• Welcome to Revival of Faith. You had stepped into my second Resident Evil entry, ladies and gentlemen! This project was originally meant to star the Leon Scott Kennedy/Old Snake couple, but I can't ever resist Chris Redfield's charms. His RE5 self is just too adorable to ignore! So you'll be treated to a rather dark tale, with the Chris/Leon couple. Please sit back, relax, and remember: if you're not into emotional characters, or if you're uneasy about boy/boy love, walk away now. You'll be much happier elsewhere, youngling!

    Warning: Revival of Faith contains boy/boy romance, and emotional Resident Evil characters. Please do not proceed if you find yourself uncomfortable with either element. In addition to that, this project contains gritty situations. Refrain from proceeding if you're uneasy about intense angst/graphic situations.

    Disclaimer: I would give anything to own Chris. His greatest fan doesn't own him, however, and she doesn't own anything else attached to Resident Evil. Bwaaah.


    People were attracted to horror films. They flocked to tales of bloodthirsty demons, helpless teenagers and abandoned towns. Popcorn popping audiences packed theatres just to see monsters devour humans, their expectations for thrills higher than the stars. Jaws dropped as beasts wrangled police officers to death, and eyes widened whenever a mortal was sliced to ribbons. However, audiences bore no fear as they watched their films. They believed their vampires, zombies and chainsaws were confined inside of movie screens, dvd boxes and laptops. Nothing could haunt them as they huddled together, eyes glued to television monitors.

    No one believed they'd ever end up in their own horror flick. Blood-seeking monsters were just figments of one's imagination, composed by writers starving for attention. No one ever believed they'd encounter zombies, behemoths or butcher knives. They were all safe behind their tv screens and popcorn boxes, exempt from danger. None of them were aware of those fated to live inside of horror films. No one knew of the operatives fated to fight overwhelming odds.

    No one knew of their heavy sacrifices.

    Lives were torn asunder, left and right. Humans were chopped down like slices of meat, carved to shreds as many of their film counterparts. Devils laughed as mortals were sliced and diced, relishing the last screams of their prey. Blood was far more plentiful than water, in a land that knew only of death. Those that lived in that land weren't in any movie, though. And those sent to save it weren't involved in a cast. No one had been enlisted into a screenwriter's script. So many souls experienced their own brand of Hell, fated to never again see the light of day.

    Reality's villians were members of the Scythe Regime. The Scythes were black hooded figures, seeking blood and giving no quarter. They seemed to know only blood, even at the cost of their own names. No one could determine whether or not they were human, for they never removed their hoods-let alone their cloaks. They kept themselves hidden from view, like the clever slashers inside of horror films. Behind masks they lived, refusing to acknowledge the light of humanity. They slaughtered humans as they saw fit, tormenting their psyches before they finished the job. Chainsaws, knives and poison were all a part of their arsenal, closely followed by substances like bleach. A certain BSAA operative was treated to the whole kitten kaboodle.

    The President's right-hand man had been sent to assist the BSAA. He had a strong connection to one BSAA operative, which gave him an intimate connection to the entire force. Togethey they made haste to an unnamed region, with no camera crew at their heels. Before they could even blink, they found themselves waist deep in bloodshed. The Scythe, as they found out (the hard way), had experimented on a wide assortment of creatures. They were masters of experimentation, and had succeeded in driving many creatures insane. The people of that region weren't excluded from their operations, transformed into mindless toys that didn't know up from left.

    On one fateful night, one operative was seized by the Regime's chieftain. The chieftain, who didn't bear an inch of a name, took quite an interest in the operative-and drugged him during his nighttime patrol duty. He didn't have a chance to blink, let alone defend himself. One found it difficult to wrestle off an assailant, especially when that assailant had his arm wrapped around one's throat. At his size, the BSAA operative should've been able to wrangle him off-but the unidentified substance was powerful enough to knock out a full-grown bear. The officer was taken down in seconds, and the Scythe chieftain bagged his prey. He took home his new toy and immediately began to play with it, unwrapping it as quickly as he could. The operative didn't like being unwrapped one bit, but the opening ceremony was just that-the opening ceremony. Laughing, the wordless Scythe chieftain welcomed his toy doggy style-three times over. As punishment for his toy's protests, he proceeded to cut off the toy's manhood-then forced it down the toy's throat.

    That wasn't the end of the fun. The Regime's guest was treated to piles of cold, hellish laughter, a gallon of bleach, and more amputations. In one hour, he lost both nipples and every finger on his left hand. The chieftain's followers wanted to play with the toy more, but the chieftain wouldn't have it. He forced one more dosage of bleach down the toy's throat, laughed as the bleach came out with vomit, and left the playroom. His wordless supporters were close behind, snickering as their bleeding guest wriggled in his own pain. Meanwhile, the hero of his film pursued him-along with his sister.

    Leon Scott Kennedy and Claire Redfield were quite the team, working against corruption with unstoppable bravery. Both were soul mates, but not on a romantic level. They were forever friends, brother and sister. Light and shadow. They complimented each other, battling against death itself. Leon supported Claire with everything he had, vowing to protect her as they sought her brother. She promised to support him with the same fervor, always smiling and willing to lend a hand. She was immaculate, a pristine melody in the midst of grimy darkness. One could hear Heaven sing as she walked, taking down enemies with an effervescent heart.

    That heart was eventually cut down, torn to shreds by pikes and chains.

    In an attempt to secure Leon's life, she took on a pack of Scythes. Chains tied her down as pikes dove into her, taking the life out of her as her friend ran on. Tears burned his eyes as he ran, forever fated to remember the butterfly he loved-and lost. The blood of innocence ran from wounds as screams pierced the lifeless heavens, heavy with the pain of a broken heart. A maiden's eyes closed with a smile, heart hoping for light as pikes crept underneath her flesh. The hero of her story ran on, forever fated to remember one of the heaviest losses he had suffered. He had loved her far more than oxygen, cherishing her over his own skin. She had been a part of him, Claire Redfield, and that vital part of him died by a pack of mongrels.

    There was no way he'd lose her brother.

    He hardly remembered the end of the film. He crashed in on the chieftain, being the only one left of the collective forces. The chieftain threatened to kill his captive, who was naked and breathing-but devoid of life. A team of Scythes threw Claire's bloodied corpse in front of the captive, the captive went berserk-the smell of bleach, blood and urine littered the air-

    It was all too much to remember. And before the hero knew it, the chieftain was lifeless before his feet-and his captive was escorted to the BSAA Trauma Recovery Center. He couldn't accept his sibling's death, let alone the rest of reality. He recognized neither friend or foe, lost in far too much pain to even care. The only one he acknowledged was Claire, and her life had been stolen from him. For a while, her name was the only name to escape his lips-but then, the hero's name joined in. Both Claire and Leon were sought tearfully, as a captive of pain fell deeper into a white oblivion. He called out to both, Claire drifted further into Heaven, as the hero sat in the waiting room. He rarely moved while his lover was worked on, refusing to even take a bite from the nearby vending machine. Much against the will of his comrades, and the President, he kept himself glued to his seat. He rarely bathed, rarely ate, rarely slept, and rarely blinked. Meanwhile, an inconsolable BSAA operative wrestled against the Devil's grip. Pain, at the highest level imaginable, ate away at him. He cried out in fear whenever anyone touched him, and wouldn't stop shrieking for ages on end. He'd cry himself raw before slipping into exhaustion, but even then he'd be deathly afraid of human contact. He was a child facing a fatal nightmare, afraid to do anything but slip under the covers.

    Leon was kept away. Far away. As much as he wanted to see Claire's brother, he was ordered to keep himself away from Chris-at all costs. Stepping into his operating room would've been a bit dangerous, since the remaining Redfield was afraid of every living thing-including himself. The slightest interruption in Chris's recovery most likely would have been fatal. The Kennedy, with the company of other BSAA operatives, glued himself to the waiting room-and lost a great deal of weight in the process. Muscular mass was deflated during his vigil for Chris Redfield. He cared nothing for it, and wouldn't have cared if he died. The only thing that mattered to him was the Redfield's recovery. In what seemed like a few hours, Leon Scott Kennedy became a completely different person.

    In three months, Leon and Chris boarded a plane to Las Vegas.


    "I can't believe you! You actually bet against him-and won! All on my account, too!"

    "Well, naturally. After all, I am smarter than the average dumbass."

    "Leon, he's the nation's top poker player! He's been in half a million championships, and you toppled him!"

    With a smug smile, Leon turned to face the Mirage's legendary fountains. Their show had not yet started, but it promised to be an unbelievably beautiful one. A pristine monument to life, it would be. Happiness, golden and pure, erupted in his eyes while he spoke. "Ah," he said, with a casual wave. "I wasn't about to let him win. He wanted to steal you away, the jackass."

    The Kennedy had a blushing puppy at his side. The puppy, always adorable, looked even cuter in his nighttime suit. He had polished himself just for their night out on the town, and felt even happier about his appearance because of Leon's latest accomplishment. "Didn't know I was worth more than five million," he said, face doused in shyness. Leon, appearing to be bored, stared out at the unborn fountain show.

    "Actually, your worth can't be put into numbers. Or words."

    "You really know how to make a guy feel great, you know?"

    "It's the least I can do, for someone that's been in a rehab center."

    "Hey! It wasn't a rehab center! It was the Trauma Recovery Center! You make it sound as if I recovered from alcoholism! What do you have against rehab centers anyway?!"

    "Nothing," the Kennedy said, voice radiant with heavenly warmth. He turned to Chris with a rather rare gift, which was commonly known as a smile. "Nice to hear the energy in your voice, by the way. Glad you've got the energy to make me sound like an idiot."

    "I've only got it because of you," was the shy, warm response. The Redfield bowed his head, cheeks darker than rubies. "I've only got the air I breathe because of you. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't even be here."

    For a moment, the only sounds they heard were the sounds of crowded streets and rustling waters. Cars, trucks and motorcycles passed them by as people walked on, sharing each other's company with broad smiles. Lights glimmered on above, highlighting the night's joy. Both of them peered out at the Mirage, speaking not a word as their hearts dove deeper into serene silence. Chris was akin to a bashful school maiden, wrestling with unborn confessions, while the Kennedy was simply resting. After all, he had been through an unbelievably dark period. It had been three months ago, but memories were still fresh in his mind. They were also fresh in the mind of his lover.

    All too fresh.


    The Kennedy turned to him, his eyes softer than moonlight. "What is it?" he asked gently, his voice a zephyr in the nighttime ether. Chris turned to him with a scarlet red smile, hands wringing against one another.

    "You'll...you'll listen to me, right?"

    "I'll ask again. What is it, Chris?"

    The smile vanished from view, replaced by a look of intense fear. The Redfield said nothing for what felt like an age, his eyes complimented by the moon's silver light. Another couple stopped by the fountain with a camera, ready to engrave memories into their minds and hearts. Chris began to voice his fears with a trembling voice, hands wrestling against each other as images were snapped into eternity.

    "I...well, the reason I...I h-h-haven't t-t-told...um...I h-h-haven't said anything because...I..."

    Gentle hands were placed onto his shoulders. With a gasp he lifted his head, crimson red face meeting the eyes of a forever loyal bodyguard. Children shouted with glee as waters began to meet the starlit heavens, pointing at the magnificent geysers of the Mirage. "Don't push anything," a voice prodded tenderly, bringing tears to the Redfield's eyes. "I don't want you diving headfirst into anything you aren't comfortable with."

    Grief-stricken, Chris took several steps back. "B-b-but...I am comfortable w-w-with you. I'm just not...not comfortable w-w-with...m-m-myself."

    "Yourself?" Leon asked, as if Chris had spoken in reverse Italian. He remembered Chris's 'party' all too well, but couldn't believe what he had just heard. "What's going on?"

    "What do you mean, 'what's going on'?! Have you forgotten?! Look at me!"

    Chris's words resonanted throughout the starry skies, drenched in anguish. Each word was a cry, a scream from a broken heart. "Remember, Leon," a shattered soul cried out, clasping his heart. "Think of everything! Think of how she was thrown at my feet, torn to shreds! Think of everything I went through! Those bastards did everything they could to break me down, Leon! They took my sister, my body-THEY TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME! EVERYTHING!"

    The cry of a disconsolate wolf emerged from the Redfield's throat, betraying the city's luminous rapture. Oceans tore themselves out of a human's eyes, unbidden and immortal. Children, elders and couples were alarmed by the sudden outbreak in sorrow, wondering if the young stallion would be all right-and if his lover would be enough to heal him. Several maidens took the chance to throw darts at the Kennedy, eyes snarling at him for his inability to stop Chris's tears. "We can't make love," a wolf wept, face buried in his hands. The eyes of his lover gazed at him, filled with an indescribable amount of horror.

    "We can't! We just can't! I can't...I won't be enough! I'm not even a man any more, Leon!"

    Right then and there, Leon would have sacrificed anything to erase Chris's darkest memories. He would have sacrificed his golden career, his precious handguns, and every last one of his limbs. He would have sacrificed the breath in his body to cleanse Chris's heart. The desire to erase darkness overrode his ability to comprehend reality, let alone hear the proud fountains. He stood before a weeping Chris, frozen by what was commonly called 'horror'-but was far too powerful to be tied down by a single word. Both maidens and knights alike threw darts at him, wishing they could relieve him of his head-and steal Chris for themselves. How could Leon possibly live with himself, while his boyfriend was clearly brokenhearted? It was an unthinkable crime!

    Leon stared. If he didn't react soon, Chris would do something drastic. He'd announce the end of their relationship and head off alone. He'd surely head straight into a painful, solitary existence, which would most likely result in death. The Redfield didn't have the will to live on his own! He could go right back to the hotel room and jump from the balcony, or drown himself in the bathtub, or poison himself in someway-

    "You don't deserve this," a puppy whispered, face soaked in rain water. He wiped at his eyes while hiccuping, upsetting members of the anti-Leon club. "You d-d-deserve b-b-better. I c-c-can't keep going with this. It's just wrong."

    "Why?" an angry Kennedy asked, spreading his arms out. "Just because your d**k's been cut off?"

    "It's more than that and you know it! You're aware of everything he did! He ate me alive, Leon!"

    The President's confidant folded his arms. "So what? You want to end everything because some a*****e toyed with you? He wasn't aware of what he had, didn't give a damn about you, but you're willing to end everything? All over a blind jackass?"

    "Dickhole," a passing Mirage worker whispered in Leon's ear, catching the tearful look on Chris's face. A little girl stuck her tongue out at the Kennedy, while a young girl shook her head. Chris, meanwhile, stared at Leon with wide eyes. He said nothing for a moment, paralyzed by a fusion of grief and anguish. Leon remained calm and collected, but furious. His eyes shivered with unborn tears, all of them born from immeasurable emotion. "I can't..." the Redfield whimpered, hands about his mouth. "L-L-Leon, I...you know I c-c-can't. I can't."

    "Do you think she'd want you to make that decision?"

    "No," the Redfield said, shaking his head. "but she's the only one I can bring a smile to. The only one I can move. The only one I can do anything for. I...I c-c-can't do anything for you. So please stop. Just c-c-cut it out, Leon."

    "What do you want me to do? Leave you alone? After everything we've been through?"

    "I want you to be happy," Chris retaliated instantly, hands balled into fists and eyes engorged with tears. "I want you to live! I want you to have someone that can please you, in every way possible! You know sex isn't just sex if you're with the person you love, Leon! I want you to have something special, and that can't happen with me! I can't give you what you deserve!"

    "And whose rulebook are you pulling this conclusion from?" the Kennedy asked, the serenity of his voice betraying the extent of his wrath. "Want to consult with me before putting your play into action?"

    Chris lowered his head, shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. "No," he sobbed, shaking his head once more. "I don't want to hear what you have to say, because I already know. I already know how you feel. I know how I feel too. That's why I...I can't do this. I'll never be the man I once was, Leon. I can't do it."

    Leon's voice seemed calm, but closer inspection revealed elevating tears. His voice cracked mid-sentence, permitting a flow of fresh pain. "So what do you expect me to do? Bury everything and pretend we never met?"

    Much to the Kennedy's horror, Chris nodded. "I never even told you 'I love you'," he sobbed, his voice no higher than a whisper. "I never even kissed you. Our only date took place in a blood-stained world! We didn't have too much of a storybook romance!"

    Not another word left his heart. The Redfield, face covered in tears, turned his back on his only link to sanity. The fountains performed their crescendo for onlookers as he stepped away, leaving behind the man he loved more than the remnants of his life. Leon stared as Chris stepped further out of his sight, and out of his life. He stared as his only link to oxygen stepped away, forever lost in tears.

    He had two options. He could either lose the only one he had promised passion to, or pursue him. He could either play the part of the loser, or make his own romance film.

    Cars honked, buses parked, water danced-


    There's no way. No way I'm letting this happen. No ******** way!

    Chris dove further into a Las Vegas crowd, tears scorching his cheeks. Leon moved forward, arms pumping and heart racing. His eyes focused on his goal, determined to reach that goal at all costs. His hands leapt out, his heart cried out-

    -and a hand grabbed Chris's right hand. Before the Redfield had a chance to blink, he found himself within Leon's arms. The Kennedy drew him into an unbreakable embrace, wielding the fortitude of a valorous stallion. Their eyes met-Chris questioned reality-

    "Want me to let you go? Sorry, but you'll have to kill me. By the way, I love you too."

    Breathing came to an end. The heavy streets of a colorful, sleepless world fell into silence, falling into gentle submission by a first kiss. Arms wrapped around bodies as lips melted into each other, spreading across a new land of love as melted butter. An age elapsed before the kiss came to an end, and foreheads nuzzled one another. Beefy fists struck the chest of the hero, in a weak attempt to convey powerful pain.

    "You idiot...idiot idiot idiot..."

    "You're the idiot, drawing me out here in the middle of the street," a tender voice said, stroking a sobbing man's back. "You know how crowded this place gets, and you're already on leave for the rest of the year. Don't think you're getting any more niceties for broken legs."

    A puppy repeated the word 'idiot' several times, melting into his lover's arms. Traffic resumed its progress once a couple moved out of the way, bodies intertwined and hearts beating as one. Dancing waters performed their finale, much to the delight of a strong audience. Shows ended, buffet lines were cleared, and couples checked into their hotel rooms. One particular couple returned to their hotel room in silence, holding onto one another.

    After ten minutes of conversation, two men made love for the very first time-despite the absence of one's genitalia.

    Midnight swept two naked bodies into everlasting bliss, and Heaven's newest maiden smiled. Her world's healing had just begun.