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English
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Published:
2014-05-05
Updated:
2014-05-05
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1,359
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3/10
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Spare Keys

Summary:

Stop the killing before it starts. Take the keys and bring him home.

(Not as serious as the summary makes it seem.)

Notes:

I dunno why I'm writing this. It's 4 am and I'm trying to deprive myself of sleep and I couldn't find shit on this pairing.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The air was warm and pleasant, despite the buzzing of flies that were attracted to the rotting flesh of the infected and undead. The sun shone overhead, causing the widowed father of one's sandy blond hair to shine gold. His brow creased in concentration. There was something wrong. That wasn't the buzzing of flies—

Chuck turned and dropped to the ground just in the nick of time. The motorcycle squealed to a stop, the rider watching as Chuck got to his feet.

Leon Bell, a fellow contestant and motorcyclist, with his short black mullet and grey eyes that seemed to capture the color around him. His pupils were blown wide, watching Chuck's face for any emotion, a gleeful twitch to his lips.

Chuck kept his face neutral as best he could (his face always seemed to be permanently in a scowl; or maybe depressed?), rubbing the dirt from his palms on his yellow motorcyclist jacket. Leon watches this, muscles flexing through the green motocross suit, rubber soles tapping the blood-stained cobble ground.

"Oh, well, lookie here." Leon drawls, a strange sort of glee in his voice. "If it isn't wittle Chwuckie Gweene." Chuck remains unmoved by the baby talk.

"Didn't get enough of me yet? You come back for my autograph?" Leon sneers, his gloved fingers squeaking as he grips the handlebars tight. He begins to rock his hips into the cycle, biting his lips. "Oh, I bet you just get rock hard thinking about me at night, don't you Chuckie?"

"You gonna throw your panties at me?" Leon laughs hysterically, beginning to circle Chuck on the bike.

Chuck follows him with his eyes, frowning, not allowing his face to betray his anger. He sucks a silent breath through his teeth, containing his irritation. "Whatever buddy. I can take you to a bunker where it's safe."

Leon pauses, almost disbelieving. "A bunker? Where it's safe? Man, you are a pussy, aren't you?"

He shakes his head, almost disappointed. "I used to follow you when you did motocross... But look at you now. You're a broken man."

"You just don't got it anymore, do you?" He looks up wearily at Chuck.

"What's your problem?" Chuck finally gives in to his anger, staring the younger man down.

Leon shakes his head, giving the older cyclist a bemused smirk. "You're such a chump, Chuck."

Chuck finally loses his temper, moving too quick for the younger man to react. They fall onto the ground in a heap, the motorcycle falling to its side. Leon snarls, twisting like an crocodile, trying to wrestle his way on top. Chuck quickly pulls himself onto his knees, pinning the younger man down.

He squirms, kicking his feet, clawing at Chuck's hips and thighs but to no avail. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually calms down, his chest heaving.

"Now, do you wanna talk?" Chuck raises a brow.

"Fuck you man." Leon chokes out, and says nothing else.

"Listen, kid. I'm not spilling my life story to you— if you're such a fan, you'd know my reasons for falling behind already..." Chuck trails off.

"Yeah, yeah. Yer' wife got bit, bit your daughter, etcetera." Leon rolled his eyes. Chuck refrained from back-handing him, but quickly realized their surroundings.

"Now, I'm gonna let you up. When I do, get up real slow like. If you try anything, I'll tackle you to the ground, alright?" Chuck rose to his knees. Leon bitterly did as he was told, watching Chuck suspiciously. "C'mon, let's take this conversation elsewhere."

Chapter 2: You Love What You Hate

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Leon hated it.

He hated how the coffee he had been given went cold after fifteen-minutes of staring at the walls. He hated the constant hysterical whinings of survivors around him. He hated that red-head pro-zombie bitch in the security room monitoring them all.

But he especially hated Chuck Greene.

He hated the older motorcyclist. He was pathetic, too reserved in his morals of right and wrong, his constant state of misery that had worked lines on his face. He hated how Chuck just gave up, slipped through the cracks and drained away.

It was all his fault, goddamnit! His fault his wife died and his daughter got bit! But he still had responsiblities outside that!

Leon hated how Chuck simply hid his feelings, bit back and laid down to all who opposed him. He's a fucking doormat as long as you didn't threaten his daughter.

He also really hated how Chuck didn't really acknowledge his existence. Leon wasn't in the same universe as Chuck. Leon was simply an observer, banging on the glass.

"Oh god, this CAN'T be happening!" He heard one survivor squeal.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." He threw his mug at them, barely missing them by a hair. It hit the wall behind them, splattering the bitter liquid on the floor. The survivor fled sobbing, but Leon made no move to get up and clean it. It didn't matter.

The door swung open a few minutes later. Leon was bent over a table, head in his arms, almost dozing. He knew who it was without looking or asking, and kept his eyes shut. He heard the man cleaning the broken pieces up, dumping them into a nearby bin. There was the sound of rustling as he looked for napkins to clean up the cold coffee from the floor.

Leon remained silent, listening intently to the sound of that man's breathing, the groan he emitted as he got up from his knees. He was half asleep when he felt a weight on his shoulders. He only looked when he was sure Chuck was gone.

Chuck's yellow motorcyclist jacket was blanketed over him, keeping him warm in the over-air conditioned room. Leon felt the tremors of cold trickling away, leaving him warm and comfortable. Chuck's scent was sweet, the cologne tickling his nose.

He hated Chuck's jacket.

Notes:

You love what you hate.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

The first time Leon ever sees Chuck afraid is near the end of the week.

Leon and Chuck still hadn't spoke to each other. They both kept out of each other's way, but usually never crossed paths. Chuck was off being a hero while Leon hung out with a a stoner in one of the storage areas smoking pot where the security cop guy didn't look in.

The times Leon did end up confronting Chuck was simple question and answer conversations.

"Are you okay?"
"Fine."

or

"Can you pass the creamer?"
"Yes."

Chuck never quite met Leon's eyes, which infuriated him. Chuck acted the hero but was truly a wimp. It was pathetic.

It also made Leon feel like shit.

Some times he'd see Chuck struggle out of the vents with a group of refugees in tow, accepting their thanks without a visible smile, the only hint of him being pleased as the lines on his forehead softened. It made Leon feel worthless, which wasn't new.

But that friday, Leon was the stone-cold man, while Chuck was a nervous wreck.

Leon knew full-well that Chuck's daughter Katey was infected and needed Zombrex weekly in order to continue being human. Leon thought Chuck could manage to find her medication without a problem.

But then Friday happened. Chuck was a nervous wreck, asking survivors in the halls if they had any Zombrex, combing the stores for the package, and even talked about gunning down a group of thieves. Leon was sure he'd gone down the deep end.

Leon had kept a package of Zombrex with him since te outbreak. He never knew when he might get bit, so better safe than sorry.

Now, don't get him wrong. He didn't give Chuck the Zombrex for the girl. He gave it to him because Chuck had pointedly not asked him.

It felt insulting, to not even be considered. So, giving him the medicine was his revenge.

The girl being not-dead was just an effect of that.

For the next few days, Chuck seemed thankful and began giving Leon gifts. Leon always declined, either to Chuck's face or violently at one point setting it on fire and causing multiple survivors to be soaked by the smole alarm's sprinklers.

Leon hated pity. He hated Chuck... a little more or less.