Chapter Text
Caitlyn is going to die.
She's never known it with such certainty before, never felt such choking fear as she does right now, huddled in the corner of a cell, deep underground and cold and alone.
She's going to be sick.
It's freezing down here, in this tiny cage of a room, but that's not the reason she's shaking. Even her hands, normally steady to the point of pride, are trembling.
The door at the end of the hall creaks open and then several sets of footsteps echo throughout the silent space. Despite her best efforts, Caitlyn's breath hitches.
"Sheriff," a gravelly voice says.
Slowly, she raises her head. There are three of them standing just outside the bars, all hooded and armed.
"Undress," one of them commands, and the one beside him practically giggles.
"Why?" Caitlyn asks. She means for it to be a demand, but it comes out far too tremulous.
His lip curls. "That uniform'll catch a high price. I don't want blood on it."
She debates, ever so briefly, refusing, but she's fairly certain that will just result in one of them doing it for her. And even though she's about to die, she doesn't want their hands all over her. Not... Not while she's still alive.
So she begins to undo the buckles on her boots, methodically working through the layers of her uniform. She can hear one of them jeering from the other side of the bars as she finally pulls off her pants, leaving only her undergarments. Her hands shake at the idea of removing them, of being completely exposed to her captors, of feeling as vulnerable as she actually is.
But before she can force herself to keep going, the one giving the orders says, "Put this on," and tosses her a thin, tattered shift made of pale, rough-spun fabric.
She's shaking so hard now that it takes her three tries to get the thing on properly; the wiry man at the cell door giggles the entire time.
Even with it on, she feels just as exposed as she did without it. It's thin enough to be seen through and provides no shield against the frigid temperature of the cell. Her shivering picks up again, even while she tries to stand tall as she turns back to face her captors.
"Nah," the one says in his deep, rough voice. "Turn around. Hands on the wall."
Again, she thinks about refusing. But there would be no point. She's vulnerable and outnumbered, and the cold has sapped her strength.
If she has any choice at all here, it is to face death with dignity.
So she lifts her chin, straightens her spine, and turns around to place her palms against the concrete wall.
The cell door screeches open and then there are footsteps coming at her from behind, and it takes everything in her not to flinch away as a heavyset man even taller than she is comes up to stand right behind her. His meaty hand closes around one of her wrists and wrenches it behind her and then he does the same with the other.
Without the support, Caitlyn tips forward against the wall, the rough concrete stinging across her cheek bone. When her breath catches, the man behind her chuckles darkly.
"Not so high and mighty now, are you, Sheriff?"
He pulls her arms back hard enough to make her shoulders wrench in their sockets, binding her hands with thick ropes that rub her wrists raw. Then he hauls her back upright and wheels her around toward the door.
"Walk, bitch," he growls.
He shoves her forward, and she stumbles before regaining her footing. The one man giggles again. Caitlyn's legs are shaking so badly that she's surprised her knees aren't audibly knocking together.
The stairs are difficult with her arms bound behind her and her legs unsteady, but reaching the top of them is worse.
There is an entire crowd waiting for them, hooded figures dressed in dark clothes, jeering and hissing and swearing at her. One figure leaps forward to spit directly in her face, and the crowd laughs as she flinches.
She wants to cringe away from the hatred in their eyes, to cower from the venom in their words, to run, to hide, to beg for her life.
But she is the Sheriff of Piltover.
She is Cassandra Kiramman's daughter.
So she straightens her back and holds her head high as she faces these people who hate her so much that they are going to kill her for it.
The man behind her shoves her forward again, and the crowd parts in front of her. For a moment, she's not sure why they move out of the way so easily.
Then she sees the hastily built platform ahead of them. The man waiting on top of it. The heavy wooden block. The axe.
Caitlyn pitches to the side and vomits.
The bile splashes up onto her bare feet and onto the nearest spectator, who jumps back with a shout of startled disgust.
"I'm sorry," Caitlyn pants. "I- I'm sorry."
The man behind her grabs her by the hair and thrusts her forward once more, snarling, "Keep moving, bitch."
She staggers forward again, almost blindly. Her eyes burn but she refuses to let tears fall in front of her executioners.
Gods. She's going to die.
She reaches the steps leading up to the platform and almost trips on them. The man behind her makes a disgruntled noise, so she struggles to right herself before slowly climbing up the rough wood stairs.
He forces her forward until she's standing behind the chopping block, and then he kicks the back of her legs. She crashes to her knees, feeling the rough wood pressing splinters into her shins and the tops of her bare feet.
The wood creaks as the man walks away and is replaced by another towering figure. He is also clothed in dark fabric and has a hood pulled up to shadow his face. His gloved hand clutches the handle of a large axe, leather creaking at the tightness of his grip.
She can't breathe. The fear is welling up inside her, filling her lungs and choking her throat. She's going to die. They are going to kill her. They are going to chop off her head and --
Will they put her corpse on display? Mutilate it as a message? Send it back to her family?
Gods, what will her father do?
What will Vi do?
"Do you have any last words, Sheriff?" the executioner asks calmly. His voice is soft, almost soothing. Like he's trying to comfort her even though he's about to kill her.
She can't think, can't speak, can't breathe. She might make a noise, something between a wheeze and a sob, but he only nods solemnly, like he understands.
"Very well," he says. "Put your head down." Before she can react, he adds, "If you don't, I will force you to."
The fear is dizzying; she sways as she slowly lowers her head and rests her chin on the chopping block. The executioner shifts behind her; she can hear the scrape of his blade as he begins to lift it, can see his shadow as he raises it over his head, over her head --
Caitlyn closes her eyes.
There is a strange, familiar, mechanical hum.
Her eyes snap open, just in time to see a flash of green as it zips overhead and smashes into the executioner, knocking his axe from his hand and sending him flying backwards.
Then everything erupts into chaos.
Gunfire rings out around her, shots flashing through the darkness as streaks of firelight green flit between the flying bullets. There is fighting too, the crash of weapons and fists, roars of pain and fury.
Something hits the wood behind her and Caitlyn flinches away from it, hitting the chopping block again as she tries to twist to see what's behind her, even as tears blur her vision and fear tugs at her tenuous balance.
Unfamiliar hands land on her arms and she tries to lurch away from the touch, but the grip doesn't let her. Caitlyn can't help but whimper in fear as she hears the soft shick of a blade being drawn.
Then the bindings around her wrists loosen and finally fall away.
Her shoulders immediately ache as her arms are freed; her hands prickle with pins and needles as blood begins flowing through them again.
She whips around, tilting to the side as she does so, and comes face-to-face with a slight figure wearing a pointed, white, avian mask. There is a hoverboard strapped to their back, casting a green glow over the pair of them.
A Firelight.
The person reaches out to steady her with their free hand as Caitlyn chokes on her own relief. She doesn't recognize this one specifically, but their presence means Ekko is here too.
"Thank you," she gasps, clumsily clutching at the Firelight's arm. "Thank you."
The Firelight nods and then rolls back onto their feet, extending their hand to help Caitlyn up. It's hard to get her feet under her with how much her legs are still shaking, but together they manage it.
The Firelight slips under Caitlyn's arm, bracing her across their shoulders, and begins half-dragging her to the edge of the platform. Behind them, someone shouts and Caitlyn hears heavy footsteps. The Firelight spins them around just in time to see another masked figure loop a spear around their would-be attacker's neck and yank him back.
They don't wait to see the man go down. The Firelight holding Caitlyn up hauls her away from the worst of the fighting, dragging her into the nearby darkness.
When the battle is a distant sound only echoing down the narrow, empty streets, the Firelight turns into a cramped alley and lowers Caitlyn to the ground, propping her up against the wall.
They tilt their head in seeming consideration before pulling a small flare gun from their belt and pressing it into Caitlyn's hands. Then they spin around, climb onto their hoverboard, and take off in the direction of the fighting.
And then Caitlyn is alone.
She's so cold that her fingers and toes are going numb; the air down here is dense and presses through the gauzy shift that she's wearing. That they forced her to wear. So they wouldn't get blood on her uniform when they chopped off her head.
Her vision darkens around the edges. The shaking, which never really stopped, picks back up again until it feels like her own skin is going to vibrate off of her bones. Her breathing hitches, catching in the tightness of her throat before stumbling out as a sob.
She clamps one freezing hand over her mouth to try to muffle the sound, curls her other arm around her ribs in a vain attempt at self-comfort, and presses herself into the dark corner as much as she can. Time trickles by, and she can hear the sounds of the fighting dying down.
Then there are distant footsteps, echoing as they grow louder and nearer and --
She raises the flare gun more on instinct than anything else. Her trembling hands steady at the comforting weight of a weapon against her palms.
The figure that comes into view freezes, both hands coming up in a placating gesture. After a moment, Caitlyn recognizes the same Firelight as before, a slight figure wearing a pointed bird mask. Slowly, she lowers her weapon.
Then a shout echoes down the alley, frantic and familiar.
"Where is she?!"
The flare gun falls from Caitlyn's hands. Tears blur her vision. Her chest seizes.
"Vi," she says, and it comes out as a sob.
She tries to push herself up, but her legs shake too much to hold her and she falls back to the cold ground. The Firelight twitches forward, hand extended as if to help --
And then Vi is in front of her, falling to her knees even as she skids to a stop. Her arms fold around Caitlyn with the same desperation that Caitlyn feels, frantic and crushingly tight, like if she holds her close enough, their ribcages will slot together and no one will be able to separate them ever again.
Caitlyn collapses into her partner's familiar strength and begins to sob in earnest, harsh wretched noises that make her chest ache and her head spin. Vi clutches her impossibly closer, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head as she brokenly whispers, "Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn..."
Caitlyn's hands curl into Vi's jacket and the front of her shirt; she's certain she pinches skin, but Vi doesn't flinch away. She just holds her, panting roughly against Caitlyn's neck and smearing tears against the bare skin of Caitlyn's shoulder.
"You came," Caitlyn sobs.
"Of course I came," Vi says, her voice strangled. "Gods, I - Of course I came."
"I thought - They were going to --"
"I know. Fuck. I'm so sorry I didn't get there sooner."
Caitlyn shakes her head. "You - No, you were --" Another harsh noise tears out of her throat; her chest aches with the force of it. "You came."
"Always," Vi murmurs into her neck. "Always."
There's a rustle just above them and Caitlyn flinches, but Vi doesn't let go of her. A moment later, a thick, warm weight settles over her shoulders, shielding her back from the biting chill that seems to tear right through the thin shift that she's wearing.
"Thanks, Ekko," Vi says quietly, and Caitlyn feels her partner's voice vibrate through them both.
There's another rustle, and then Ekko's voice sounds beside her. "I'm gonna look at your wrists, Caitlyn," he says, "okay?"
She manages a rough nod, and then a gentle, calloused touch takes her hands and turns them back and forth. After a moment, soft fabric is wrapped around her aching wrists, and Ekko says, "There are some raw spots, but it's mostly just friction burns. We can treat them when we get back."
"Okay," Vi says, voice still achingly soft. "Help me up?"
Vi's grip on her shifts, but the strength of it doesn't waver. Ekko's coat slips from Caitlyn's shoulders, but once Vi is upright with Caitlyn cradled in her arms, someone tosses it back over her.
"Our boards aren't really built for passengers," Ekko says quietly.
Without hesitation, Vi says, "I'll carry her. We can meet you there."
There's a pause, and then a sharp whistle, followed by a few soft footsteps.
Ekko's voice says, "We're walking. I'll take point. Scar, bring up the rear."
Caitlyn's head is resting on Vi's collarbone; she can feel her partner's every heartbeat against her temple. Without lifting her head, she murmurs, "Where?"
"We're going to the Firelights'," Vi whispers.
Another voice, feminine and young and muffled by a mask, adds, "We'll get you some clothes and food. You'll be okay."
Caitlyn peels her eyes open to see the same Firelight who unbound her hands and led her to safety, walking alongside them.
"Thank you," Caitlyn says.
Her voice is weak and hoarse, but the Firelight seems to hear her all the same, because they nod. The movement is sharp and birdlike. "'Course."
"We've got you, Caitlyn," Vi says, and her voice is so wrought with emotion that Caitlyn wants to wrap her up and hold her close.
Instead, she just presses herself into Vi's touch and finally lets herself rest.