Disclaimer: I do not own either Resident Evil or Silent Hill, or any characters/places associated with them. This is fan-made, so no suing.

Warnings: None, as yet. Slash in future chapters; rated T for now, will change to M later.

I apologize in advance for any deviations from the character's personalities; I didn't mean for it to be that way, or if I did, it was out of my interpretation of the character given the situation. It would also help you very, very much if you have actually played/seen a walkthrough of/know the story of RE4 and SH4, as those are the two focuses of this fanfiction. If you haven't familiarized yourself with these stories already, they're quite good, and worth looking into(though why you'd be reading this in the first place if you didn't know...).


Leon's lungs were craving the sweet burn of tobacco, but the coffee shop prohibited smoking, and he couldn't be assed to drag himself off his stool and head outside, despite the fact that the packet was burning a whole through his breast pocket. Instead, he stared down into the abyss of a cup of black that had gone cold a half hour since, and he'd not yet taken a sip. Misery was difficult to hide under the purging honesty of a five o'clock morning, a time when those not tormented by their jobs or their own nightmares were busy only with slapping their snooze buttons and turning over for another fifteen minutes.

You got a smoke?

When Leon had first been asked this question, all he'd had was gum. Now, he carried at least two packs on his person at all times. It struck him as funny, when he was in the right mood, that he hadn't been a smoker before the incident in Spain. Before he'd met a particular Spaniard. That a dead man could still hold so much sway over his life by way of nicotine.

"Sir, are you going to drink that, or just sit and mope all day?"

Leon glanced up at the waitresses' voice, staring at the rotund woman dispassionately, eyes slowly sweeping over the rest of the café. It was a bit on the shabby side; it wasn't seedy, just in need of a bit of care and sprucing up. It might once have been a warm, festive place, in a bygone era when more than three people visited the establishment per day, but the Starbucks across the street was sucking up it's customers, loyalists and newcomers alike, and the family that ran it was probably doing so only through faith.

"Sir? Did you hear me?"

His eyes focused, narrowing at the slightly more insistent tone in the woman's calls. Of course he could hear-did she think him deaf and dumb?

"Yeah," was all he said, his eyes slowly being drawn back to the lukewarm cup sitting before him. He sensed the woman's irritation at being brushed off, imagined her purse her lips and get a slight bit of color flushed through her ample cheeks. Whatever cussing she felt like angling at him she must have decided against, as she moved away from the counter to the only other patron in the place: an artsy guy, sitting in a corner, sporting black shades and all. More than likely she was asking him the same thing, Leon thought wryly.

A low, metallic hum started up from the pocket of his jeans as his phone vibrated with the warning of an incoming call. With a sigh, he drew himself up from the counter, leaving a dollar for tip-not that the bitch deserved it-and meandered outside, pausing to lean against the old-time brick wall next to the door. He was in no hurry, taking his sweet time with lighting up a cigarette and putting it to his lips, taking in a long drag of the chemicals and exhaling, before he decided to answer.

"Leon?" It was Hunnigan, and Leon inwardly groaned. The agency only called him when there was an urgent mission, especially when it was this out-of-the-blue.

"That's my name." The woman on the other end didn't laugh. She never did, and it never failed to irk Leon.

"You've been assigned to a new task, in a town called Silent Hill." Leon's teeth clamped down on the filter in his mouth, just as his heart clenched.

"No," he said curtly.

"Afraid you haven't got a choice. Apparently there have been some disappearances there recently, and the local police can't make heads or tails of any of it. Seeing as you handled the case with the Las Plagas so well, and with there being such a drought of work for you…" Leon snorted in disgust; sure, they were the people who paid him and all, and kept him from living in a gutter, but did that seriously give them the right to move him to any old place?

"What about the President? His family? Who's going to protect Ashley while I'm gone?" It was a poor tactic for defense, Leon knew, but it was all he had.

"You don't need to worry about them." Hunnigan didn't sound irritated. In fact, Leon couldn't remember her ever sounding like much of… anything. She was only a messenger, after all. "They're vacationing in Madrid this month, under the protection of the Spanish government."

I used to be a cop in Madrid…

Leon forced himself to breath, forgetting that there was a cigarette in his mouth, and he nearly choked on the acrid smoke, holding the phone away and cursing softly to himself. He considered hanging up his phone entirely, but knew the futility of it, and so he put it back up to his ear. "Will I have a partner? The two that you sent with me on the last mission didn't last long…"

"Honestly, Leon; you survived a horde of infested Spaniards. A single serial killer isn't going to be that much of a problem for you, is it?"

Leon let out a groan of resignation. "When do I leave?"

"Tonight. Ten o'clock flight." Leon swore again, not even bothering to pull the phone away out of politeness, but Hunnigan ignored it, as usual. "I'll contact you later with the details, but for now, you'd better get packing." The line went dead before Leon could get another word in.

With a resolute sigh, the agent shut off his phone and stood straight, stamping out the still-smoldering cigarette that had fallen from his lips the moment he'd started hacking his guts out. The short smoke break had been enough to quell the ache of his lungs for the time being, but his heart remained just as pained as ever, and the talk with Hunnigan had only served to make it worse.

He stepped towards the curb to hail a taxi.


For whatever reason, Leon wasn't directly sent to Silent Hill. Instead, he was positioned in a neighboring town: South Ashfield. Why they didn't just puthim in Silent Hill to start with, he didn't have any idea. Apparently Silent Hill itself was a very nice vacationing spot, minus the seemingly random kidnappings, disappearances, and murders. Rumors and stories were plentiful in Ashfield, at least, so Leon had begun his investigation with interviewing some of the locals. So far, the most disturbing tale he'd heard of had involved a set of twins who'd been chopped to bits with an axe.

There was only one consistency that seemed to come up with each case: the name Walter Sullivan. Which perplexed Leon, as the man had reportedly killed himself while imprisoned on multiple charges of murder, well before the most recent killings.

"Do you know of anyone who would have more information on the man whose body was found in Toluca lake last year?" Currently, he was questioning a rather elderly lady, who, despite her age, had quite a sharp mind.

"Oh, sure. Frank Sunderland. The guy who drowned in the lake was his kid." She gestured vaguely across the street, to an average-looking apartment building. "He's the super at that complex over there."

"Thank you. Have a good day." He nodded his head politely to the woman, stepping out onto the crosswalk, staring at the building that waited before him. He didn't expect anything too spectacular when he pushed open the glass front doors, though he was pleasantly surprised by the fact that the interior was air conditioned.

"Welcome to South Ashfield Heights," a bored woman's voice droned from behind the receptionist's desk, just next to the pigeon holes that were filled with the resident's mail of the day. One of those cubbies looked especially cluttered, as if it's owner hadn't come by to empty it in a while. Leon took brief note of the number engraved on a plaque below it: 302.

"Is the superintendent here today?" Leon questioned, leaning on the counter of the desk. The woman looked him up and down, no doubt appreciating his attractive features-as most women did.

"You mean Mr. Sunderland?"

"Yes."

The woman tore her eyes away, picking up a well-worn phone, punching in numbers with red-painted, perfectly manicured nails. "Frank? Someone's here to see you. Looks like a cop." Inwardly, Leon was surprised by the fact that the woman hadn't actually been trying to check him out, but only determine what he was there for. She dropped the phone back onto the receiver, looking back up to him and waving a hand dismissively. "He'll be here in a minute. In the meantime, have a look around the lobby, or whatever."

With a shrug, Leon stepped back from the counter, peering around at the sparsely furnished main entry. There really wasn't much; a chess table and two mismatching chairs in one corner, a drab sofa pushed up against one wall. The only things that really caught his attention were the small collection of photographs that lined the walls. He stepped up to examine one, a simple snapshot of the fountain in the center of the park across the street, yet it somehow seemed above an average man's photograph. The lighting seemed to put the timeframe around sunset, and the photographer had taken care to find the perfect angle to document the faint, orange glow that the setting sun played across the water. It had definitely been done by someone with a knack for finding beauty in the mundane.

"Nice pictures, aren't they?" a voice said from behind Leon, and he turned to look at the owner, a middle-aged man of average bearing. "Too bad the guy who did them locked himself in his room almost a week ago."

"Are you the superintendent?" Leon questioned, only belatedly realizing the oddness of the man's last statement.

"Yep. Name's Frank Sunderland; how can I help?"

"I came to ask a few questions about the drowned victim who was found in the lake a few years back." Leon almost immediately regretted asking the question, as he saw the elder man's eyes become incredibly sad. "Did you have any relation?"

Frank let out a tired sigh. "Yes. He was my son."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He was a good kid." By his tone, Leon could only guess that Frank had been asked this sort of question a number of times, and he was getting bored with it. "Decent job, good marriage… but something changed in him when his wife fell ill and died. Went to Silent Hill for what I assumed to be a break from the world, and left the town in a soaked body bag. Police thought it was a suicide, out of grief for his wife."

Leon nodded, trying to put a bit of sympathy into his tone. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Sunderland. Which lake was he found in, again?"

"Toluca. It's not far away; just on the other side of the woods outside town. You can see Silent Hill from our side of the lake on a clear day, when the fog's-" Frank stopped, turning to answer the call from a rather flustered woman coming down the stairs towards him.

"Frank! I'm telling you, I hear something from that room!" She stopped before the super, frowning darkly at him, Leon apparently not being noticed. Her dark hair was mussed, and her green eyes were angry, with the smallest hint of fear.

Frank sighed, having no doubt heard this complaint before. "Alright, Eileen; alright. I'll come see. It's still 302, right?" Leon's interest perked, remembering the cluttered mail drop across the lobby and Frank's odd mention of a man who'd locked himself in his room from earlier. He decided to pipe up.

"Would it be alright if I came along, too? It might be a connection in my investigations of the recent misfortunes that have been happening around here."

Frank peered at him for a moment, and Eileen seemed to force herself into a more sober mood at the realization that there was someone else with them. Finally, the super shrugged, saying only, "Fine."

The room was just where the number suggested: third floor, second from the stairwell. The door was fairly ordinary; there was nothing to even suggest that the man who lived within had suddenly become eccentrically introverted, and had chosen to live his life in solitude. Nothing, except for the fact that Frank's all-purpose key wasn't turning in the lock, and, more disturbingly, the rows of red handprints that covered the wall opposite, sixteen in all. When asked what they were, Frank only shrugged, lamely excusing it by saying that it was probably just some prankster kid living in the building. No amount of cleaning had ever managed to remove them, or so the superintendent said.

"Well, door's still locked, but that's no surprise," the old man grumbled, jiggling the key free of the door. "Unless the policeman here wants to try breaking it down, I don't think we'll be getting that door opened for a while, unless Henry decides to open up."

Leon blinked, staring at Frank. "If you want me to, I could." At Frank's elbow, Eileen nodded quickly. Whatever she'd heard from that room must have truly disturbed her, if her eagerness to get the door open was any suggestion. The super shrugged, stepping back and motioning towards the door.

Bracing himself, Leon stepped back, then threw himself at the door, and was surprised when it didn't so much as groan, and sorely regretted having tried to break it down, as his shoulder was now rather sore. Really, the door didn't look as thought it ought to be as tough as it was, and yet…

"I think he may have braced it on the other side with something," Leon said, feeling a bit embarrassed as he turned back to Frank and Eileen, rubbing at his shoulder. "Who's the guy that lives here, anyway?"

"This room? Henry Townsend, if I remember correctly." Frank adopted a thoughtful expression, rubbing idly at his chin. "Simple kind of guy. In his twenties. Didn't talk to people much, but he was friendly, so far as I can recollect. Never thought he'd go and do this…" A frown touched his face, and he shook his head. "Don't you have some investigating to do, cop?"

Leon nodded, a bit soberly. "Yeah, I guess I do. Thanks for your time, and-I'm sorry about your son." Frank only grunted in response, and Leon turned, trotting down the stairwell and out of the apartment. He decided to pursue his only lead: Toluca lake, so that was where he headed.


A/N: This originally started as a hinted-at LeonxLuis oneshot, as you can see in the first scene, but the idea of Leon going off to Silent Hill intrigued me, and rather than starting fresh, I decided to just build from the scene I already had in place. I must say that I'm rather proud of myself for not succumbing to the wish to make Leon's motivation one of those "I have sinned/someone I love has died, I must repent in an evil town. :"-type things. Not that the alternative I came up with is any better, but, eh.

Read, review, construct your criticism, all that jazz.