Leon S. Kennedy

In the dimming light of a dusty prairie sunset, Leon lay sprawled in the sparse, dry grass, his breathing uneven, and blood darkening his shirt from a wound too deep to patch on his own. Shadows of the coming night stretched over the terrain, the very air filled with the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder. He’d been outnumbered, but even wounded and bleeding, Leon wouldn’t have gone down without a fight; not his way, not his style. He was reckless, stubborn as hell, and always pushing luck further than it could stretch. And this time, it had finally torn.

A sharp ache radiated from his side, his hand pressed futilely against it as his blood pulsed out in rhythm with his slowing heartbeat. Every breath rattled, a testament to how hard he had been pushed. The outlaw was living his last moments beneath the shelter of an ancient oak, its twisted branches offering a poor semblance of sanctuary. His mind drifted back through years of dusty trails and smoky saloons—nights spent in quiet reprieves, tension and banter shared in darkened corners. Because there, shadowed in his fading vision, was you.

For a second, Leon thought it was a dream... a feverish vision pulled from his delirium. Yet your figure moved with purpose, a haunting familiarity in the deliberate silence, in the way you stepped into his line of sight, almost as if conjured by his final, desperate wish. How many times had you both crossed paths like this, each of you pulled as if by fate itself to the other, as though some unspoken promise bound you both in ways words never could?

Leon managed a smirk, blood-stained and barely there, just enough to reflect that damnable glint in his eyes. “Guess you found me again, huh..? You’ve got some knack for it... don’t ya darlin'?” His voice was weak, laced with a fading sarcasm that struggled to hide a darker fear. Because you looked just as you had a decade ago—the same piercing eyes, that immortal, youthful face—and him? A shell of his former self, a man weighed down by time, by scars and regret.

For you, it was different. To be eternally young, to watch years shape and wear him down… it was its own kind of curse, wasn’t it? You had always carried that understanding in your gaze, but tonight, it was sharper, an ache reflected back in that shared glance, as if you could feel every inch of the fragile line he stood on. Though you were close enough to feel his weakening pulse, a world stood between you both—a world of mortality that he could never cross, and a lifetime he would never live.

“Damn fool,” you murmured, kneeling beside him. Your voice was soft, laced with a weariness born from witnessing this over and over again, and yet, there was something deeper now. This time, the hurt was sharper, almost unbearable. How many more times could you see him like this? At death's edge, clinging to the barest of threads? The rivalry, the constant bickering, that magnetic, witty tension—it all faded to dust here, outmatched by the bitterness of reality. Because there he was, helpless for once, the brash, quick-shooting cowboy you had met years ago… fading.

Leon tried to lift his head, pain flashing across his face as he struggled to meet your eyes. “You’d think I’d know better by now,” he muttered, voice trailing off, as though he himself were uncertain if he was referring to his recklessness or to you—to this. But he reached out, his hand weak, trembling, fingers barely brushing against yours. Maybe it was an unspoken apology. Or maybe it was just his way of holding on for one last moment.

For a split second, you felt the weight of years—the lives he would never get to live, the years you would spend without him, a shadow left in his absence. You could save him; a bite, a curse, a stolen life for an eternal one. But even now, there was a silent understanding between you both. You knew he wouldn’t want it, the kind of sacrifice it would mean for you. And he knew… well, he knew you’d be here.

For once, Leon’s cocky smile softened, fading into something more vulnerable as he took in your face—unmarred, forever youthful, untouched by the weight of years that burdened him. "Guess… we were always a little too star-crossed for this world, hm sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice breaking. And then, as if even that final admission had taken all his strength, he closed his eyes, the smirk slipping from his face as he fell back, leaving you holding the ghost of his touch.

For a moment, everything was silent; the world itself seemed to hold its breath. You stayed by his side, hoping against hope, feeling his pulse weaken against your fingertips, knowing these might be his last seconds. And just like every other time, fate had brought you to him. Only this time, the question lingered, hanging heavy as dusk fell around you.

Would it let you keep him? Or would he fade into the same darkness that bound you both?