him, but it was hopeless. He cried into their shoulder, keeping his hands firmly away from them.
He had attacked them. Leon had attacked his own son and enjoyed it.
He was losing himself. He wouldn’t be lucid for much longer; it was only a matter of time before the fog returned and he was growling at them like a wild animal.
And so, he wept.
He wept for himself, for his guilt, for the life he and Ryker never got to live together, and, most of all, he wept for the grief Ryker would have to go through once again.
He sat there, and he wept.
---
Leon jolted to alertness when a door clicked. He scolded himself for losing his awareness— anybody could have come by, moron! There could have been intruders in his den and he would never have noticed. He growled softly to himself at the thought. How foolish of him, practically inviting someone into his den.
He meandered out into the main room, making himself comfortable on the long mini-nest inside. He didn’t bother with anything else; he’d defend his territory if somebody came, but for now, he was alone.
There wasn’t a thought in his mind until he heard approaching footsteps. He took a deep breath in and was nearly punched by the smell of fruit. They were back, then.
He grinned wildly to himself as he darted behind the door, hiding behind its frame as it stood open. He had to bite his cheek to contain an excited chirrup; stay quiet, stay still, wait for the right moment…
As soon as they stepped inside, Leon lunged, curling an arm around their throat. He heard them gasp, heard the abrupt cutoff as their airway seized shut, heard their muffled choking as they struggled to breathe. He let a growl slip from his throat, exhilarated by the hunt. This was what he lived for— feeling his prey struggle beneath him, watching them struggle uselessly, sinking his claws into them and feeling their bones crunch under his teeth. In fact, he’d do just that. He reared back, his mouth open wide—!
His arms were wrenched away from his prey. Before he could blink, he had been tackled to the floor. His assailant wrestled his arms behind his back, holding them in place as they clicked something over his wrists. When they jerked his head to the side, he tried to claw them off, but his wrists were stuck together.
Leon screeched, a last-ditch effort to startle his attacker into letting him go, but to no avail. They slammed something over his mouth, tying it in place around his head and smashing him against the floor. Only then did they let him go and return to their packmate.
Leon struggled on the floor, gnashing his teeth. Damned prey had a pack. A pack with an exceptionally strong member, at that. That made things significantly more complicated. He fought to get his feet under him.
That would be fine. He just had to focus on one before the other. They were his prey; he would get them eventually.
Finally on his feet again, Leon started towards the pair. Apparently the smaller one alerted the larger one to his approach, as he stood up and swiftly punched him in the jaw. The blow sent him toppling to the floor with a groan.
Oh, this stupid, cocky prey, fighting back like this. He growled to himself as the larger one dragged him away. He vowed to crack this pesky little moron’s skull open. Eventually he was secured to a bedpost, the two packmates exchanging quiet communications.
Days passed like that, with him tied up in his own damn den. His prey took over the place, filling his nest with their scent. They left him alone for the most part, but the smaller prey visited him at least once a day, if not more. Oh, how he itched to break free of his restraints, to run on all fours like he was meant to and pounce on them, to pluck their eyes out and feel them pop in his mouth, to tear out their throat and lap up every drop of the resulting waterfall of blood, to snap open their bones and consume the delicious marrow within. They were his prey, he would kill them, and oh would he make it hurt. He was a hunter at heart, and prey that fought back was always the most satisfying to finally end.
One day, Small Prey sat in front of him. They made sure to stay just out of his reach; no matter how hard he pulled against his restraints, he couldn’t touch them at all. It infuriated him. They were so close, just sitting there, making strange, unintelligible noises at him. They were taunting him, purposefully unreachable and oh-so-inviting. Stupid prey, stupid cocky prey, oh just wait, he’ll pin them down and pull out their teeth so they can’t even fight back and then he’ll peel the skin off their face and grin as they scream and dig his claws into them as they thrash under him—
They were crying.
Leon barely understood the concept of crying— he didn’t cry himself, of course— but he did know that it was a sign of distress. Good, he thought, let them hurt. They deserve it.
But at the same time, watching them sob… made him feel something. A tightness in his chest that crawled up into his throat and stopped him from growling. A chill that took hold of his entire body and brought him to stillness. An instinctual desire to reach out and lick their tears away.
Leon dug his heels into the ground, white-hot rage flaring in his chest. What the hell were they doing to him, making him feel things? He was a goddamn hunter, a master of killing, he shouldn’t be feeling sorry for his prey. Somehow they had wormed their way into his mind and he hated it so much he would bash his head against a wall until he fell unconscious to give them a physical way to escape.
They stared at him for a moment, their eyes so sad but so hopeful, before reaching out for him. Leon snapped at their hand— how dare they try and touch him? Stupid prey, he’d show them, just watch.
Sighing, they stood up. He watched as they went to leave, dragging their feet. They looked over their shoulder at him, and he stared as menacingly as he could. Eventually, they got the message and finally, finally left him alone.
Stupid prey.
---
The next day, Small Prey stood in front of him while Large Prey watched. They pointed something unrecognizable at him with shaking hands. He could smell the fear wafting from them in waves, their heart thumping so loud he could almost feel it himself.
What were they planning? He didn’t know what they were holding, but they were clearly distraught about it. Whatever they were about to do couldn’t have been good.
Leon’s hackles raised and he struggled against his restraints.
Small Prey nearly collapsed, sobbing, and Leon relaxed for a moment, thinking they had backed out of whatever their plan was. Then Large Prey stood close to them and took their hand in his, leveling the Object with Leon’s head. He growled, his chains rattling loudly as he fought to move. There were long pauses between the noises Small Prey was making, as if they had to fight to get every sound out of their mouth. He could just barely see tears rolling down their cheeks.
There was a loud crack and a flash of white-hot pain, and then within an instant there was nothing.
---
Leon blearily blinked his eyes open. He was lying flat on his back, soft grass tickling his skin as he stared up at pastel swirls. Blinking, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, every thought he had fighting through a flood of molasses before he could process them. Where had he been before this…?
Right, Ryker had brought him back to life. He thought hard, blinking through fuzzy memories. Let’s see… he had been at their house in Rosso Cadere, he had met their boyfriend(?) Accardi, he had spent time with both of them…
His blood went cold.
He had become feral. He had attacked Ryker.
Dear god, Ryker had shot him.
He bolted upright, scrambling to his feet. He was back in that familiar clearing, surrounded on all sides by waving trees. In the center of the clearing was that very same cabin, the one that had projected Ryker’s despair when he had first left them.
He was almost afraid to look.
He apprehensively got to his feet, pushing the door of the cabin open. The film inside was already rolling, projecting onto the wall.
Ryker was on the ground, clawing at the floor and smearing blood from their raw fingers around. Accardi was on his knees next to them, rubbing comforting circles into their back. They were both sobbing so hard it shook them, and despite the lack of audio Leon felt like he could hear their wails of anguish.
“Oh, Ryker…” Leon whispered. He had almost forgotten he could speak.
He knew from the moment he laid eyes on them at that cursed church that things would go wrong eventually. He knew Ryker was setting themselves up for pain. But he didn’t expect them to have to hold a gun to his head and shoot him themselves.
He watched in astonished, guilty silence as Ryker drank themselves into a hole. They looked like he used to, he noted; completely plastered, stains covering their front from spills their unsteady hands caused, harsh bags under their eyes, a generally exhausted demeanor. He had tried to save them all those years ago, when they came to him in the middle of the night crying about their neglectful family, just as they had saved him before, but he only managed to doom them in the end.
He watched as Accardi had to half-drag them home, leaving them to collapse on their bed and setting himself up on the couch. The film slowed to a halt and the image flickered out as Ryker fell into a hopefully dreamless sleep.
He sank to his knees, rubbing a hand down his face. His chest felt like there was a brick lodged in it, making it hard to breathe.
He closed his eyes. He was always too scared to tell them he loved them, and now he wouldn't get the chance.
That thought brought another memory bubbling to the front of his mind.
Ryker sat in front of him, quietly sobbing to themselves. "I know you never liked being called Dad, but I think you deserve to know you were a father to someone, in the end."
And that was where Leon broke.
He buried his face in his hands, broken sobs filling the cabin. His heart ached for every ounce of trauma Ryker had to go through. He fell forward, not bothering to catch himself, letting his tears soak the wooden boards under him.
“Ryker,” he whimpered, wishing with every part of his being that they’d somehow be able to hear him, “I love you too.”
Somewhere in dreamland, Ryker smiled.