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~•~
Spitting Image
Claggor refused to let anyone else touch her, especially not the enforcers, with their guns and their masks that they wore to keep out the grey smog and stench. They wouldn’t even set foot in the undercity without them while its residents were forced to traverse this hellscape with its toxic air in little more than the scraps of fabric on their backs.
Vi was much heavier than she looked. But then she’d always possessed a shocking amount of muscle, just like her old man. Vander and Vi shared no blood but their similarities were striking when one bothered to look closely enough.
God, Vander… They were taking her to him now. Claggor’s arms shook with the weight of her corpse, but he refused help when the others offered it, even Mylo. He didn’t trust anyone else not to drop her or handle her with the care he felt she deserved. Claggor had never been religious, but from what little memory he could recall of his mother, he had inferred that he’d come from such a background. He remembered hearing stories of saviors and prophets, souls and afterlives. And if his mother’s stories were right, Vi’s spirit was long gone. Her body was all they had left, and he would treat it not as a hollow shell but as if the person it belonged to was still inside, sleeping, or more than likely knocked out after yet another street brawl, waiting to deliver her next biting word and even bitier punch.
Claggor watched Vi’s right arm, the one that wasn’t tucked up against his chest, wave around loosely in the air below her as he clambered up another set of steps. The enforcers before him cleared the way with sharp official sounding voices. Vi would have hated it, being escorted by them through her own city. I’d sooner rise from the dead than let those blue lap dogs parade my corpse through the lanes like some twisted display of kindness. He could hear her voice in his head, clear as day ‘Oh look at me I’m a good-guy enforcer. Helping this dead Zaunite girl get back to her family.’ Tch. Fucking pathetic. No one will fall for it.
He glared at the enforcers’ backs up ahead. He almost wished they would have left them to take Vi back on their own. He still wasn’t sure they weren’t going to ask Vander for some kind of justice for their attempted thievery. But they never would have made it this far trying to run through Piltover and escape the enforcers at the same time.
“Shh. It’s okay.” Claggor heard Mylo trying to comfort Powder behind him. As much shit as Mylo gave her, they had all loved Vi, and no one as much as Powder. They were all a family, sure, but Vi and Powder were sisters by blood. And the younger one was inconsolable. She cried softly as she stumbled through the streets after Mylo on trembling legs. She tripped at one point, hitting her chest on the pavement with a pathetic grunt. Mylo made no comment, simply bent to pick her up, one hand curled around her shoulders to stable her as they kept going.
“We’re almost there,” he encouraged softly as Powder began to lag behind again.
“I c-can’t,” she sobbed, swiping her already snot-soaked sleeve across her face.
“…Okay,” Mylo said. He bent down and scooped her up into his arms, letting Powder cling to his middle with all four limbs as she hung her head over his shoulder. “Then I’ll carry you.”
Claggor had never seen such sympathy from his friend. It was a weak balm on the ache that ran through them all, but a balm nonetheless.
The enforcers finally pushed their way ahead into The Last Drop, Vander’s pub. Claggor trailed after them on dragging feet, followed by Mylo still carrying little Powder in his arms.
The patrons soured as the enforcers trickled inside, but their expressions shifted faster than a point-blank shot as their eyes fell on him, then to the person in his arms. Claggor’s goggles began to fog up again as a sudden surge of emotion overtook him. Vi was well-known, not as well-known as Vander, but everyone knew who she belonged to. Blood or not, she was built in his spitting image, the heir to the Hound’s throne or whatever was left of it.
But not anymore.
Mylo caught up to him as he slowed to shuffle through the bar between tables and patrons. He could still hear Powder crying.
Vander stood ahead of them in front of the bar, having already snuck around the side to meet whoever was making such a commotion at the door. He pressed the enforcers with a hard look, but as soon as they parted to make way for Claggor, the fire in his eyes extinguished. He grabbed the counter behind him to keep himself from losing his footing. His face was white as a sheet and no less haunting for it. Claggor finally stumbled to his knees with a broken yelp.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I can’t hold- any longer.”
Vander swooped in to take Vi into his arms, relieving Claggor of his physical burden, though nothing could even begin to touch the emotional one. He knelt beside Claggor, cradling Vi’s body in the same way he had done all the way through Piltover and Zaun.
“No-” Vander rumbled, as if he could not fathom the situation before him. “Vi- Violet.” He brushed calloused knuckles over her wild crop of magenta hair, grief twisting his face into something unrecognizable. “No…” he said again.
In the background, the enforcers were clearing out the civilians from the bar. Mylo appeared on his right side and dropped to the floor with Powder. Claggor watched her wriggle out of Mylo’s grip from the corner of his eye and throw herself into Vander’s hold with Vi, small hands clawing desperately at her sister’s shirt.
Neither Claggor nor Mylo would have dared to try something similar in Vander’s state. But Powder was accepted into the fold like the tiniest blue lamb, burying herself halfway between Vander’s arm and Vi’s chest, as similar as the day he found them after their parents’ deaths.
Vander pressed his hand to the side of Powder’s head, shielding her from the surroundings. And from the horrific scream he bellowed at the loss of his eldest daughter.
~•~
Silco felt the shift in the air as if the electric current inside his office had suddenly changed direction. The glass of liquor he had been holding slipped his grasp and shattered upon the floor. He stared emptily down at the bright purple liquid as it seeped into the veins of the wood, running along the cracks like a disease through the bloodstream. Eventually, he bent down to retrieve the glass from the floor, but it was an automatic motion born of no real haste. His mind was elsewhere.
He had heard the disturbance coming from the center of the city, albeit faintly. The aftereffects were more pronounced; wild birds had ascended from further into the Lanes and reappeared outside his window in mad cawing black droves. It was an ominous sight and an even more ominous sound. There was a smidgen of blood smeared against the green windowpane, the only remnants of the terrible flock as they had raced up and over the building to get away from whatever awful guttural creature had made that noise earlier. Silco might have flown away too if he were them. For there was much to fear in the Lanes and in the Undercity as a whole. Only a fool would deny it. But he hoped to change that.
Pulling out a vial from the drawer of his desk, he held it up to the light. It shimmered in the soft green glow, warm pink tones ebbing and flowing together as he tipped the bottle slowly to the side. Hardly ready for human experimentation in its current state; he eyed the pointed device rolling around at the bottom of the same drawer. A sudden sharp pain caused him to squint against the burning chemicals and toxic waste that weren’t there and that hadn’t been for a long time. It still fucking hurt.
He growled at the phantom sensation and shoved the circular window open, allowing what little of the setting sun Zaun allowed into its depths to enter the office. Strangely, Silco always found that a little sunlight and fresh air (or as fresh as can be found down in the Undercity) always seemed to take the edge off the pain. He cupped a hand over his bad eye, slowly parting his fingers to let in the light, blinking against the stark difference of the gloomy office. He let both eyes fall closed after a moment, drinking in the warmth that Piltover managed to pass down to them, basking in the rays of the sun like a pleased tabby cat. He took a breath– In, out. And again. Slowly. Meticulously. Like everything he did in his life.
And then darkness. Terror. Choking on air that was water and burning burning burning burn-
Silco came back to himself, hand loosely gripping his own throat as the air left him in short startled puffs. His lips curled in distaste. For once, he would like to forget about that night. For once, he would like to be motivated purely by ambition or power or want. But it always came back to this. It always came back to him.
Vander’s face, in his mind’s eye, could still be gentle, could still be that of his brother. But it was becoming increasingly ugly and marred by betrayal. And as time went on, Silco had begun to forget what it was they had been. The man who had talked of building up the nation of Zaun with him (‘blisters and bedrock’) was the same man who had tried to drown him, to tear down all of their ideals with him. That was the version known to him now, and the image of that Vander was steadily burning itself over the old one with rapid clarity.
Silco stared out over the skyline of Zaun, eyes affixed on what he could tell from miles away were the Lanes. And somewhere, buried deep in its center, The Last Drop. He squinted against the sunlight, shielding his face with one hand and casting his eyes in shadow. The sun was starting to become annoying now. But no sooner had his finger tips ghosted over the edge of the window to close it than he withdrew them and, turning back toward the desk, retrieved a hollow metal tube from a second drawer and held it up to his good eye. He spun the metal solenoid on the side between his thumb and forefinger to focus the viewfinder as he slowly swept the device over the length of the Lanes. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Or more accurately, he wasn’t sure why he was looking for what he was looking for. He’d found it before, on cold December nights when not even brandy could free him of the bitter chill that sank into his skin and gnawed at his bones, and on sweet summer evenings that had previously been filled with rum and laughter and music from a rusty old jukebox.
He was beginning to grow frustrated with his lack of results now, calibrating and re-calibrating the inner workings of the looking glass, as if it somehow knew where to magically find the one orange neon sign he was looking for among all of the other lights and chaos of the Lanes. Just as he was about to hurl the magnifier down into the streets below, he spotted it. Right in the center, just as he’d thought, a bustling hub of— nothing?
Silco let the glass fall away from his eye for a moment, confused, before lifting it back up. Just to make sure. The usually lively tavern looked practically abandoned from here. What little activity the bustling old joint usually contained was spread out around it in a large berth. Perhaps a brawl? Or an accident? No, Zaunites weren’t ones to shy away from violence, especially when a certain amount of entertainment value was involved.
What then? Silco zoomed in on a small group of men exchanging words outside in what looked to be a hushed circle. The people almost looked afraid. But if not of a fight, then what? What could be so terrible within those four walls that even the most loyal of patrons refused to get within 20 feet of the front door?
Has Vander finally cracked? Silco thought, a bit of hope edging into his mind. Perhaps it’s a raid of enforcers, come to take something Vander will not part with. Perhaps he’s finally fighting back.
Silco would never admit that he felt almost giddy at the prospect. He kept his eye on the building and the surrounding crowd, wondering if he would ever get to see the mystery for what it was. And then it happened. Just as he’d thought! A small unit of enforcers could be seen exiting the bar. To Silco’s chagrin, they looked no worse for wear, at least physically. However, the proud Piltover soldiers seemed defeated regardless, masked heads hung low and hands weaponless even in the face of such a huge crowd of Vander’s potentially-often dangerous clientele. Furthering Silco’s confusion was the fact that the crowd just…let them go. Let them pass right through on their way to the bridge and their glorious golden city. It was maddening, not knowing the reasoning for it all. What sort of game were they playing here? Did the enforcers have something on these people? On Vander? Then why did everyone seem so withdrawn?
After watching the crowd disperse piece by piece with little to show for it, Silco let the looking glass fall from his hand back onto the desk with a dull clunk. The gears in his head had not stopped turning as he watched them. No one ran, no one fought or got hurt, and still no one dared to approach the bar. He was this close to going down to the Lanes himself to investigate.
Well, what’s stopping you? Asked the voice inside his head.
You know what…
Enlighten me. The inner voice mocked.
Tch. He sneered out the window as he finally pulled it closed. He knew the truth. He was afraid of Vander, of what he might do if he dared show his face in the Lanes again. You don’t just forget being horrifically suffocated in a poisoned river by your best friend so easily, not that he would ever admit to it aloud. The Doctor was working overtime to find the magic formula for his super soldiers, but it was nowhere near complete. And he didn’t trust any of his arms-for-hire to accompany him on such a sensitive task. No, if Silco went, it would be alone, and that scared him almost as much as accidentally starting a brawl between his men and Vander’s.
He would have to be careful. He needed to confirm if what he suspected was true, that Vander had had a change of heart. That he was willing to fight, and that Silco could potentially convince him to fight for them again. For him. That’s what this was, a chance at repentance. That was all. Nothing more.
If a spark of hope alighted in his heart at the prospect of gaining everything back, of not having to carry this hatred, to do this thing alone anymore, he ignored it.
Blisters and bedrock.
He had to know. He had to know the truth.
The swish of a black cloak over his head as he left the comfort of his office to seek out the one person he said he’d never go looking for again– it was like the birds outside the window: desperate, hurried, reckless. Hungry, not to escape, but to dive headfirst into the belly of the beast, all the while praying for a miracle to make it out alive.
Please, please let him see reason. Silco pleased with the universe and whatever god was still around.
I beg you, Vander. Do not make me fight you this time.
He was so tired of fighting his own.
~•~
It took him hours to reach the Lanes. An outside observer might have said he was stalling. He wasn’t! It was a journey unto itself to even reach the bustling city center at this hour, what with all the haggling and drinking and children running underfoot orchestrating their less than innocent intentions with other people’s wallets. Silco found himself gripping his own pockets in alarm once or twice before remembering he hadn’t even brought his wallet. He didn’t blame the kids. Everyone had to provide for their loved ones and for themselves somehow. And what other options were there, really? In a place like this? That was why he wanted to force a change, to make Piltover see them, respect them. Why couldn’t Vander understand that?
He tried not to dwell on it too hard. If he did, he knew he'd change his mind and return home empty handed and bitter. He wasn’t doing this to pit his ideals against Vanders again. He was doing this to sate his hungry curiosity. And perhaps something else, something too dangerous to speak of. If he gave it a voice, if he even made space for it inside his own mind, it was bound to disappoint him. So he didn’t. He didn’t dwell on the past and he didn’t think of the unmentionable desire that was still desperately grasping for purchase inside his heart.
He had a plan. He was going to restore Zaun and he was going to do it by himself, like everything else he had accomplished since breaking free of Vander’s hold in that disgusting river. His eye throbbed irritably at the memory. It was more of an annoyance now than anything, like a particularly tiresome earworm that refused to leave your head alone.
As if by magic, Silco suddenly found himself outside The Last Drop. It was as if he were a homing pigeon that had come back to roost, except his owner had abandoned him miles away in the woods somewhere in the hope of being rid of him for good. Alas, pigeons are very stubborn things. Silco had always respected the birds’ resilience.
He was standing across the street from the bar, where the outdoor vendors were haggling their wares with passersby. Something was off in the air though. They seemed a little less boisterous and a lot more guarded, whispering amongst themselves, generally unsettled. Silco only caught bits and pieces:
“So young…. Little one…. Terrible…. Violet…”
Violet. The name sparked memories in him he would have rather not dredged up in the present. But it was enough for him to put two and two together.
Poor Vander.
The thought touched his mind unbidden, and he recoiled from it as if it were a poison that might spread. But it was already out there now. And he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t feel at least some sympathy for his once-brother. Violet was still a child, far too young to be taken from this world. And she had been the daughter of their dear friends. Vander had taken on the responsibility of raising them after the accident, that he knew. And he was much closer with them now than Silco had ever been. They might as well have been his own flesh and blood at this point.
Something led his feet to the doorstep. He hadn't stood in this spot in years. Pulling his cloak up higher over his head, he braved a small tug on the door handle. Locked. He was almost relieved. Almost.
Perhaps the back door?
One way to find out.
He held the edge of his hood in place as he slipped around the edge of the building. Thankfully, he didn’t run into anyone along the way. This place really was abandoned today. Unfortunately, both of the other entrances on the ground floor were also bolted shut. That only left the roof, and as much as Silco wanted to claim he wasn’t that old, he was certainly no spring chicken. It had taken a lot for him to climb up there in his 20s, let alone now.
He turned in place, searching for another possible answer to his predicament. His eyes fell on the shorter building behind him. There were several pipes and precarious platforms running between it and The Last Drop. Perhaps there was a way in that he couldn’t see from this angle. With a great amount of care and more than a little bit of luck, Silco managed to pull himself up onto the shed leaning against the wall and haul his body over the short hump that separated it from the roof of the other building.
The first thing he noticed were the drawings, chalk pictures scribbled on the ground and up the side of the wall, clearly children’s artistry. There was a homemade fort in the corner and a couple giant metal tubes to crawl through. A small street lamp bathed the darkening area in a soft yellow glow. It painted a portrait of calm and domesticity, two things Silco hadn’t expected to find in a place like this. But then there was the crying.
It started off as almost nothing, just a whisper of sadness on the wind that might have traveled from anywhere. But as he moved further away from the pub, the soft sniffling became louder. Soon, a lilt of choked sobs joined the sorrowful chorus, and as he leaned over a stack of old wooden crates, he spotted the source of the noise. A little girl was bent over her knees in distress, shivering like a leaf in the cold. Her fingers were tangled in the messy crop of bright blue hair sticking out the top of her head. She was older, but it was undoubtedly her. And if the hair color hadn’t tipped him off, the grief pouring out from this tiny little child would have.
Felicia’s youngest, now only, daughter.
“Hello.”
He said it softly, trying not to startle her, but Powder jumped regardless, hiccuping and swiping at her cheeks as she pressed herself back against the wall. So much for not scaring her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Silco said, trying to make himself seem as small and unthreatening as possible. “Are you quite alright?”
The girl gave no indication that she’d heard him. No sound passed through her lips except for the weak sobs still rocking her skinny frame. Silco turned his head to the side, revealing enough of his good eye to get a better look at her. She looked just like her mother… Felicia never would have wanted her daughter to look this sad.
“Is there anything I can do to help...?”
Powder shook her head. “No one can help… m-my sister- sh-she’s gone-!”
Silco slowly lowered himself to the ground, still keeping his distance. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It is always difficult to lose those we hold dear.”
Powder pressed her face into her sleeve, smearing dirt and tears over her cheeks. Silco dipped his hand into the folds of his cloak and tugged out the handkerchief tucked inside his coat pocket. It was supposed to be decorative, but he figured it would work just as well all the same. She hesitated for a moment as he held it out to her, eventually taking it between trembling fingers and using it to clear away the grime and gunk.
“I can tell you loved her very much,” he continued.
Powder allowed the handkerchief to catch any fresh tears that spilled down her face. “She saved me. Us. She got us out in time.”
Silco nodded in confidence. “A noble sacrifice… Violet must have been a very brave young woman.”
Powder froze, staring up at him with her giant blue eyes. “How do you know her name?”
Silco blinked. “Why you must have said-”
“I didn’t.” Powder said assuredly. She studied him with an intensity that he found to be quite unnerving and leaned forward to try and puzzle out his face among the shadows casted by the cloak. “Who are you?”
Silco slid his fingers along the hood and leaned as far away from her as he could without it seeming too obvious. But Powder was quick. Like lightning, she lunged for him, grabbing the hood in her tiny fist and tossing it back behind his shoulder. A small gasp escaped her mouth. Silco’s hand shot up to cover his eye; he was more concerned about scaring her than anything else, but to her credit, Powder didn’t seem afraid. She looked… Well, she just looked. Deeply. And Silco couldn’t recall a time he’d ever been studied so intimately, and certainly never by a child before.
Then there was a shift, and Powder’s face alighted with something like recognition. “I know you.”
Silco sucked in a breath and held it. She had been so young when he left. And the trauma of the battle. He didn’t think-
“Your Vander’s friend.”
Vander’s friend. No. He hadn’t been that for a very long time. But the child had made the connection regardless. And he couldn’t pretend, even to himself, that it was an entirely unwelcome one.
“What’s your name?”
“Silco,” he replied automatically, though his mouth felt like cotton.
“Silco,” Powder tested the word on her tongue. She brushed a stray strand of cobalt out of her face before pushing herself up and taking his hand.
He startled at the touch, but he didn’t have time to object before the girl began dragging him back across the roof.
“Wait- where are you taking me?”
“To see Vander.”
That caused him to dig his heels in. “No.”
Powder continued to tug on his arm with all her might, but any strength she had left paled in comparison to his unwavering resolve. She let his arm fall back to his side with a soft huff.
“Why not?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer her. He wasn’t even sure what Vander had told them. If he’d told them anything at all.
Powder was still watching him, waiting for an answer that wouldn't ever come. Confusion mixed with the grief already plastered all over her expression like the chalk paintings on the wall; she looked far older than she was. Much older. And Silco, damned be his wretched heart- he could not bear to disappoint her any further.
He would do this one thing. This thing, for Felicia. Vander surely would not resort to violence in front of his- in front her daughter. And even if it did happen to go poorly, he could always slip back into the shadows at the first opportunity.
“Fine.” Silco said to her at last. “Take me to him.”
What little joy Powder seemed to have left in her heart shone to the surface as she took his hand again and led him forward. Her grip on him was tight, trusting, as if he was not practically a stranger she’d only just met. He had forgotten just how innocent children could be, even the ones who had lost everything, especially those ones. They still had faith in goodness, in the humanity of men, and they sought it out desperately whenever it made itself known to them.
Silco halted them again as Powder began to lead them, not to climb down onto the shed, but up toward one of the pipes that ran toward the roof of the pub. She looked back up at him with questioning eyes, and maybe a little annoyance.
“I’m too heavy,” he stated simply.
She looked him up and down and seemed to agree with his assessment. She let go of him again before spider-monkeying her way up to the roof of the Drop. He watched as she disappeared through the door, and a few minutes later, she popped her little blue head out between the crack in the back door on the ground floor and waved him over.
So, he was really doing this then... With one final prayer, Silco dropped to the ground and crossed the yard over to the door. She pushed it open the rest of the way as he followed her inside. The smell of old wood and spirits hit him like a truck, along with the familiar musk of worn leather and the sharp tang of anise. Memories so powerful and vivid flooded his brain that it caused his breath to quicken, or perhaps it was only that the reality of the situation had begun to set in.
His heart hammered more furiously behind his ribcage with each passing step. Powder toddled along in front of him, unaware of his inner turmoil or the fact that she very well could be leading him straight into the mouth of the lion. Or in this case, the hound. He had to steel himself against turning around and fleeing back the way they’d come when the bar came into view. It was just as he remembered it: old, dim, and in need of a good scrub down. The main difference was the fact that it was empty, save for one person leaning heavily up against the counter.
“Vander,” Powder called softly as she approached him.
The man in question pulled his head up from where it had been resting against his arm. He looked awful. And drunk, if the collection of empty bottles next to his elbow were any indication. But when he locked eyes with Silco, any and all traces of sluggishness or intoxication vanished from his features. He shot to his full height, knocking over a few bottles in his haste that were sent rolling off the edge of the bar. Silco grimaced as they clattered loudly against the floor. Everything in his body screamed at him to get out of this place, to get away from him. But it was like he had been frozen. He could barely find a voice that would allow him to explain, let alone regain enough control over his muscles to bid for an escape. He was well and truly pinned beneath Vander’s sordid gaze. And it was absolutely terrifying.
“I brought you a friend,” Powder explained.
Vander didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes remained locked firmly onto Silco.
{Start Song “What Have They Done To Us” }
“Van- She- I can-” Silco’s fleeting backward motion was halted with a single look from Vander.
“No. Stay- rightthere,” he slurred. Suddenly, he was marching forward on clumsy heavy drunken footsteps that shook the floor and only added to Silco’s ever-increasing heart rate. He put one hand out and stumbled back as Powder stepped up to put herself between them. Vander scooped her toward him without a second thought and pushed her behind his leg. She studied him from behind the protection of the mountain that was Vander, seemingly lost at his less than enthusiastic response.
“Vander,” Silco hated how his voice shook. He managed to steady it with what self-control he still possessed. “I did not come here to fight.”
The hulking man stepped forward again. Silco flinched. “You’re in pain. You’re not thinking straight. Let me-“ what? Help? The thought was absurd. Vander had not needed his help for a long time.
“This was a mistake,” he said, too quietly for either of them to hear over the roaring of blood in his own ears and Vander’s audibly gruff breath. The side of his heel knocked into a chair that he had not even realized he’d backed up against. “Your daughter,” he blurted in a panic, grasping to appeal to Vander’s humanity. “At least send her away.”
“No,” Vander gasped out. And there was something raw and painful in the way he said the word. “She brought you to me.”
Before Silco even had time to process the words, Vander’s fists were tangled in the front of his cloak. He leapt back as if burned by the touch, shoving against Vander’s shoulders with a sudden adrenaline-backed form of strength. But Vander was stronger. He’d always been stronger. Silco tucked his chin toward his chest to shield his neck and bared his teeth as he struggled to hold the other man at bay.
And then all at once, Vander’s expression simply crumbled.
“You came back,” he said.
His face was shoved into the depths of Silco’s cloak before he had time to register the fear. It came like an aftershock, a wave of sudden terror followed by an entirely different type of distress, one that settled atop them both like a blanket of trepidation, heavy and suffocating. Vander began to shake. The man who he had seen beat enforcers to death with his bare fists, whose very hands had nearly choked the life out of him all those years ago, was trembling in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Silco,” he hissed through gritted teeth into the folds of Silco’s cloak. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I regret it. I regret it every day.”
Silco clung to Vander after that, more for stability than anything. He was shaking too for an entirely different reason. “Do you?”
“Yes,” came the whispered answer. “I wrote a letter…to you. Last year. I wanted to change things between us, to go back to the way things were. I just wasn’t sure how-” his voice broke off at the end. And Silco’s instincts from years ago kicked in, thin hands reaching up to tangle through Vander’s long hair, grounding him, quieting the ache.
“Shh,” Silco hushed. “We can talk about this later.”
Vander relented without further argument, and Silco felt him relax into the embrace.
“For now…” He glanced at the back wall behind the bar, seeing nothing and everything, a fleeting flash of a new future, before his attention returned to the man in his arms. “For now, let’s just forget.”
Vander still felt unsteady as Silco untangled himself from his hold. He managed to guide both of them into a booth nearby. Powder, bless her, followed helplessly, looking not dissimilar to a sad blue kitten left out on the porch. Silco eyed Vander for a moment to make sure he wasn't about to keel over, then he knelt down to her level. “Powder, my dear. Will you do us a favor and fetch some water?”
Having been tasked with a job to do, Powder nodded eagerly and took off behind the bar in search of a single clean glass among the mess of dirtied ones. Silco slipped into the seat next to Vander and studied the broken man before him with a mixture of pity and contemplative understanding. “She’s gone. You have a few minutes.”
Vander’s tears spilled over and dripped onto the smooth surface of the table in front of them. His body, wracked with silent sobs that were only so because his knuckles were buried between his teeth, convulsed in sickening unpredictable waves. Silco let a sigh pass over his lips as he watched him struggle.
“I hope you don’t blame yourself.”
“They were my responsibility,” Vander grit out. “All of them.”
“As much as you may feel like that is true,” Silco began. “Children or not, they made their own choices.”
Vander’s fist came down hard onto the table, but Silco knew he was more angry with himself than anyone else. “It is because they are children that they-”
“What? ‘Don’t have a choice?’” Silco pressed. “That’s not true. If that had been the case when we were young we never would have fought- never would have dreamt of the things we did.”
“If it hadn’t been the case, they might both still be alive…”
Silco turned away from him. “Please let’s not do this now.”
“She was her daughter,” Vander ground out around his fist. “I failed them both. I was supposed to protect-” his voice cracked away before regaining its strength. “And now poor Powder is all alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Silco said. “She has you.”
Vander scoffed bitterly. “Far less than she deserves.”
Silco opened his mouth for a rebuttal when a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Silco stood to block her view while Vander hid his face behind his hands.
“Ah, thank you, Powder,” Silco said as he took the full glass she held up to him. “You’re a very big help.”
She gave him what was the equivalent of a child’s proud smile, except it only managed to make her features look even sadder than they already were. He bent down to her with a smile of his own.
“Perhaps you should run along and get cleaned up. Wash the day away. Hm?” He brushed a smudge of dirt off her forehead as he spoke. Powder’s eyes trailed behind him, to where Vander was sitting. “I’ll look after him. Don’t worry,” he promised. “Go on, now.”
He watched her scurry off as he stood back to his full height again.
“You’re good with her,” Vander said lowly.
Silco set the glass down in front of him as he slid back into the booth. “Well, I did know her once. A long time ago.”
“I took that from you too…”
Silco made a note of displeasure in his throat. “I do wish you would stop bringing up the past right now.”
“What would you have me do? Bury it?”
Silco shrugged, as if to say ‘maybe.’
“Is that what you’ve done?”
No. The voice in his head mocked.
“I do what is necessary,” he said instead.
Vander let out a humorless chuckle despite himself. “You always have done that, haven’t you.” He looked at Silco with a fondness the latter had not witnessed in too long a time. “That hasn’t changed.”
Silco ignored the burning feeling behind his sternum in favor of fixing Vander with a cold, apathetic stare. “You haven’t changed much either.”
“Doesn’t feel that way…”
“…did you really write me that letter?”
Vander nodded slowly, eyes on the tabletop. “Yes.” He looked up then, fresh tear tracks highlighted on his face in the dim lighting. “I have missed you.”
And Silco’s iron-barred heart melted at the words. Goddamnit.
But he didn’t say them back. Instead, he broke eye contact first before clearing out his throat. “You seem to have gotten along just fine on your own.” He didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. At least, that wasn’t his intent. But Vander didn’t seem to know how to take it, so he added: “But I suppose you haven’t been alone. Not really.”
“I guess not,” Vander replied. He ran one of his fingers over the rim of the water glass before taking it in one hand and gulping down almost half of it in one go.
“You’ve always been a family man. I’m surprised you never had any kids of your own. Although you remedied that without issue.” Silco pressed both of his lips together firmly. “No shortage of orphans in the undercity.”
“What about you?”
Silco’s gaze snapped toward him. “What about me?”
“Did you ever have a family? Kids?”
Silco punctuated his words with a sharp laugh. “No. You know me. Not my cup of tea.”
Vander’s eyes wandered to the door where Powder had disappeared to. “That’s a shame. I think you would have made a good father.”
Silco clicked his tongue dismissively. “I would never bring a child into a world like this. My first priority has always been liberating Zaun. Anything else, that’s secondary. A distraction.”
Vander nodded in understanding as he hung his head again. “Probably for the best. I’ve learned that, in all of my life here on Runeterra, there’s nothing more undoing as a daughter.” He let out a soft, broken laugh. “And I have- had…two of them.”
Vander’s sharp whine turned to air against the palm of his hand, which he pressed into the side of his face. The hound of the underground was no better off than an injured street mutt like this. And Silco’s heart ached for him. It truly did. Despite their disagreements and outright violence toward each other, he could not bear to see his once-brother like this, so…utterly destroyed.
“Do you know something,” Silco began as a whisper. His hand traveled to where Vander’s arm rested on the table. “I was terrified to come here. Let alone see you face to face again for the first time since…in years. I imagine you weren’t overly thrilled to see me either.” A low chuckle escaped his lips as he curled his fingers over Vander’s wrist. “Powder was the one who insisted I do.”
He paused, letting his words sink into the air between them. Vander turned one eye upon him at the admission.
“I was still afraid. But she can be very convincing, as I’m sure you know.”
That coaxed a smile from the side of his mouth that was visible to Silco.
“She barely remembered who I was. All she knew was that I had once been your friend. And she knew that you needed that, someone to help you where she couldn’t.”
Vander turned his face back into the shadow. Silco leaned toward him, forcing their eyes to meet.
“She loves you, Vander. And she’s incredibly perceptive and aware of what is needed in the moment. You cannot find that sort of empathy in children her age, not unless it is taught.” Silco’s grip tightened around his wrist. “You taught her that. You taught them all that, by your example. That is what the leaders of tomorrow are made of.”
Vander’s face crumpled against the side of his hand. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“I was not thrilled to see you,” Vander said, finally letting his hand fall to the table. “I was…irrepressible,” he breathed.
Silco tilted his head. “Well, that’s a five-hex word, isn’t it?”
“It means unable to be held back.”
“I know what it means.”
“Sorry.”
Silco’s lips curved upward at the apology. “I’ll accept it.” He shifted until his arm was hanging over the back of the booth behind Vander’s shoulders. “I always had the larger vocabulary of the two of us, I think.”
Vander grunted in acknowledgement. “Words were never my strong suit.”
“No. Punching things was.”
Vander’s eyes flashed toward him. A laugh bubbled up in his throat at the look, and then without warning, the last several years of pent-up rage and hatred and anxiety came pouring out of him within that one laugh. It bled the line between laughter and sob so much that Vander must have thought he was in pain from it. He cupped one of his much larger hands over the back of Silco’s neck, which the latter flinched away from at first, hesitant even still to be touched like that by him again. But Vander did not let go. In fact, his hold grew even firmer, yet not in a way that was hurtful. It was grounding. It was as solid as the earth under Silco’s feet, the unbeatable, unbreakable mountain he remembered from their youth. The one he had leaned on, had taken comfort in knowing was on their side. His side. And when Vander pressed their foreheads together in the quiet of the bar where they had shared so many moments before, years of pain, of laughter, of arguments held over cold drinks and neon fire– the dam finally broke.
Silco’s laughs did turn to sobs then. The tears burned his bad eye even worse than his good one. It was euphorically sweet and disgustingly mortifying at the same time. His goal had been to comfort Vander, not the other way around. He didn’t seem to care though. Perhaps Vander needed someone to look after once the dust had settled. His own grief had always come last, and not due to any self-sacrifice on his part, though that was undoubtedly a small absent-minded piece of it. No, it was merely the way he processed things. Vander was the older of the two of them by several years, almost a decade to be exact. And Silco hadn’t been wrong when he’d said Vander’s specialty was hitting things until they somehow fixed themselves. But whenever violence didn’t work, whenever there were no enemies left to vanquish, he almost always resorted to the opposite: to caring, to consoling, to becoming a safe haven for those affected. Piltover feared him for his strength. Silco and many others had found solace in him for the very same yet exact opposite reason.
And god, he had missed this. Missed him.
It was…irrepressible.
“I’m sorry,” Vander whispered in the small space between them. His thumb glided softly underneath Silco’s bad eye. “I’m sorry.”
“M’please don’t-” Silco’s voice broke off into a thousand tiny pieces. “I c- I can’t stay.”
“Why not?” Vander’s grip on him tightened, though again, not in any way that was painful. It felt more like desperation.
“You know I can’t…” Silco said hoarsely under his breath.
“Said who?” Vander challenged. “We don’t have to let it come between us forever. We can change. I can change. We can try to build up Zaun again, like we dreamed.” His free hand found Silco’s shoulder and squeezed. “From blisters and bedrock.”
Silco’s breath left him in a choked imitation of a whimper, and his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed the rest back.
“It’s what they would have wanted,” Vander said. “It’s what Vi would have wanted. It’s what I want for Powder.”
Silco’s tongue felt slow and stuck to the roof of his mouth as he opened it. “And what happens if we disagree again, on how to achieve that?”
Vander was silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then he took in a long breath. “I won’t make the same mistakes twice. We’ll find another way.”
Would they? He wasn’t sure. It hadn’t gone so well the first time. But god, did he want to try. He’d never wanted anything more. Silco wasn’t known for throwing caution to the wind very often, but perhaps that was something that had rubbed off on him from years spent going along with Vander’s reckless, hair-brained schemes.
“We’ll figure it out,” Vander promised him. “And I won’t lay a hand on you, not ever again, I swear it.”
He pulled back just in time to see Silco’s expression morph into one of stupor. The words shocked him, yes, for he’d never expected to hear them. But what shocked him even more was how much he’d needed to. Always at the back of his mind was the burning, clawing chemicals leaching into his eye, the hands around his throat, the water in his lungs. Even as they’d sat here sharing air with each other again, always, it lingered, like a stench. And now, finally, the sensation, the nightmare, faded deep into the backdrop of his mind, not forgotten, but muted so much that it was as if it were a dream and not the vivid, tactile memory he usually recalled. And something about that must have shown on his face because Vander’s expression fractured at the same revelation.
“Oh.” The sound left his throat as a gut-wrenching tug. “Silco, I-”
“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be laying a hand on you.”
Vander’s mouth twitched into a smile at that. “Noted.”
Slowly, he frowned and reached out to take Silco’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. This time, Silco didn’t flinch away, but he did raise a perfectly arched brow at the intrusion. And then Vander extended his fingers to run two of them right around the underside of his left eye.
“Does it hurt?”
Silco’s gaze found anything to meet besides Vander’s. “Not all the time…”
Vander heaved out a great sigh as he dropped his hands into his lap. “We’ll fix it.”
“Vander, I’ve tried–”
“I’ll fix it.”
And for all intents and purposes, Silco believed him.
“You’d better go and find Powder,” he said instead. “She seems the mischievous type if left on her own for too long.”
Vander chuckled softly. “More than you know.”
Silco stood first before helping Vander to his feet. He was still a little unsteady, but more sure-footed than he had been before at least.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
Silco’s brows shot sky high. “What?”
“To help me with Powder. Claggor and Mylo could probably use the extra support too, after everything… I’ve seen you before, with the girls, and now with Powder again. I think we could all use a friendly face right about now.”
Silco cocked his head to the side facetiously. “‘A friendly face.’ Is that your idea of a joke?”
Vander frowned. “No. I mean it.”
And Silco could tell that he did. Damn him.
“I just– I don’t think I can do this on my own anymore...”
Silco knew it pained him to admit it, but they both knew he was right. They’d all lost a loved one; Vander had lost a daughter, and he couldn’t always be the unwavering rock for his other kids because of it, especially not now, so soon after. But Silco, he could. He was detached enough not to let the grief bother him and yet sympathetic enough toward Vander that he could still understand it.
Like it or not, he was the prime candidate for the job. And he wasn’t about to refuse his grieving best friend this respite.
“Very well,” Silco relented. “You will have to show me things. I’ll have to learn how everything works. But I will help you.”
A heavy weight seemed to be lifted off of Vander’s shoulders at that.
“On one condition,” Silco added.
Vander turned his head suspiciously. “Which is?”
“You go the fuck to sleep afterward.”
Vander let out a humorless chuckle at that.
“Mm. You think I’m joking. In the kindest way possible, you look like shit.”
Vander sighed and leaned heavily on the counter. “I imagine I do.” His expression turned dark. “We’re supposed to bury her tomorrow…”
Silco stepped closer toward him and cupped one of his brother’s hands between both of his own. “Then I will help you with that too.”
He looked up into Vander’s eyes that shone with unshed tears. And then the taller man fell onto his shoulder again, and this time, Silco’s arms encircled him instantly.
“It will be alright. We’ll figure it out. We always have,” he said beside Vander’s ear. “Blisters and bedrock.”
“Blisters and bedrock,” Vander repeated quietly.
It was a promise. A vow. They would not fail again. They couldn’t. Not Zaun, not Powder. And certainly not each other. Never again.
For as there was nothing so undoing as a daughter, there too was nothing quite so unwavering as a brother.
~•~
“Powder’s been raving about your Z-drive. Can’t remember the last time I saw her so alive,” Vander remarked wistfully to Ekko as he shook up a cocktail between two metal cylinders. “I have the feeling that you’ll be running this place soon.”
Silco smirked as he sidled up alongside Vander and threw one hand over his shoulder. “So there’s a chance for us yet,” he teased.
Benzo let out a wry chuckle to his right. But Ekko narrowed his eyes at him almost suspiciously.
“You?” he said.
“Didn’t think I’d miss your big day, did you?”
Ekko didn’t let up. He pulled his brows together and spat, “Didn’t you try to kill him?”
Silco’s hand almost slipped from where it had been gripping Vander’s pauldron, and the smile fell from his lips as a small gasp escaped them. For the briefest of moments, he was thrown back into the depths of those painful memories. Then he felt the touch of cool metal being pressed into his fingertips, a golden cocktail glass that he took with a smile, and he remembered it had been years since the rivers of Zaun had been cleaned of their toxins.
“The greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive.” He raised his cup with a look toward Vander as he said it. The taller man returned it with a warm smile.
Benzo scoffed at their sentimentality with a roll of his eyes. Ekko seemed to let it go too. But the exchange had still been off-putting.
Benzo leaned in toward them with a knowing smirk as they watched Ekko wander off into the crowd, making a beeline for Powder as the music swelled.
“Who’d a thought, huh? The two smartest kids in Zaun. Match made in heaven if you ask me.”
“It’s a good thing no one asked you then,” Silco muttered. It was too quiet for Benzo to hear, but Vander elbowed him softly in the ribs with a disapproving frown.
“Well, have fun tonight lads,” Benzo said. “I certainly will.”
Vander chuckled as Benzo reached over the counter and snatched an entire bottle of whiskey before walking away. Silco didn’t laugh.
“I’m not sure about him,” he said. “Ekko.”
Vander shook his head as he began mixing himself another drink. “You’re not sure about anyone.”
“That’s beside the point,” he countered.
“Ekko’s a good kid. He just gets a little in over his head sometimes.”
“Tch,” Silco scoffed as he took another draw from his glass. “Well, someone around here has to protect her.”
“If I let you do all the protecting, she would never leave the house.”
Silco shrugged, as if to say, ‘and what of it?’
Vander ruffled the top of his hair, much to his chagrin. “Never thought I’d see the day when you became more stubborn than me.”
Silco chuffed into the bottom of his half-empty cup. “My friend, if you do not believe it has always been so, I’m afraid you don’t know me very well at all.”
That got a real laugh out of Vander, which caused Silco’s own smile to appear over the rim of his drink.
“Ah, of course, I think you’re right after all.”
“I always am.”
“Always is a strong word.”
“Precisely why I used it. I’ve always had the larger vocabulary of the two of us.”
The music faded into the background, and a deep sense of deja vu settled over the both of them at Silco’s words.
Vander breathed in the sweet scent of the air–the clean, unadulterated Zaunite air–as he allowed the memory to wash over his heart. As much as it hurt in some places, in others it had healed over with newer, happier memories. And it had all been because of the one, so he couldn’t hate all of it. Not really.
The line between Silco’s brows grew taut at his brother’s silence. “You alright?”
Vander smiled at him. “Never been happier.”
Silco pressed his lips into a firm line and hummed, unconvinced. Every once in a while, Vander still had bad days. They all did. But whenever it was a bad day for Vander, the whole house would suffer for it. It wasn’t his fault. And that’s why Silco was there anyway, to pick up the pieces left behind by the grief, as a shield to protect the others when Vander could not. They were partners. Brothers. And in this glorious adventure called life, they were each other’s soulmates. Not the kind born of romance or intimacy, though it was in a way. Intimate, that is–intimate in the sense that they knew and experienced each others’ souls, had carved their names upon the other’s forever, and through good and bad, thick and thin, there they would remain. And Silco wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Vander smirked and brushed off his hand playfully. “Yes! Now will you stop hovering over me like a mother hen?”
Silco scoffed. “I am not. I’ve never in all my years–”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” Vander remarked as he rubbed out another glass with a clean towel. “The incident on the bridge bring back any memories? Or perhaps the poison fiasco?”
“How positively dare you.”
“Oh I do. Dare.”
They locked eyes in a silent battle of wills. Enough so that Vander had to crack a smile, while Silco very much did not.
“I’m leaving.”
“Noo,” Vander pleaded.
Silco set down his empty cocktail glass with a hollow clink that somehow carried his tone of annoyance with it. “Have fun.”
“Silco-o-!” His laughter dragged out the end of his name in a fond way that made Silco grind his teeth together even more. “Wait!”
Silco felt a hand curl around his bicep and damn all the gods that existed for making Vander so goddamn fucking strong. “Do not touch me.”
Vander gave his best impression of a pout. “Please stay. Where else are you trying to be on a night like this?
“You know, this is an innovators’ showcase. I might, I don’t know, go witness the showcase instead of standing here drinking all evening.”
“Or,” Vander offered. “You could stay with your best friend and enjoy a drink with me on a beautiful night in the city you built together.”
“We have years to do that,” Silco deadpanned, refusing to give into his initial reaction to that sentence, knowing it was the one Vander wanted.
“Brr. You’re very cold today.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
Vander finally let go of his arm with no small amount of visible disappointment. “Will you at least have one more drink with me before you slip away into the shadows?”
A slightly exasperated breath left Silco’s nose at the request, but he was nothing if not reasonable. “Fine. I’ll take you up on that compromise. This time,” he added.
Vander gave him an acquiesce smile as he poured them both another mixed drink from his shakers. He passed Silco’s old cup to him and held up his own beside it. “What shall we toast to?”
Silco hummed in rumination as he swirled the contents of the glass around. “How about Powder? And Ekko, I guess. To their invention.”
Vander shrugged. “We could.”
“Well, there’s always the signature mantra.”
Vander’s smile grew soft. “A classic. But I think we’re past accomplishing that one, don’t you?”
“What were you thinking then?”
“Something simpler,” Vander said. “You. Us. The fresh air in our lungs, the clean waterways carving through the city. The kids. The people. Fulfilled promises and those we still have yet to make.”
Silco tilted his chin up to the side. “Well, it’s not exactly simple.”
Vander sighed. “You’re so literal.”
“Ah, but you love me for it.”
Vander rolled his eyes with a good-natured smirk. “Sometimes I do. When you’re not being a pain in my ass.”
“To not-being-a-pain-in-the-ass then,” Silco said, raising his glass.
“Whatever,” Vander said, shaking his head and tapping his drink against Silco’s. “You’re not doing a very good job at it, though.”
“At your service, Mr. Hound of the Underground.”
“Hm, I wish you weren’t, Mr. Eye of Zaun.”
They both tipped their drinks back and took a sip. Silco found Powder’s shock of blue hair bobbing up and down across the dance floor with Ekko. She smiled and twirled around freely, unbothered and happy. It warmed Silco’s heart to see her so.
“Did you see-”
Suddenly, Vander leaned in far too close, causing Silco to pull his drink closer against his chest at the intrusion. “Can I help you?”
Vander said nothing as he placed the pad of his thumb gently over the scarring of Silco’s eye. He was almost 50% blind in it now, but the pain had long since disappeared. That still didn’t keep Vander from asking:
“Does it hurt at all?”
“You know it doesn’t,” Silco said patiently, pulling Vander’s hand away from his eye by the wrist. “You saw to that yourself, with a little help from the local apothecaries, just as you promised.”
Vander’s brows mused together. “Yes, I know, but-”
“Do not let what that boy said affect you, Vander. It hasn’t affected me.”
Well, that was a lie. It was starting to piss him off a little bit now. But he didn’t tell Vander that. He just smirked instead.
“Now who is mother-henning?”
“Shut up,” Vander muttered, plucking the unfinished cocktail out of his hand. “I changed my mind. You can go now.”
Silco laughed. “Oh, how the tables do turn, my dear brother.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Vander said dismissively. “You’re very clever.”
“You mean it?”
“Mhm.”
“Why thank you,” Silco said with a bow. “I’m the brains to your brawn, as they say.”
Vander snorted. “Who says that?”
Silco ignored him as he backed out from behind the bar. “Well if you need me, you know where to look.”
“You mean the trash?”
“Don’t use insults because you’re feeling petty, Vander, it’s very unbecoming.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Moron.”
Vander looked up from polishing glassware to glare at him. “Twig.”
“Brick. Look, I can say words too,” Silco mocked, leaning toward him over the bar.
Vander threw the towel at him, only for him to catch it square in the mitt of his hand and drop it unceremoniously onto the floor.
“Child,” Vander muttered as he bent to grab a fresh one from under the counter.
“I am younger than you. By a lot.”
Vander tilted his head back and huffed into the air. “Please go now. I’m actually begging you.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Silco said cheerfully. “Love you too.”
“Yep.”
“Say it back.”
Vander turned his eyes up toward the heavens.
“What if I died in my sleep tonight and you never saw me again? You would feel so bad.”
Vander gave a single long-suffering sigh. “I love you, Silco.”
“I knew you did,” Silco agreed, reaching across the counter to swat affectionately at Vander’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’ll see you later. Promise.”
“You’d better.”
Silco threw out his arms to the side as he pushed away from the bar. “When have I ever gone back on my word?”
And with that, the ‘much younger’ man spun off toward the exhibition hall. Vander stayed long after he did, polishing his glassware in preparation for the thirsty dance crowd, watching Powder and Mylo and Claggor and Ekko with a soft smile perched on his lips. And for the first time in a while, he thought about Vi, about what she would make of all this.
Well, it’s certainly not what I would have done with the place. Her voice echoed teasingly in his head. But it’s a definite improvement.
Good job, dad.
And even though his smile turned sad at the edges, he hadn’t lied to Silco before. He truly, without a doubt, could not have been any happier.
Blisters and bedrock, brother. Vander thought to himself. He raised a glass in a silent toast to the both of them. We did it.
~•~
THE END