Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I can never seem to escape

All the laughing 

All the pain

If you were me

What would you do?

Nothing probably you’d just throw it away

Faget ~ Korn

Chapter 1

“Jinx,” Viktors voice is weak, cracking as he speaks, as he stumbles into the small arcade, leaning heavily onto his cane, still trembling with the force he must maintain to keep himself up. He doens’t get a response, not right away, at least, and he feels like collapsing right here, falling to the floor in a heap, just waiting here until he dies. But he sees two, bright magenta eyes staring his way from the dark of the joists above him. “It’s Viktor.” He adds, she’s hesitant to speak with anyone, she is a fugitive on the loose, after all. 

“Jeez, you don’t look too hot.” Jinx laughs as she hops down onto the floor beside him, looking him up and down at the cane that looks like it’ll collapse under the force he puts onto it. He looks paler than before, even though she thought that was impossible, and the bags weighing down his eyes are heavier, darker.

“I need help…I cant live like this, not for long, and nothing is changing.” He rambles, an urgency in his voice she’s never heard before. It makes sense, their plan, the whole thing is taking far to long to execute.

They teamed up years ago, when Viktor came down here for the first time in a while after her attack on the lab. He needed that kind of energy, someone who shared his spite for the whole world, for Piltover specifically. He needed someone malicious, someone void of morals, someone willing to do whatever it takes to finally get the attention they deserve. And Jinx needed someone on this inside. Her and Silcos planned attacks were strong, almost every single one was successful, but they weren’t making as big of an impact as they had hoped. Piltover hadn’t crumbled, they hadn’t agreed to the terms that had been preposed for a peace, a ceasefire. 

Viktor could get into Jayces head, that was the plan. Everyone there adored Hextech, they saw Jayce as a savior, Viktor as, maybe a support of that, but they saw him better than they say Jinx: a terrorist. He was close with a councilor, very close, as she had come to know through hushed conversations they shared. He could manipulate the people there, or maybe he could convince Jayce to join their side, to fight for Zaun like they wanted. The people would follow him, it was simple, they all new it. The Man of Progress, Piltover's Golden Boy, he -was everything they could’ve ever wanted. Smart, persuasive, strong, and oh, so hot. He was perfect eye candy for them to stare at if any of the cases the council covered were public, he was perfect to paste on cups and shirts and banners because all eyes are drawn to him. 

“You need to get rid of them, Viktor, the other councilors. If Jayce is the only one left, you’ll have power. You can manipulate him however you please, Viktor, you know he would never hurt you, if you tell him to end the war with Zaun, he’ll end it.” Jinx insists, slowly walking deeper into the shadows, beckoning him over. He follows with a slow, staggered pace. 

“I can’t Jinx, I can’t use him like that. Maybe I could gently sway him into a decision, but I’m not using him as a-a pawn in this game, he doesn’t deserve that, not after all that he’s done for me.” Viktors words slide past his lips before he can think about them, and they force a flush to his cheeks, he doesn’t talk about it much, he doesn’t have someone to talk about his love life with but her, and she’s all the way down in the Undercity, so it rarely happens. 

Jinx slides a finger down her throat, gagging and sputtering as Viktor gets all sappy. “Ew, I don’t need to hear about all that.” She grumbles, though he can hear the smile in her words, the playful teasing peeking through her speech, the sharpness to her tone that he’s been hearing for years. The best part about coming down here is seeing her. They aren’t blood related, but they’re siblings, they grew up in the same house, were fathered by the same man, brought up on the same morals, the same idea that Piltover needed to burn for all of the things they had down, for how they forsake Zaun.

“Just…You have to understand me, I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be fair.” Viktors voice cracks, it crumbles under the mere thought, the simple suggestion of using Jayce, of hurting him in any way possible.

“Since when did you care about fair?” The question twists his guts into knots. Viktor didn’t for years, but going to Piltover for university has taught him, not everyone is bad. Jayce definitely isn't, he’s amazing, he’s the kindest, most honest person that Viktor has ever met, he’s never felt someone who touches him that gentle, that cradles him like he’s fragile porcelain, the most important thing to be found in the world. 

He was never treated fairly, treated nicely, so why should he have extended such emotions and niceties to others? But now that Jayce is with him, now that hes met someone who handles him like he’s just another person, it’s hard to be so indifferent, to be so hateful, to have so much spite towards the other. It’s never been easy, to try and decipher what relationships he should treat gently, which ones he should try and eliminate. He was never good with emotions, with talking, and it only makes everything worse. Even with someone like Jinx, someone he shares every secret with, the person he confides in, he can’t seem to get his words out right. He stutters over every syllable, and stammers through his sentences. He says the wrong words that mean the wrong things and all of a sudden he’s conveying a completely different emotion than he’s intending to. His tone is wrong, he sounds sarcastic, or hurt, or angry, and he isn’t.

“I-I don’t know, but I care now.” And he’s doing it again, he can hear it in his own voice, how he sounds stern, angry, peeved. He tries to correct himself, but everytime it makes things worse. “I’m not mad. I just-I don’t know, I said it wrong.” Viktor stammers out, looking to see if she still looks hurt. A little, but if anything, she looks confused, concerned for his sporadic state of mind, and the ache clearly evident in his frame. “I have to go, I can talk with Jayce about the rest of the councilors. I’ll stop by tomorrow.” Viktor says, just trying to get away, he might not go back to the lab, not right away. Maybe he’ll make a pit-stop, check on Singed, see how he’s doing, maybe he’ll be able to see Rio. 

“You look like you need a new cane.” Jinx says, right as he’s about to walk out. And she is right, he needs more support now, more than his current one can offer. He’ll probably have to swap back to a crutch at this rate. “I can have it finished by tonight.” She says with a straight lipped smile. She always used to make him his canes when they were younger. A few years after Silco found them, he had to have a  crutch, his brace was broken and it would be weeks before the next one was made for him. So Jinx worked to make him one, well, Silco made it, found all of the materials, and crafted it with the help of some of his men, and Jinx scribbled colorful pictures all around it. But this time she can’t do that, she can't sign it with her signature colors. 

“Fine. Just…Is there somewhere I can sit?” He grumbles, shuffling his way over to a battered, worn-in couch that’s been there for years. Even after sitting, everything inside of him aches, every bone protests movement, and his muscles are tugged taut around them. He does need a new cane, or, really a crutch, needs something to soothe the pain that just stays with him. Before it would drift away with sleep, Jayces nimble hands could, at least temporarily, melt away the pain, if he took his meds, he would forget, but now? It’s constant, excruciating, nothing seems to bring any relief to him, and it is getting tiring. He can’t stand anymore, he barely made it all the way down here without collapsing.  

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

It’s hours before a crutch is presented to him. It’s messy, obviously, it was made in the undercity, but, thankfully, it’s void of any scribbles and bright colors, and it’s still the house Talis colors, so it’ll be easily disguised as something built in Piltover. They don’t talk anymore. He gets a soft smile, and than he’s on his way, heading down the crowded streets and alleyways until he gets to the trolleys that go to Piltover. Theres a line, a long one for every single carriage, and he’s not sure that he’ll even make it. There’s to many people, the streets are crowded, and he can’t hear his own thoughts over the commotion of the crowd. People slam into his shoulders, panicked strangers searching for their children, people sprinting towards the ticket booths.

He’s already been struggling to stand as it is, and with all of this going around, the loud buzzing of the carriages beeping, and people yelling, and feet shuffling, he’s not sure he’ll even stay standing for a few seconds more.

But he makes it, standing at one end of the bridge, his eyes heavy, every extremity feeling thousands of pounds heavier. But as he looks down at Piltover, he sees large separates, many, many, armed enforcers cutting him off from the lab, from the university. Still he staggers on through the crowd, but when he tries to continue forward, the *stock*(IS THAT RIGHT??) of a rifle slamming into his chest. He staggers backwards, groaning in pain as the breath is forced from his lungs, and he struggles for seconds to take in a breath. 

“What-What is this? Let me get back to the lab, I need to, Jayce is waiting for me.” Viktor stammers after moments of fighting for a breath. 

“We’ll send a call to the council.” The enforcer says simply, voice muffled by the mask.”Sit over there for now.” Another comes to his side, grabbing him with a very ungentle (FIND A BETTER WORD) hold and tugging him to a small, thin bench, a few others stationed nearby. Why is he being treated like a criminal, him and all these others who only want to cross the bridge. Somone in the council must’ve gotten a majority vote to do this, to stop all from the Undercity from coming up. Why would anyone want this?

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

“You ordered this?” Viktor asks shakily as Jayce stands before him, looking ruffled, like he slipped quickly into his coat and shoes and hurried out the door without managing to fix his hair. 

“We needed to do something, Vik, these people, they want us dead, they’re dangerous.” He says, and the way that he looks over at the Zaunties, the parents holding sobbing babies, the children, the frightened individuals. He looks at them like they’re all criminals, murdered trying to breach the line between them and Piltover and go on a killing spree of all of the people. 

"I’m from the Undercity, do you think I’m dangerous?” Viktor spits, venom pooling in the back of his throat, spraying out on the man before him with the flick of his tongue. He can hear himself, that disgusting spite rising inside of him. He thought Jayce was different, he thought he saw Zaunites the same as everyone else, but this is convincing him otherwise. 

“No, Viktor, that's not- you’re different, okay? You’re not like them.” He stammers, running a hand over his face and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He looks apologetic, and even though it helps, even though he feels a tiny bit better, it’s not enough. He sounds like everyone in the council, fighting Zaun like everyone who lives down there is convicted of a felony, like they aren’t people with lives and families and feelings. He sounds just like everyone at the university when he first showed up, speaking in hushed whispers about how he didn’t belong, how he shouldn’t have been allowed in the school. He sounds like every other person who doubted him, who shoved him out of Piltover when he tried to cross because he wasn’t a “Valuable enough asset” to be allowed in.

Maybe Jayce isn’t different. He isn’t special, he doesn’t see Viktor as anything but weak, yet somehow a danger, like the fact that he has the blood of the Undercity in his veins makes it so he’s capable of heinous things. He should go back to Jinx, should tell her he’s completely, one-hundred percent okay with manipulating Jayce now, with dragging him into the game. 

“I’m sorry, Viktor, you know I didn’t mean it, I’m just under a lot of stress, and pressure, and it slipped out. I didn’t mean it.” Jayce stammers, offering Viktor a hand. He swats it away, and stands by himself, leaning heavily on his newly crafted crutch. He walks slowly, unable to walk fast enough to avoid the hand resting on the small of his back so he just deals with it, for now. Smoke plumes up around them, a ringing flooding his ears as something behind them crashes, a bottle shattering and spitting up flames. Jayces grip tightens, and he tugs him along, making him trip over his own feet. 

By the time theyre back in the lab, Jayce is shaking, pacing around and around he lab table, rabling on and on about all of his worries that Viktor couldn't care less about. He wants to be alone. He wants to step back to his room, hide beneath his covers and cry into his arms because the one person he thought was different ended up being just like all the others. 

“I don’t know what to do, we can’t attack Zaun, if we do it’ll only stress the relationship…But we can’t do nothing, Viktor, they want us dead, so many of them!” Jayces worries are arbitrary to Viktor. He doesn’t care what happens to Piltover, and right now, he feels like he doesn’t care what happens to Jayce either. “I-I need help with this, please.”

“I don’t know, Jayce, I am not the damn councilor! It’s your whole job, isn’t it, to figure these things out?” Viktor says, hands balled up tightly into fists, resting on his desk as he reserves the demand to throw something across the room, to watch it shatter. His breathing is heavy, ragged, and uneven, but he can’t calm it. He has been angry, so, unconditionally angry, and not a moment in his life has he been able to voice said emotions. He had to be polite, he had to be kind, because people barely accepted him, he couldn’t be unwanted and irritating. He learned to present himself gently, to make his life sound like a sob story he came out the other side of better. But he didn’t grow with his life. The only thing that matured, that grew was his unadulterated aversion for everyone that even dared to shame him, to shame others who were “lesser”. The spite that boiled in his veins never stopped flowing through his body, despite how harmless he made himself seem. 

“Get out of the lab…You’re a counselor, not a scientist.” He growls, and immediately, regret bubbles in his gut as Jayces face drops, his eyes growing wide, wet with tears, his brows furrowing in hurt, in pain. After the regret comes a soft buzzing feeling. Satisfaction. Jayce, the Golden Boy, the picture perfect example of a man finally experiencing what Viktor has been going through his entire life, since the moment he landed in Piltover.

“You don’t mean that, Viktor.” Jayce trails off, his hands trembling as he reaches out for Viktor, hesitant to even touch him. He decides against it, stepping closer slowly, trying to close the distance between them, thinking that maybe proximity will ease the palpable tension in the air. 

“I said get out!” Viktor insists, his chest heaving with every breath as his anger crescendos, exploding in a climax of screaming words and a seething voice. He hears fleeting footsteps, the door swinging shut without another word from Jayce. Finally, peace. Solitude.

Once the room is finally cleared, and it’s only him, he can stagger over to the couch nestled in the corner, relaxing into the leather with the dark blue blanket draped over him. He’s pretty sure it’s Jayce’s, he remembers him bringing it here on a rather cold morning, saying he was worried Viktor would freeze with his already bad circulation. It smells like him too, that scent of a thickly wooded meadow, of dewey grass and flowers, sweat and scorched, singed metals. He can’t stop his hands from raising it to his nose as he breathes the scent in, relishing the smell as it floods through him. He’s angry at Jayce, extremely, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him. He longs for his hands, his touch, his words. He longs for his love. 

As he lies there, the anger slowly begins to dissipate, melting into a sadness that’s all consuming, flooding his mind with the thoughts of them years ago, when things were going well, when he wasn’t dying, when he still had compassion. He thinks of how just the other night Jayce was holding him, petting over his hair and telling him, chanting that it would be okay, everything would be alright, as he lay in a hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes blank, breathing shallowly. It was just a few nights ago he thought he was going to die in Jayces arms, and he was content with that. 

He can feel the tears at the back of his throat, making every inhale of breath labourus, making his vision blurry as water floods, shoving at his eyes, trying to bully their way past valiant defenses. When he first came here, all he wanted was someone to lean on, someone who supported him who loved him for what he was, what he could be, and he really, truly thought that was Jayce. But now he’s turned on his people, calling them villains, monsters, murderers, when Viktor knows, deep down, so, so many of them are just people. Desperate people, individuals and families that have been on the brink of death, starvation, and infection for who knows how long. Viktor knows that everyone down there just wants a chance for their sister, or brother, or father, or mother to live gently, to thrive, they want more than just survival, they want experiences, they want ease . 

Piltover can offer that, it has been able to for years, but only to a select few, only to those who can pay, only to those who don’t reek of sweat and blood and dirt. They can offer a wonderful live to those that they deem worthy, which is only a very, very select few, those who are clean, wealthy, presentable. 

Seeing Jayce look at those people with such disgust in his eyes changed how he sees him, makes him think that he isn’t different, he isn’t special, he isn’t loving like he promised he would be all those nights ago.

Everyone changes, every single person is different, they leave him, they run the other direction. Jayce has left him forsaken, his mother forfeit when he was only eight, and his father refused to use gentle hands, refusing to cradle him. Those he used to call friends, the young boys he would converse with talked about him behind his back, would toss his toys in the river and watch as he failed to keep up. They would shove him into the mud, kick his favorite stuffed toy around until its fur was matted with dirt, and keep him down on the ground, would pin his arms and legs back, as if they could even be used in a type of defense. He was too weak, too fragile to fight back, so he just took it. He would just lie there, and let them hit him, over, and over, no matter how bad it hurt. And then he would run, wash himself in the dirty, murky water, let it mix with the salt of his tears and stain its way into his shirt. 

He would hide, tucked beneath thin blankets with a scraggly pillow held to his lips, as if it’ll muffle his cries. It never did, not well enough, because his father would hear, asleep in the bed beside him, and Viktor would wake to grumbling yells, and slurred, angry words.

He spent his life running, no matter how slow it was, he would head out in the morning, and then run from those who hurt him. And then when he would get home, the only way to escape the wrath of angry, calloused hands would be to run again, hide in the shallow of a cave, cradling himself through the cold of the night. Sometimes people would drop him blankets and food, adults wouldn’t be able to hold back tears as they passed a boy,  alone, shivering and starving and broken. Sometimes he wouldn't get anything, he would just lie with his head on a pillow  of rock, the thinnest of blankets hiding him from the cold. 

Everyone turned on him, everyone who pretended to care, everyone who should’ve cared did not, they chose themselves over him, chose their acceleration in a job, in schooling, in life. Jayce chose the council, he chose it over late nights in the lab, and exploring the Hex-Tech. He chose himself. Just like every single other person has with him.

His smell is trapped in this stupid blanket, and trapped all around this room, burned into every piece of furniture he touched. It might as well have replaced Viktors own scent with how much he insists on touching him. A hand on his back, another on his shoulder, one sometimes finger-combing knots from his hair without him even having to ask. 

He touched him like he loved him, like he wanted to keep loving him for years on, for lifetimes, for millennia. Maybe Viktor is just bad at identifying emotions, at telling how other people really feel, but Jayce loved him. He’s sure of it, he loved him back, maybe he still does, but there was something there, something that he knew stretched beyond the concept of friendship, past the intimacy of kinship. There was something more, and he wanted to explore it, so, so badly, he wanted to see just how much he could be loved, and he thought he would get to experience that through Jayce. He was sure of it for years.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

I tell my lies and I despise every second I’m with you

So I run away and you still stay

So what the fuck is with you?

Your feelings, I can’t help but rape them

I’m sorry, I don’t feel the same

My heart inside is constantly hating

I’m sorry, I just throw you away

Trash~ Korn

It’s weeks before they talk again. Jayce surrounds himself with the council, finds himself infatuated with Mel, and Viktor just rots, he stays in the lab, he hasn’t slept in his bed in days. Normally he falls asleep slumped against his desk, sometimes, if he has energy, he’ll drag himself to the couch and lie there, but between his worsening illness, the depression muddling his senses, and all of the experiments he runs on himself, he feels like he’s dying. He knew he was, obviously, he had been sore for months, but it’s getting so, so much worse now. He can’t lie in peace anymore, he can’t sit to relieve the pain because it is unrelenting, and it’s destroying him, it’s destroying every aspect of life that he used to enjoy.

He’s been hiding for so long, he hasn’t seen another face in so long. He’s grown used to solitude, it’s become a constant, he regularly makes an assumption of isolation despite having no information to substantiate it. So he doesn't even think to lock the door as he strips slowly, tugging his clothes away until his skin is out, fresh for carving. No matter how many times he does this, how many times he engraves the runes into his skin, his hand trembles as it clutches the blade, his eyes grow weary at the shine of the metal. But he commits, as he always does, pressing metal to skin, a sharp edge to defenseless flesh. It stings, it hurts, and he has to stifle a sob through trembling digits, has to keep his eyes open to dry the tears from them. 

He slices, he cuts until his thighs and forearms are blended with the arcane, one with the runes. He left the Shimmer on his desk, in a vile, ready to be delivered to his bloodstream. He feels around blindly for it, snatching it in a greedy hand once his fingers lock onto it, and tugging it down to his lap. The needle is sharp, ready to be used, but it makes his stomach turn in knots, makes his brain flood with fear, muddling his desperation to become perfection. 

But, as he presses the syringe of Shimmer closer, panting breaths in and out, the darkness of the room is lost, and he physically recoils, blocking it out with an arm tossed over his eyes, and a squinting glance. Someone opened the door. Someone walked in on him curled up, leaning against his desk with symbols carved into his skin, blood pooling beneath him and a drug, one that’s highly addictive cradled in his lap like it’s something precious. He knows what he looks like, a confused, manic addict. 

“Viktor?” And that just makes it even worse, of course it had to be Jayce. They haven’t talked in weeks. Jayce has been repenting for his actions, begging to a god he doesn’t believe in to bring them back together and the first time he sees Viktor again, he looks demented, crazed, like a mad scientist who turned to desperate theories instead of statistics.

“Viktor what-what are you doing?” His words are shaking badly as he rushes over, kneeling before him and cradling the bleeding wounds in his palms, brows furrowed as he tries to comprehend what’s even going on with him.Viktor tries to pull away, but he's just to weak all around, if he tried, he could do it, he could crawl away, but he doesn't have enough motivation to use what little he has left, to drain himself completely to escape. 

His hands are warm, and they’re soothing. He can’t stop the part of him that leans into it, because he hasn’t felt the gentle touch of another person in days, and especially not Jayces. But he’s supposed to be mad at him, he is mad at him, because instead of being here in the lab to talk him out of carving symbols into his skin he was at a meeting with the council, discussing what steps they need to take to further destroy Zaun.

If Jayce was there like he was before, maybe Viktor wouldn’t feel like this, he wouldn't feel like he’s trapped in limbo, in purgatory, too alive to be dead, but not feeling enough to live. Maybe he wouldn’t fall asleep with his eyes open, his nails digging crescent shaped marks into his thighs and forearms, and maybe he would still be healthy. Maybe he could stand without his crutch, maybe he could walk to the bathroom instead of crawling. If Jayce had been there, if he had stayed everything would be okay. 

Viktor knows the council is infecting him, turning him away from all of his ideals. They said it when they had first met, when Hextech was first evolving. It was to help those in the Undercity, to bring more peace, more ease to their life, and to support them. Jayce wanted to help Viktor, his people, but then he joined the council, he absorbed their prejudice, their hate, and he became a pawn, a monster, something to be used against the people he swore to help so many years ago. If he had just stayed in the lab, maybe the Atlas Gauntlets would be in use in the fissures, and people would be better off. Maybe there wouldn't be a war, maybe they would still be happy. If Jayce hadn’t joined the council, he wouldn’t have met Mel, he wouldn’t have left Viktor, he wouldn’t have let him turn into this. Someone who craves for pain, for his own blood on linoleum, and pieces of himself discarded in a biohazard bin.

“I-I’ll take you to the doctors, c’mon.” Jayce insists, one arm curling around his back, the other hooking beneath his knees, carrying him out of the lab. Again, he could fight. He could roll out of his arms onto the floor, and scuttle back to the lab like the creature he is, but it doesn’t feel worth it. Jayce won't just let this go, understandably. Viktor knows something is wrong with him, and if his scrambled brain is able to recognize that, then Jayce definitely can. Who wouldn’t be able to see it? 

Jayce runs through the hallway, Viktor jostling around in his arms, his breath heaving as he makes his way to the infirmary. Viktor doesn't move, he’s stuck, it’s his only option to go with Jayce, so he might as well conserve his energy, make him do all of the work. He’s healthy, anyways, he can take it. 

His vision, his consciousness fades in and out for the rest of the time. He gets blinks of Jayces fearful eyes, snippets of shuffling blankets and blinking machines as hes forced into a nasal cannula. He couldn’t count how many times he's had one on his fingers and toes. When he finally comes too, fully, it’s light again, a bit of orange sunlight seeping in from the windows, a gentle breeze filtering into the room, cooling the feverish heat of his skin. 

Jayce is next to him still, asleep in a chair beside his bed, chin resting on the edge of the mattress, his breathing slow, steadily blowing his hair away from his face. He hates it. He hates him. He should. Why can’t he just hate him? All he wants to do is yell at him, to scream about all of his wrongdoings, and make sure he never falters from their original plan. But he can’t do it, not when Jayce spent the night in the infirmary with him, not when Jayce held him so softly, when he whispered in chanting words that he would be alright. He can't be mean when Jayce treats him like he so, so precious. 

“Jayce…” The word gets stuck in his throat, it sounds scratchy, broken. “You have to stop this…Please.” Jayce’s eyes are slow to open, his eyelids thick, heavy as he wipes at them, adjusting to the light. 

“Y-You're awake, Viktor. God, you were bleeding so much, I didn’t know if you would be okay.” Jayce stammers, sitting up in his chair, reaching for Viktors hand that lies on the mattress, on the blankets they’ve tucked all around him to keep him warm.

“Please, Jayce, stop this, this madness, this bloodshed. We said, we promised that Hextech wouldn’t be weapons, we said it would be to help, to build…Not to destroy.” Viktor stammers, tugging his hand away as Jayce tries to hold it, settling it upon his chest and swallowing as he looks over at him. He makes his eyes wider, forces tears up, furrowing his brows to imitate what he hopes is a look of desperation. Part of him is repulsed, part of him already wants to repent, but the other side, it sees how Jayce considers it, how he nods his head, and takes his hand, not letting him pull away. 

“I can’t just make decisions, Viktor, you know that, the council has to agree.” Jayce says, his thumb rubbing over the smooth skin of the back of his hand, spreading warmth into Viktors frigid skin. “I can try, though, maybe I could convince them.” He adds quickly as he sees Viktors gaze drifting away, feels his hand slipping from his own. He gets a squeeze to his hands, and those wide, dark brown doe eyes aren’t sad anymore, and he would do anything, anything to make sure they never are again.

“Promise?” Viktor asks, wrapping his pinky around Jayces.

“Promise.” He responds.

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

The world is warm, there are arms wrapped around his body, everything feels like it’s coated in a dew, gently drenched through the night. And the smell, it smells like fresh rain and chopped wood. It smells like the musk of the blanket that Viktor cradles in the night, the one Jayce brought to the lab for him, and it definitely smells like his mother. He doesn’t remember her well, his memoires are fuzzy, but she was gentle, she smelled like honey, and ginger tea, and she always smelled like the kringle she would make for parties. It would always be cherry flavored. His favorite. He remembers her lipstick smearing on his cheek with every kiss, and her hands, they were nimble, they would fix his braces, massage away the pain with a gentle touch, and bathe him. 

She would crush up his pills when he couldn’t swallow them, mix them into his food and make sure that he didn’t even taste them. She was perfect. She was everything. When he opens his eyes, he sees her. But it’s not real, her eyes and mouth are blurred out, all that remains the same is the feeling of her. The warmth that she brings. 

“Viktor…Oh, how you’ve grown.” Her voice is smooth, and soft on his ears, sweet like the honey she smells like. Her smile is wide, despite it being hidden behind the blur that her face has become. Sitting at the kitchen table, music, humming, swinging his feet, her smile, oh, her smile. Memories. They come fast, halted continuously by the interruption of his thoughts, coming in flashes of recognition and recollection. Her hands are on his cheeks in a moment, her lips on his forehead as he's scooped into her arms. It barely takes seconds, it doesn't even take a whole breath for him to be against her chest, tears spilling into the cloth of her shirt. She holds him, she does, and she's soft with it, humming softly to him, hands petting over his hair like she always used to.

“Mama…” He sobs, his voice small, weak, and he sounds like his younger self, when he was scared, and hurting, and alone. 

“Drahoušek…” She whispers, cupping his cheeks and wiping at the tears that are on his cheeks, smiling and trying to get him to as well. It’s been so long since he last saw her, since she last held him, and everything aches with this desperation, this need to stay here in this beautiful, ethereal realm with his mother, where everything is perfect, and every problem has a nice, easy, solution.  His head is against her chest, and his arms around her, his eyes don’t close, he doesn’t blink, because if he does, who knows what would happen, maybe she would be erased from this world, maybe she would be lost. 

She’s frail beneath his hands, and so is he, both are near skeletal, both shivering, trembling. She feels like him, looks like him, smells like memories, and talks just like him with an even thicker accent, and even softer words. He never realized how alike they were, the time they had spent together was too long ago, he was too young to see the resemblance, he was too young to appreciate it.

She kisses the top of his head, humming along gently to a tune. He shuts his eyes tight, scared she’ll vanish, but those arms, they stay tight around him, the soft song she sings drifts into his ear still, and she’s there. She doesn't leave, so he stays there, in the warmth of her arms, in the tightness of her embrace, and lies in the grass and the flowers and the dew. 

But when he opens his eyes to see her again, she’s gone, nothing left of her warmth of her kindness. Something else is taking her place, though, someone else, someone who means just as much to him, someone he longs for just as much.

Jayce,

Jayce,

Jayce …

Jayce is lying before him, his hands are on his cheeks, and his eyes are wide with what, admiration, curiosity, love? He has a smile on his face, the gap between his two front teeth draw Viktors eyes immediately, the childish, young, juvenile look to it, the innocence, the gentleness it posses

“You’re awake.” His words are soft, and his lips don't move with them, like they’re speaking only through the connection of their minds, their bodies. Slowly, things start to make sense. Grass. He’s lying on the same grass, in the same field, the same meadow flooded with small flowers and switchgrass. But now, there's a forest around them, with towering trees that sprout soft pinks and yellows and blue that are so close to white he can't identify the difference unless he looks close. 

“Jayce..?” Viktor asks, and again, no movement of his mouth is required. Jayce shushes him, pressing a finger to his lip before he rises, grabbing Viktors hand, tugging him up with him. Surprisingly, nothing hurts, his leg doesn't throb with pain and his back doesn't protest the movement. He’s standing, and then he’s walking without pain, and Jayce is with him as they run,as they gallop through the field. Free. He feels free, not held down, hindered by all of his weakness. He can just be, and he can run and laugh like a kid again until he tumbles over his feet, down a hill and lands in a heap beside Jayce, who’s smile hasn’t faltered for even a second.

Viktors smiling too, for the first time in what feels like eternity, he’s smiling, and it’s not fake, it’s not forced, it’s genuine, impossible to stifle, and he laughs until his ribs ache. He can’t get a breath in, his whole body, his everything sucked into the wholeness of his happiness, of his joy. He doesn't have time to process it before Jayce is against him, his forehead pressed to his, his nose nuzzled close. Lips on his, and they're soft, gentle, and just another thing that stops him from breathing. He leans into it, grabs onto his hair, onto his shoulder and tugs him as close as their bodies will allow. He enjoys every second, he needs it to be forever, but soon, that enjoyment begins to melt. It’s less and less deligtfull as time goes on, the joy crushed beneath the boot of pain, one of Viktors closest friends. Suffocating pain that snakes down his throat, throbs at his skull and pulls all of his muscles tight. Everything feels fuzzy, like he’s not within his body, but just visiting from above. He tries to push away, his hands shoving at Jayces chest, but he can't . He can’t do anything, he can’t move, he can't get away, and the pain, oh, the pain, it’s like he’s never felt. 

And then his eyes are open, and he’s staring at nurses in gowns with panicked looks and the blank, white ceiling of his room in the infirmary. A dream, a hoax, a different reality? It doesn't matter, he can't think because the pain fluctuates, it builds and builds and builds and it spreads. His chest is where it starts, his ribs, his heart, his neck, his shoulders. His cries hurt his own ears, his hands shove at those who prod at his body, who try to hold down his flailing limbs. Something is wrong, there are machines beeping, and there are people talking in hushed whispers, whereas others yell over all of the noise. Is he dying? Maybe that dreamscape was what his departing mind conjured to comfort him through his last moments? That seems plausible, he’s heard tales of the flourish of brain activity before one passes, maybe that kiss sucking the air from his lungs was supposed to be the last thing he felt, the last thing he heard, and enjoyed. 

Someone shoves a mask over his lips, the ones that are still stinging from that dream, from whatever that was, and everything becomes blurry, His head throbs, and everything aches, and the room is spinning. Faces blur into blobs, and his cries grow louder, they grow fearful, and worried, and scared. It doesn’t take long for the drugs to kick in before his head falls back against the pillow once more. 

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

Viktor had hoped he’d return to the dream land with his mother, and Jayce who held him, and air that smelled of sweets and buttercream. 

He can only assume where he is now is hell. 

He’s alone, nude, freezing, every muscle tense and frigid. It’s hard to figure out his location with the cold mist that muddles his vision, and the heat that seeps into his mind. It feels like it's melting his brain…There are walls to his left and right, stone, and smooth, a few sharp pieces poking out here and there. A cave, maybe a ravine of some sort, where darkness lurks around every corner, the only light, what manages to seep down from the sky, illuminating the ground lightly. It makes sense, why he’s cold, why it feels clammy, moist.

He’s been in places like this before, in Zaun, he would use them as his shelter, he would visit Singed and Rio. Oh, Rio…He remembers her clearly, scaly, and a bit slimy, but so cute nonetheless. She had helped cheer him up when he felt bad, she licked his cheek, and ate plants from his hand whenever he offered. She was so gentle too. What is must’ve been to be like her, gentle, loving, and kind to every soul that was graced with her presence only to be hurt, to be brought back, again, and again, without consent to a world full of hatred and spite. Maybe he did know, a bit.

He knew what it was like to be broken, to be looked upon with pity, and eyes that hint at disgust. He knew what it was like to be desperate, too, pleading for something to bring you back, to take the hurt away. Maybe that’s how Singed felt, maybe that’s how he is with his daughter, maybe he has an everlasting ache in his chest that won't leave until he knows she’s safe, until he knows that she’ll make it.

Maybe he feels an obligation to restore, to renew.

He slowly lowers himself onto the ground, and lets his head fall back against the cool stone, rocking another chill down his spine, through nerves and through his bloodstream. He’s grown resilient to the cold, but then Jayce came with his stupid warm hands and blanket, and his comforting scent and everything, but now, now the cold is incapacitating. 

One more reason for Viktor to leave that damned Jayce behind. All he does it rip the callouses from his palms, imbedding him with a weakness he spent years trying to avoid, declining himself the indulgence of such inclination. He was regressing. He was dying, he was losing, he was hurting . And Jayce did nothing but excelerate that. The longing doesn’t go with the realization, however, it stays, he needs Jayce, he needs those soft hands, no matter how bad he knows they are for him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

All I want in Life is to be happy
It seems funny to me
How fucked things can be
Everytime I get ahed
I feel more dead
Dead ~ Korn

Waking up doesn’t bring the relief that he had hoped, the reality of all of it was worse than the purgatory he was trapped in. Alone. He’s alone, that’s the first thing he realizes. He assumes Jayce is with the council, after all, he did tell him to try and end the war, and he would have to be there to convince the counselors, but he wishes he wasn’t. He’s missing those hands from his dreams, the ones from his first night here that held and soothed and promised. He’s missing Jayce, he’s missing kindness and love, and admiration.

Jayce has a job to do, he has to remember that. Jayce has the council, and, if he does what Viktor told him too, it’s going to take hours, days to convince them. Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants him back. He wants freedom for Zaun, he wants equality, but he needs Jayce, like never before. He needs someone to calm his mind as it rambles on and on, when it believes that every day may be his last, that every second he’s just getting closer, and closer to his demise. He can’t function alone. Last time he was left, he turned mad, or, whatever that was, and he doesn't want to go back there again.

He doesn't know how long he’ll be here, in this room. Maybe days, or weeks, or months. Or maybe this is his deathbed, maybe he’ll never recover enough to get up, to go and live. It seems plausible.

However it’s only a few hours before his peaceful, isolated solitude is interrupted, a hand rapping quickly against his window, not waiting for a response before they slip inside. He catches a streak of blue between heavy eyelids and sighs. Jinx has no reason to be up here, she shouldn’t be, not when she’s so wanted by pretty much the entire population of Piltover.

“Jinx, what are you-” He begins to ask, cutting himself off with a groan as he hops onto bed, completely heedless to his injuries.

“So, how’s everything going with Jayce, does anything fun happen?” She questions, raising her eyebrows up and down, making Viktor sigh and run a hand over his face. No matter the circumstances, no matter the consequence, she always finds some way to make some stupid snarky comment. The humor is relieving though, and it brings a soft smile to his lips as she lies down beside him, the both of them staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, he held my hand because he thought I was going to die.” Viktor remarked, a bit of that smile still left on his cheeks as he thinks about his dream, how nice it felt in those first few moments when Jayce was upon him, when he was holding him and his hands were on his cheeks, and- He needs to stop thinking about Jayce. If something between them happens, that’s fine, if Jayce decides where he wants to go Viktor will eagerly follow, but he needs to convince him. That’s all that's in their plan, he needs to get him to end the war, he needs to find a way to get rid of the other councilors until it’s just them. Viktor and his pawn, his pet.

“Y’know, I’ve been working on something back in Zaun, a poison, practically untraceable. No scent, completely clear, tasteless, only need a drop or two to kill.” Jinx encouraged, reaching into her pocket for a small vile. There’s barely any substance in it, but if she’s right about only needing a few drops, it makes sense.

“You’re sure this’ll work? We can’t mess this up, Jinx.” Viktor stammers, grasping the vile between slim fingers, twirling it around and observing the liquid. She’s right, no scent, when he presses his nose close and breathes in, he can’t pick up on anything, and it’s as clear and viscous as water, it has not a single strange quality to it.

“I’m sure, Viktor, you know I wouldn’t let you get in trouble.” She vowed, her words carrying a certainty rarely possessed by her, a sincerity that's hard to find. Even though she was the younger sister, she was incredibly protective of him. He wasn’t really able to fight back if anyone was giving him trouble, so Jinx took up that job. Being the child of Silco made them high targets for those in need of money, supplies, other things. And he couldn’t even run from them, either. She was practically his only hope. He could throw a punch, everyone in the Undercity could, but it didn’t mean much because he was easily incapacitated. So he always walked with Jinx, he would stand by her side every time he left the house, and he would lean on her if it hurt too much to walk.

They were each others everything, they still are.

“Is it best to put it in food or a drink of some sort?” Viktor asks as he looks over at her, stashing the bottle beneath his pillow and a bundle of blankets so, hopefully, no one finds it.

“Either or, but drinks are probably easier.” She says, turning to face him, a smile drawn across her face. “Y’know, you could be the one to…fix all of this. You could put it back together.” And he’s never really thought of it, but if everything pans out right, Viktor is in power, and Jinx, Jayce, and Zaun could be free. They could fix everything, send Piltover's residents to the ground, and rebuild their lives.

“We. Us. I couldn't do anything without you.” Viktor urged, turning with a soft groan to look at her. When she was little, when Silco had first found her, she cried every night, plagued by nightmares, and Viktor was the same. He would wake up in a cold sweat, heading out of his room to go for a walk and hear her in Silcos room, crying, and whining and begging. He wished he could go inside, could curl up in his arms as well, and fall asleep tucked beneath a thick blanket and calloused hands. But he was too old, he had been for years, he couldn't even remember the last time that Silco had held him. So he went for a walk instead.

Once she grew, she would join him, late at night they would go outside. That's where she told him her name was Jinx, not Powder, that where he told her he wasn’t a girl, that Viktoria wasn’t his name, not anymore. That’s where they bonded over their fears, and spilled their deepest secrets, where they developed their plan to steal from a house in Piltover. That's where he told her about Jayce. He had seen him at Benzos, looking for trinkets, paying double the price without even knowing. He seemed scared, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. Viktor smiled at him, and he got a soft look back, and Viktor rambled on and on about how he was going to make him his husband to Jinx, and she gagged, sticking out her tongue and ignoring his sappy words.

They were a team, a unit, siblings, friends, they were each other's pillar when things were hard. They’re each others reason for still being alive.

“I’ve missed you down there, y’know. It gets pretty lonely, especially now that Silcos is gone.” Jinx murrmurrs, curling in on herself in the small section of the bed that’s open to her. Her words are quiet, they trail off, don’t finish up properly, and every syllable trembles with a weakness he’s not used to hearing.

“You know I wish I could be down there, still, but for this to work, I can’t.” Viktor says, taking her hand gently in his, smiling over at her and trying his best to comfort her. The sight of her wet, wide eyes confirms that nothing he’s doing is working. He’s not good with emotions anyways, it was worse when he was younger, but even know it’s horrible, he doesn't really know how to talk about theses types of things, his emotions always manage to manifest physically, weather it’s picking at scratching his skin or throwing things until they shatter.

“Just finish this for us, okay?” Jinx begs, looking at him for a moment, waiting for a nod before standing and zipping towards and out the window, the only thing left a flash of magenta from her eyes that disappears quickly.

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

It’s been a few days now, he’s doing better, physically at least, and he’s finally out of that god forsaken infirmary. Jayce still hasn’t visited the lab, but he’s seen him around, passing through the hallways, or sitting down to eat in the dining hall. They haven’t really talked, but Viktor can see Jayces face, he can see how tired he looks, with sunken eyes and deep bags. They look like their matching, debilitated by fatigue. They smile at each other when they pass, but the longing, the limerence isn’t fading, soft looks and a few scattered words aren’t enough to sate his heart that beats with a lust he previously sought impossible.

He’s been talking to Jinx a lot, most nights she slips up into the lab and sits on the windowsill, only turning back to face him every once and a while. But sometimes she crawls onto the couch and they talk and laugh together. It’s relieving, it's a necessity, because he can't stop worrying. If he gets caught trying to poison, trying to kill the councilors, he’ll be either hung or tortured in the deepest cells Stillwater possess until he dies. But if he’s successful…If he’s succesful he could have anything, everything he’s ever wanted, and Jinx too, and every single person in the Undercity. Maybe they can finally give Silco a proper grave.

On a night weeks after his discharge from the hospital, Jayce finally returns to the lab, he basically sneaks in silently, Viktor cant hear any noise over the sound of his gramophone. He only realizes his presence when he drops into the stool beside him with a groan, burying his head in his arms that are folded on the desk before him.

“Hard day?” Viktor asks quietly, trying not to make it awkward, to just ease into the conversation like nothing has happened, like they haven't been separated the last week.

“I can’t, Viktor, I can’t convince them…They think I’m treasonous, they want me removed from the council. They’re monsters.” He groans, one eye peeking out from his arms to look up at Viktor, wide with anxiety, with annoyance. His leg bounces quickly beneath the table, one hand running through his hair as he sits up once more. Viktor’s never seen him so restless, never so nervous and uneasy.

“I know, Jayce. I’ve been talking with Jinx- And I know what she’s done, it’s-it’s not good, but we have a plan. We’ve had one for a while.” Viktor says, reaching to open the drawer to his left, sifting through scraps of paper and metal, tugging out a small bundle of fabric. Jayce sits up a bit, his brows lifting in observation. He unwraps it, set’s the vial of the clear, water-like liquid on the table, and Jayce reaches for it. Jinx drew a skull on in it bright pink wax, her doodles giving away how deadly the concoction must be. Based on his reaction, Jayce figure out quickly what it was.

“Poison…You want to poison the council, Viktor! You can’t, you can’t kill or you’re just like them.” He yells as he stands, huffing and puffing and pacing, almost knocking the vile of the precious liquid over. Viktor barely catches it in the palm of his hands, stopping it from shattering.

“It’s a last resort, Jayce, you think I want to go here!” He yells back, but there isn’t anger fueling his words, it isn’t rage that keeps him going, it’s desperation, pleading, because he needs this, Jinx needs this, the Undercity needs this. Silco needs to be buried properly, the people below need a life, they need ease, and he can offer that, but only if Jayce agrees, if he steps down, stoops to Viktors level of exasperation and poisons them. Only if he decides to get back at those monsters, those snakes who bite and kill, and hurt, and never care to think about how what they’re doing is going to affect those around them, is going to hurt hundreds, if not thousands of people.

Jayce doesn’t listen, he doesn’t hear his reasoning, he just stands there, hands balled into fists, seething with anger. Viktor thought it would go this way, Jayce was never the one to abandon morals during an experiment, he was never the one to toss safety out of the window when something seemed a little unstable. It was always Viktor who was willing to do what it took to get what he wanted, what he needed.

“Please, Jayce, I can’t watch as they just…destroy everything, there is so much needless bloodshed, so many are dying. Even up here, Jayce, Piltover is losing and losing.” Viktor stammers, digging deeper into his chest, tugging up more emotion into his voice, trying to channel it all in his words to convince him. Jinx has been doing so much behind the scenes, and Viktor has been doing so much planning with her, this can’t all just go to waste because he can’t get Jayce on their side. He needs to do something, whatever it takes.

So he walks closer, stands right before Jayce and looks up at him with wide, wet eyes, reaching up to hold both of his cheeks in his palms. “Please. For me, for Zaun, for my people.” He whispers, hands sliding down to Jayces neck, tugging his face closer slowly, slowing his breathing and doing what he has longed for for so long. His lips are on Jayces, and this time it isn’t a dream, he can feel the chapped and cracked flesh, can make out the scars that cut into the skin on his lip, and it is Just perfect. He doesn't make it last too long, scared that if he does he’ll never possess the strength to pull away, so he leaves after a second or two. Jayce is speechless for a moment, lips slightly parted, his tongue darting out to wet them as he just stares into those beautiful eyes, drowns in them.

“Maybe.” He answers, almost silently, leaning in for another chaste press of lips. Viktor stops him, his fingers against his lips to keep a good couple of inches between them, the softness of his eyes replaced with a stern, disapproving gaze.

“Say yes.” Viktor orders, he directs, and Jayce is quick to obey, nodding once more, his hands tightening their grip, holding his waist.

“Yes.” The word is quiet, Viktor can barely even hear it over the racing of his heart as it sends blood up to his cheeks, painting them in a foolish flush. He indulges in Jayce then, lets him have another soft kiss. He gets tugged closer after a little, Jayces arms tightening around him until he’s removed from his lips and instead pressed flush to his chest in a hug. He squeezes back, relishing the contact, the feeling of skin on skin, his ear to his chest, able to hear every beat of his heart and every intake of breath.

He's amazed that it wasn’t suffocating, like the dream he held in the hospital while delirious, drugged with painkillers and plenty of other medicines no one cared to explain to him. Jayce kissed him, and he kissed back, and he has been wanting this since they met, what, seven years ago? The kiss was long overdue.

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

Jayce isn’t exactly sure how he’s going to get this to work, maybe he could slip the poison into a baked good, serve it to everyone on the council but him. But what if someone did eat it, what if one of them didn’t like cake and refused to take a bite? They’d see everyone else dying and call enforcers, and Jayce and Viktor would be locked in a deep cell forever.

“Salo…Councilor Salo is informed of our operation. He won't make the meeting in four days, that’s when we’ll do it. He swore to be loyal to me, to us, so we have someone else on our side. His family immigrated from Zaun, he won’t turn against us, I know him.” Viktor explains, sitting on the couch, curled up beneath the blanket, a notepad and pencil in his lap. The lab gets pretty chilly in the later months, in fact, the whole University has pretty bad insulation.

“Maybe we could make it into a gas, release it into the room. They all have to breathe, they won't be able to resist it unless they have a ventilating mask, which we can take from the council room. You and I will both bring one, but keep it hidden so there's no suspicion.” Jayce explains, coming up with the plan as he speaks. He sighs when he gets a small smile from Viktor and a nod of his head.

“Yes, yes, that makes sense. Putting it into food or a drink isn’t a guaranteed kill, whereas this is a lot more foolproof.” He thinks aloud, biting at the inside of his cheek like he always does. Jayce loves it, he loves all of Viktors little mannerisms, the way he twirls his hair around his fingers and picks at stray strings on his clothing, the way he licks his lips when he’s nervous and taps his foot. Jayce cherishes every single little thing that makes Viktor himself, he cherishes him, he adores him, he looks up to him, he praises him.

“My only question is how will we get it into the air? I know that it’s a strong concoction, but I never talked with Jinx about it being in a gaseous form, I’m not sure if it would maintain its poisonous qualities if we were to change it.” Viktor grumbles, scratching at his chin, wondering about thousands of things. This has to work, it’s all or nothing.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Or Jinx will, we’ll probably need her help building something.” Jayce adds, though his stomach twists in knots at the thought of talking with Jinx, meeting with her, partnering with her. She’s broken so much, she’s killed so many, she ruined their lab. He doesn’t trust her, but Viktor does, and he trusts Viktor, so he’ll just let it go, he’ll let her help this once, this one time. Neither of them are experienced killers, whereas she is, it’s probably why she’ll be so much help. She knows what it takes to kill.

They talk for a while after that, mulling over information and deciding when they’ll go to Zaun to speak to Jinx. Viktor will go alone, they’ve decided. It’ll look suspicious if Jayce is literally going into the home of the enemy, so he’ll stay up topside. They spend the rest of the day in the council room, gathering measurements, and all of the information Jinx should need to know to develop some device. They thought about the already mass produced gas bombs, but it would draw attention if they were to randomly request some. They remove the filtration masks from the council, remove the ventilation in the vents, clogs them so that it’ll be as condensed as possible.

Viktor develops his own, private plan in his head. How he’s going to make it violent, how he’s going to show the Councilors what it’s like to not be able to breathe. He’[ll make sure they know that’s how it is in the fissures, how he’s dying, how he’s withering away because of something they wouldn't bother to fix.

They don't deserve death, they don’t deserve the peace of a demise, they need to suffer, they need faces bashed in and limbs snapped, they need throats stuffed with cloth and water until all that they can feel is suffocation. They need torture, pain, and suffering. He won’t make death easy for them, because they never made it easy for him. Viktor will die in pain, he will die without being able to breathe, and he’ll die with every bone and muscle in his body throbbing with pain. He will die in misery, and they will too.

They’re callous and despicable and unloving and emotionless. They don’t change, they don’t get better, they never will, they never have. They’ve sat up in a fucking throne while everyone beneath their feet perishes, while they starve and freeze and bleed.

The roles need to be reversed

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

You think I’m out to scare you?

I'm only out to prepare you

Your body’s going down

You're gonna waste your time

Your life will soon be mine

Divine ~ Korn

Finally, the day has come, and Viktor has to hide his smile as they walk into the council room, hiding a filtration mask behind his back. Jayce is beside him, holding a stack of papers they’re pretending are blueprints for the next Hextech weapon. Everyone smiles at them, every wave, and welcomes Jayce, but not a single person even mutters Viktor's name. They probably don’t even know it. When they published the Hexgates blueprints, his name was erased. Jayce said he tried to stop them, but the council had decided not to include him.

It doesn’t matter, not when Viktor is so close to finally ridding the world of the scum that these people are. Are they even considered people? He doesn’t think so, not with how they treat other humans, other creatures that just want to live, how they dust them off like meaningless little things as if they aren’t lives. 

“Me and my partner, Viktor, have come to present something to you, a new weapon of sorts we’ve put together over the last couple of weeks. We’ve been thinking, there are so many people in the Undercity, so many groups and gathering areas for them, so weve developed this.” He tugs out the smoke bomb of sorts that Jinx made. “Now, obviously it’s disabled, so don’t be frightened,” He lies, rolling it between his hands as he lets the other counselors study it, admiring the craftsmanship and whispering among themselves. 

“How is it powered by the Hextech?” Councilor Shoola wonders, reaching forward to touch it with a careful hand, hesitant like it might burst open within a moment, vaporizing her. Maybe she has the right idea. 

“You all know we have inventions like these, but the gas in here is much stronger; it can kill almost immediately after ingestion if it’s concentrated correctly. And the Hex-Crystals inside make a much larger blast radius than the ones we have today.” Viktor answers, taking it from Jayce, holding it in his hands to show her the blue glow it emits from the inside. 

He looks at Jayce, nods softly, and he gets to do what he wants. He grabs his mask, slings it on, and sends the gas bomb into the middle of the table. Shrieks ring out, and people scamper to the door, hands already shaking from the poison, too weak to open it. It’s locked anyway, blocked with tons of furniture. And, the university is empty, except for them. It always is during council meetings, to protect them from threats, to bad Jayce and Viktor were exceptions.

The panic spreads quickly, some drop immediately from one breath while they try and find their filtration mask, and a few continue to try and leave through the door. 

“How you feel, the ache in your lungs, the burn, is how I feel every single day, how thousands feel in the undercity breathing in the grey of the fissures because you refuse to make a change. And now hundreds are irradiated, dying in excruciating pain because you have no options in your head other than violence and senseless murder. The killing of citizens, of innocents who have nothing to do with your war, nothing!” Viktor spits, his voice muffled by the mask, and he sounds villainous, and he adores it. The fear in their eyes is nothing but delectable; it’s delicious and sates every craving in his body because he was always the one cowering, he was always the one doubled over in pain, and finally, he gets to be the creator of such agony. Karma, payback, whatever it is, he is enjoying it. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be from Zaun, you don’t get to know the suffering, but mayeb this will help you see, it’s miniscule, one fragment of the pain I’ve had to endure for years, that everyone you decided wasn’t worth enough, was only worthy of discarding has gone through every single moment. Maybe you’ll understand why I wanted to burn you and your fancy, disgusting, boundless, immeasurable wealth that you would rather die than share. For once in your life, let yourself lie, incapacitated with the pain, don’t throw money at your problems, don’t throw false hope to your citizens in the currency of destruction of those on whom you blame your faults.

“Take the blame, take it for once, and think, really think about everything in your life that you have done. Think about the hurt, the pain, think about the death, the suicide you’ve inspired, and begin to sympathize with my mutiny. You have to understand, you’re the smartest, most esteemed people in Piltover, you have to have one inkling that what you’re doing is wrong.” The words don’t stop, they keep rambling out of his mouth, almost like he practiced it, a speech he recited into the mirror, working himself up to say it. Nothing is planned, nothing is prepared, it’s all just emotion, purely what he feels spilling from his lips. 

“Viktor, you said- I thought it would be instant kills?” Jayce asks, voice trembling as he rests a large hand on Viktors' back. He pulls out of the touch almost instantly, recoiling from the feeling of a hand on his body. He's not right, certainly not now, and touch is not the thing to ground him. 

“If you think this is agony, if you think this might be the most painful experience, the most hurt ever inflicted on a single figure, you must think again. Everything inside of me is broken, every bone is shattered, every muscle torn, and every organ is failing, and I keep going. You can’t even handle a bit of suffocation, a bit of stinging in the eyes, a burning of the skin. You got everything, you continue to get it, even in your dying moments, everything you want is yours, and I never have owned anything. The Hexgates, my idea, you shrugged off because I wasn’t worthy, because who would want to see a poor, damned soul from Zaun thriving? No one, not a single one of you from the topside, deserves mercy, not a single one of you deserves to live. No matter what we achieve, no matter how much we better your life and economy, and knowledge, we will always be lesser in your eyes. Wherever you go, I hope you suffer, I hope you rot in the pits of hell, burning forever in an eternal flame. I hope I never see your worthless body again.” He’s left panting through his mask, hand raised in the air before he drops it into fists at his side. He’s never been able to be angry like this; he’s never been able to let his rage simmer and bloat and crescendo into something this forceful. He finally gets to let people know how he feels. 

“Every day, every single day I’ve had to rot, I’ve had to boil knowing you could fix everything. You have the money and the resources and the power to fix everything in Zaun, yet you refuse to, and then I came to live up here, and I was sure you would never, ever even think of fixing those things. You would never grant anyone who wasn’t a citizen of Piltover a good life.” His words are thick with emotion, and each one makes his head pound harder, makes the haziness of his vision swell. Jayce grabs him, his hands are claiming and powerful and so, so hurtful. Nails dig into his triceps and scratch at his skin, and there are words yelled into his ear, but he can’t hear them; he can't hear any of it because councilors are still looking at him, still breathing, he needs to preach his disgust until the nanosecond they die. 

“Nothing will ever be able to describe the hate I have for you! Millions! Millions upon millions of people are in Zaun, yet the sum of their hatred will never, ever even come near a billionth of my revulsion of you; there is no number to compare it to, because every second it multiplies, every moment you disgust me more and more. I won't be satisfied, I will never be happy until you and your descendants are damned to an eternal pain, an eternal suffering.” He’s dragged out of the room before he can finish, kicking and fighting and flailing his limbs as he's set down in the hallway, Jayce standing before him, panting. 

The mask is ripped off his face, tossed down onto the ground beside Jayce's. Both of them are seething, but for different reasons. Spite boils in Viktor's veins still; he wasn’t done proclaiming his deep-rooted hatred for every single person in that room, and Jayce also knows Viktor lied to him, pretended their deaths wouldn’t be bad, would be soft, soothing. But it wasn’t; they died in pain, and Jayce is disgusted with Viktor. He was completely manic in there. He enjoyed their pain; he wanted to see it, wanted to see more, to see them suffering. It made his stomach twist into a knot. 

“What is wrong with you!?” He yells, shoving Viktor away from his chest with two firm palms. He stares into his eyes, and there isn’t a single drop of guilt or remorse in them, because Viktor loved every second of what he did. “You lied, Viktor.” He practically growls, and he’s never heard himself like this before, at least not recently. There's this vibrating in his chest with every word; his mind is fuzzy, and everything just seems louder, almost. Like he's more aware of everything, his vision sharp, his breathing controlled, every sense heightened. It’s a strange feeling, maybe it’s adrenaline, maybe it’s anger or hurt, or pain. 

“You don’t- You can’t lie, Viktor, not about things like that,” Jayce adds. And the most infuriating part about all of it is that he refuses to react, staring straight through Jayce like he’s not even there, nothing important for his eyes to lock onto. He hates it, he hates the way that he just fades away from Viktor, he's not listening, he’s not looking, he's barely even breathing. 

So he leaves. He can’t stand it anymore, so he doesn't, and he walks back to the lab, hands trembling as he turns the knob and studies the large, open room. It’s messy, how it always i, because Jayce never has the willpower to clean, and Viktors to weao at the end of most nights. He runs his hand over the desk they've slaved away at for the past seven years of their lives. It’s crazy to compare the Viktor he saw tonight to the one he met all those years ago. He was so sweet, he seemed incapable of violence, of hurting anyone. But maybe that's what spending years in a place like this does to a person like him. Jayce had seen and heard the way he was often treated; he heard fake, hurtful pities from those who were higher up. He saw how people won’t touch him, like they were scared that he would manage to spread to them, would find some way to give them an incurable disease, and his birth defect. It hurt, and he knew it was worse for Viktor, but treatment like that…How could it inspire something as dreadful as what happened today?

No one treated him well, Jaycknewew knew that, but did that warrant their torture, a beating of shame as they died. Jayce doesn’t think so. Viktor went off the rails; he shouldn’t have done or said the things he did, and he shouldn’t have kept such a major secret from Jayce. Maybe if he had known previously, he wouldn’t have been so opposed to the idea, maybe he would’ve thought about it as a way for Viktor to release his anger. His eyes search the room, landing on the prototype of the device. Jinx had scribbled on it, and that was vile. That stupid vile that created all of this, that still carries a healthy amount of the poison, enough to kill hundreds of men. 

Even after hours of waiting in the lab, Viktor never returns, and Jayce is grateful because he gets to think, he gets to mull over ideas in his head without Viktor's biased inputs, he gets to make his own decisions for once, not following Viktor into some stupid, risky experiment. But the time alone doesn’t do that. It also makes him starving, craving for his touch once more, because even if it was manipulative, even if it was to get him to say yes to this crazy plan of Viktors, they got to kiss and they got to hold each other, and every fiber of his being longs for that once more.  The connection he felt was like nothing he felt before; it was like he was connected with someone that was his, someone that had belonged to him the moment that they were born. Viktor was his, and he was Viktor's, and that’s how it was supposed to be; they weren’t supposed to fight or get split up. They’re meant for one another, Jayce knows it; their souls are bound on some cosmic plain, and they are one another. 

So,  despite enjoying his alone time, he begins searching the empty university, checking in all of the rooms, one by one. It takes long, so long in fact that it’s pitch black outside when he finally finds him. He assumed Viktor would head to his ooom, but he didn't; he went to Jayces. He's lying under a plethora of blankets, not asleep, but just lying, eyes open but not looking, not watching, but just staring. He joins him on the bed, slips in behind him, and curls two arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have.” It is the first thing he says, his lips so close to Viktors' ear that they almost touch it, his arms so tight around him that his breathing becomes just a bit laboured. “I just don’t like lying or secrets. I want you to tell me things, Viktor. I need you to tell me when the pain is bad or when you aren’t feeling well. I want to know.” Jayce murmurs, pressing his lips softly to the shell of Viktors ear, sighing as he relaxes back into him.

“You wouldn’t have approved, Jayce, and I needed this. I needed to do something because I’ve had this hate for years, and it’s been building and building, and I had to take it out on something. They treated me, Jayce. You didn’t see it all. Before you came, it was, it was worse, much worse.e I couldn’t even walk around the University without an escort. Back then, I was nothing more than a scientist's assistant.t, I hadn’t invented anything, no one had any reason to treat me like I was a human with feelings, and a life, and a body.” Viktors words are staticky, almost, trembling out of his throat and into the air, wobbly and weak and wavering as emotion floods him, shoving its way out of his regularly stoic form. 

“They hated me…Jayce, they hated me so much, no one in the school even talked to me, no one would look at me, I needed something, I needed vengeance for the way they just disregarded and disrespected me like I didn’t matter.” The tears are fast down his cheeks, he doesn’t have a moment to try and stop them before Jayce's hands are on his cheek, trying to wipe them away despite not being able to see his face. 

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I want you to have what you need, but you can’t go about it like this. You said it yourself, we don’t need more death, we don’t need more anguish, baby, you have to realize it. You’re doing what they did, maybe not to the same extent, you're not killing as many, but you're just like th..., I know that we needed to take them out of the council, but the way you did it…It wasn’t necessary.” Jayce murmurs, his words quiet and constant, and a soft tune hums to him. He’s seen Viktor like this at most once or twice, breaking down after a particularly long day in the lab that led to zero advancement in their understanding of the Hexcore, but it’s still scary, in a way. Viktor doesn’t cry often, or maybe he does, but Jayce just never sees it, but either way, seeing him cry like this, choking on sobs and gasping for breath. He wants to hold him tight and never let go, he wan; ts to wrap him in the sweetest embrace and kiss away every single tear, but Viktor needs to learn. 

He’s trying to find a way to mix comfort and discipline, to not make everything worse while still making sure that he understands the severity of his actions, how they can’t be repeated. 

⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤

The rest of the night is calm, soft words whispered when tears returned, and a gentle touch. But it also gives Viktor time to think. Jayce sleeps deeply, snoring loudly, and he doesn’t even wake when Viktor slips from bed, despite his stumbling and making a lot more noise than he would’ve preferred. He walks to the windowsill Jinx used to visit him in, opening it, and slipping into the spot she normally occupied. It sends a rush through his veins. He’s twenty or so stories up, feet dangling into the air, two hundred or more feet up in the sky. He swallows thickly. Exhilarating, and it’s terrifying, and it’s relaxing. It soothes the ache in his bones and makes his hands tremble and sweat with fear. It's a nice contradiction, the tranquil feeling luring him to stay while his brain tries to tug him back onto solid ground. 

It’s nice and windy, maybe somewhere near forty degrees, his favorite weather. It’s chilly, but not freezing. That thick layer of rain looms over it, and it smells strong, assaulting Viktor’s senses. 

He breathes in.

He breathes out. 

He leans into the wall beside him and closes his eyes, and he thinks. He did it. He did what he wanted, what Jinx wanted, what they all needed . He did it, but now, all that his sick, demented mind can think of is the desperate need to slip from the window and fall to the ground. To push himself off, to feel the air around him before he hits the ground. Butthenn, his mind drifts to Jayce, who’s asleep on the bed behind him, making soft murmuring sounds in his sleep. He thinks about how devastated he would be, what his funeral would be like. Jayce would be in the front row, maybe Ximmena too, Heimerdinger if he had the time, and it would be so, so lonely. So he doesn’t slip to the ground, and he opens his eyes, staring instead as the last few stragglers who stumble down the cobblestone roads away from the tavern, singing and laughing drunkenly. 

He’s only been inside once, for a party when he first came to Piltover, and it was the worst thing that he had ever done in his life. He was smooshed between hundreds of people in a room thick with sweat, and his cane was snatched from him, used as a support from dunkards that were walking by. He left after only ten minutes, rushed back to his dorm flushed and ruffled, panting heavily. He despised every second; he hates alcohol, from his first taste when he was fourteen, till the last champagne Jayce forced him to drink for politeness at a party, it disgusted him. It made his head throb, his eyes swirling, his entire mind flooded and fogged with confusion. He’s already anxious as it is; being intoxicated only increases how self-conscious he is, how attached he is to his cane.

He remains silent, staring over at a pair of people who yell and fight on the street corner, watching as they split apart along the street, heading in opposite directions. One of them storms into the University. He must be a student.

He waits for a few more minutes, and eventually he hears the man rushing upstairs, stomping on the floor above him,a nd then screaming. He must’ve found them, the councilors. They never did anything with the body; no one was supposed to return till the next morning. He sighs and steps back into the room, back onto solid ground, a wakes Jayce with an urgent hand shaking his shoulder. 

“They found them.”