Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Viktor is nine when he almost dies. 

It’s not the first time. Almost died, that is. Viktor is nothing short of a miracle for how many times he’s avoided Kindred. Either to have barely escaped the jaws of the wolf or slipped out of lamb’s careful sight. From the moment he was born, apparently, he had almost died, coming out with his leg twisted and umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, little face blue. 

It’s funny, he almost thinks. He can survive that, the fissures. The enforcers who don’t mind kicking out his cane to have a good laugh at his misery. He can survive all of that, only to what? Die now?

The ground rumbles beneath his shoes, threadbare enough that Viktor can feel every vibration through the ground. 

At least this way he’ll go quickly. A cave in at the mines wasn’t unheard of, in fact it was almost common to hear about, with the conditions they had to work in. It would be heard one moment, the death toll counted up, and a moment of silence observed. 

He would be one of those numbers this time. A faceless person dead too young among the rubble, not even given a proper burial. They would board up the entrance to this particular mine and no one would dare to enter it again. 

It almost felt comforting for a moment, to realize it would be over soon. He would get to join his mother, wherever her soul had ended up after finally succumbing to the illness that should have taken her weeks ago. 

Viktor still isn’t sure how she held on so long. He likes to think it was for him, hopes deep down that he’s the reason he got more of that precious, precious time with her. 

Someone’s shoulder slams into him as they sprint towards the entrance, hoping to get out before the rest of the mine collapses around them. The support beams crackle further into the mine, giving way under the heavy stone. 

His father is still down there, deeper in the mines. Viktor takes a small, stumbling step forward, only able to hear the crack of stone and smell the dust in the air. 

Viktor shouldn’t even be here. He’s much too young to be working in the mines. To be slaving away with a bum leg and a back that screams from the strain of trying to do this manual labor. They needed the money though, to put food on the table, to pay the rent on their small home that can’t be called anything better than a shack. 

Someone else slams into his side, sending Viktor into the wall in time to feel another thunderous vibration go through the mine. It made his teeth rattle in his skull, his cane nearly slipping from his grasp. 

The person shouts, says something Viktor can’t make out through the rattle in his own brain and body. A response doesn’t seem to matter though, a moment later the man grabs his arm, dragging him towards the exit of the mine. 

Viktor’s seen this man before. In passing, typically with another man who seems to be about twice his size. They’re the type of men that his father warns him to stay away from, the ones who whisper in hushed voices about working conditions, about enforcer whereabouts, who spark unrest in an unfair world. 

Right now though, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the iron grip around his wrist, tight and bruising as he is dragged towards daylight, away from the danger. There’s a hot flash of pain against his forehead, somewhere near his hairline, but it’s quickly forgotten about with everything else. 

Viktor’s knee screams in pain, threatening to buckle with every step until he’s leaning more and more of his weight on his cane. Until the man dragging him forward is half carrying him, a frustrated groan leaving his lips at Viktor’s slowness. 

Someone else appears, the large hulking man that Viktor has seen with the other man before. A moment later, and he’s hauled into large arms, and in quick steps suddenly the three of them emerge into the open, dust spilling around their ankles and breath wheezing from the strain. 

“Silco,” the large one holding Viktor upright still chokes out, voice a mix of anger and relief. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

He deposits Viktor on the ground carefully, giving Viktor an idle pat on the shoulder once it’s apparent that Viktor is more or less okay. 

Silco, the other man, brushes off the larger man’s worries, wiping the sweat and dirt from his brow. Other workers mingle around, most of them trying to find friends or family to make sure that none of them perished or were stuck underneath the rubble. 

Viktor can see it, deeper in the mine. Large stones and broken support beams. Viktor can’t look away from it, half expecting the stones to shift suddenly, for someone to appear under the wreckage. 

Was his father still down there? Did he feel it first, being further down in the mine? Was he able to get out in time?

“I’m fine, Vander,” Silco snaps, though it doesn’t contain any real heat to it. 

Viktor blinks heavily, forcing himself to turn away from the entrance to the mine. His father has to be around here somewhere, he had to have gotten out in time. Quickly glancing around, all Viktor ends up meeting is the pale blue gaze of the man who dragged him out of the mine. 

“What’s your name?” Silco asks after a moment, voice quiet and tired. 

The other man, Vander apparently, gives Viktor a proper look over for the first time. Confusion makes the larger man’s brows pinch together, like Viktor standing there is some kind of mystery. 

“Viktor,” he eventually murmurs after a moment. 

The two exchange a glance, but Viktor goes back to scanning the crowd. The mine will be closed after this for a bit, which means he and his father will have to find something else to do in the meantime to get by. 

Viktor’s already going over the logistics in his head, the money that they had stored at home, the food they had as well. Mental lists and inventory that would need to be mapped out, more meals no doubt about to be missed. 

“What’re you doing here, lad?” Vander asks, breaking Viktor’s concentration over thoughts of what he might need. “You looking for your parents?” 

Viktor raises a hand, finding his hard helmet to be missing. It must have come off when Silco grabbed him to run out of the mine. Bits of debris and dust fell from his hair, leaving his fingers chalky and itchy to the touch. 

Silco clears his throat, ridding it of the still lingering dust that make Viktor’s lungs itch. “I believe he works with us, don’t you?” 

He nods, throat feeling dry, stuck, dust lining it without any care for his comfort. It feels the way the mouth of the mine entrance looks, rolling in dust and rocks blocking anything but the polluted air of Zaun getting in the way. 

Someone touches his shoulder, blinking Viktor away from his thoughts and the feeling of dryness in his throat. Silco looks down at him with an expression that Viktor can’t interpret too well. It’s a look of concern, but confusion as well. But then he blinks and the details fade a bit, his brain wandering elsewhere. 

There’s a rational, detached part of his brain that tells him that he’s in shock. That same detached part of his brain that takes everything one step at a time, like steps in his experiments, the pieces fitting together as he attempts to build a boat for himself with scraps left by others.

It’s that part of his brain that takes several facts in at once. The pain in his knee, throbbing and violent and making even standing a pain. The dust on every inch of his skin and coats the inside of his throat and lungs. The throbbing in against his head, where it was struck earlier, and subsequently the tacky feeling of drying blood against his skin. 

“Vander,” Silco says quietly, just barely registering to Viktor, “give me your flask.”

“Not really drinking age, is he?” Vander asks, but reaches into the inner pocket of his vest either way, producing a shiny, if not slightly dented, flask. 

Viktor’s own father carries around the same thing, always in his pocket or his hand, filled with a foul smelling liquid that makes Viktor’s eyes burn just to smell. Still, his eyes latch onto that before returning to the entrance of the mine once more. 

There’s a small flame of hope in his heart. A stubborn little thing that he can’t bring himself to smother just yet. If his father isn’t with the crowd, looking for him, maybe there’s a chance that he still might emerge from the rubble, isn’t there? 

Sure, he was several floors down, and the lift isn’t operating any longer, but there’s still a chance, isn’t there? 

Silco’s scoff breaks him out of his thoughts. “I put water in it this morning, you useless lump.”

For a moment, Vander looks like he should be offended by the nickname, but then his expression softens, and Viktor can’t think of it anymore because Silco is pressing the dented flask into Viktor’s palms. 

The metal is warm, the water even more so with the metallic taste that always seems to come across water found in Zaun, even if boiled. Viktor isn’t even aware he’s raised the flask to drink until water reaches his tongue like rain after a drought, healing and yet corrosive at the same time, carving paths down his throat through the dust. 

He managed only two swallows before a harsh cough ripped itself out of his throat, forcing Viktor to almost double over with the force. An idle hand rubs his back, someone else taking the flask from his hand before he could drop it. 

“There, there,” Silco reassures quietly, while Vander takes a quick swig from the flask and tucks it away again. 

Viktor doesn’t feel any better. Or maybe he does. He’s not really sure, but he knows all he wants to do is sit somewhere, maybe even somewhere he can keep an eye on the entrance to the mine. One of the mine foremen is shouting, a loud voice that Viktor both can’t make out and doesn’t recognize. 

Silco still has a hand on his back, a warmth that seeps into his skin that feels more grounding than anything. Viktor takes a glance around the crowd, but he can’t see past most of the people around him, barely reaching Vander’s waist as it was. 

The next thing he’s truly aware of is Silco ushering him to sit down. The rock he sits on is cold, and hard, but it takes the pressure off his knee. His cane almost slips from his grasp before Silco catches it, and leans it against the rock beside him. 

It’s not really a large rock. It’s the kind of thing that Vander would lift with ease, if his arms bigger than Viktor’s entire chest is enough to go by. Tentatively, he lets his arms rest of his knees, looking up at Silco and Vander. 

“You alright, lad?” Vander asks him carefully, with a glance at Silco that Viktor barely catches. 

Viktor nods, while Silco tsks, so quiet compared to the chaos that Viktor almost doesn’t catch it. 

“I don’t think this will need stitches,” Silco says quietly. Viktor can’t even bring himself to care about it, not having given any thought to the cut. 

Viktor only glances between the two of them. Vander is more restless than Silco, glancing around the crowd like he’s hoping that Viktor’s father might appear and save him from the responsibility that he’s suddenly been saddled with. 

Viktor hopes for the same, at the same time that guilt bubbles hot in his stomach, an acid to eat away at him from the inside. They probably had friends they needed to get to, or check on, or maybe even kids of their own to look after. 

“I’m okay,” Viktor murmurs, pulling back from Silco a bit. “I’ll wait for táta here.”

At once, both of them seem to relax. Shoulders slumping in relief, more looks exchanged. The guilt abides a bit with it, less acidic but still painful, but enough to enforce Viktor’s resolve to wait. 

Wait, for what he knows deep down won’t be coming even if he can’t admit it to himself. 

More words are exchanged, Silco says something about coming to check later, Vander mentions something about finding a Felicia and Connel , though those names don’t bring about any recognition to Viktor. Viktor doesn’t say anything more, only raising his hand up in a wave when the pair start to turn away. 

That’s enough, isn’t it? Silco glances back at him, hesitating for a moment, so Viktor gives him whatever kind of smile he can muster, though he’s pretty sure he looks worse than he can imagine, covered in dust and eyes probably wide with shock. 

Silco grabbing him saved his life. Viktor needs it to be enough, he can’t be any more of a burden to them, because then he’ll never know how to pay them back. All he can offer is his thanks, a polite wave goodbye, and a smile that hurts more than it brings joy. 

Silco disappears into the crowd a second later, swallowed up by bodies, none of which were familiar to Viktor. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, eventually angling his body slightly to look at the entrance to the mine, half paying attention to that, half paying attention to the crowd. He pays attention to what he hears more than what he sees, waiting for a familiar voice or anything else that might signal his father is on the way. 

Instead he hears the voices of others being reunited, of cheers and cries of relief. He watches the crowd thin slowly, as people meet with loved ones and head back home. The work was over for the day either way, and a body count would eventually be released once the foreman realized who hadn’t checked back in. 

It takes a while to settle in. It feels like days, not truly hours as he sits there. His stomach hurts with hunger after a while, his eyes burn with the need to rest. 

And still he waits. 

And waits.

And waits. 

His father never appears. 

There is no work for him the next day. 

Viktor hadn’t left. He had sat, curled up on his rock even when it made his hip ache and his spine hurt from curling over himself to protect what little warmth he had left in his body. 

He watches a few workers board up the entrance to the condemned mine, and with it the last of his hope. At dawn, when workers begin to trickle back in for another day of dangerous work, there is a notice pinned to the board of assignments. 

Those we’ve lost

And then begins the names, written in hurried script, the ink sometimes bleeding onto the paper. Viktor can’t bring himself to look at it. He doesn’t want to uncurl himself from the ground to look. 

Other workers stop at the board, first bowing their heads in respect towards the list of names, a brief moment of thought or prayer, and then moving on to look at their assigned mine for the day. 

Viktor knows he has to do the same at some point. His legs prickle with pins and needles when he finally hauls himself up, but his cane supports him all the same as he hobbles over to the board. 

He tries to check the assignments first, in a distraction or an attempt to resolve himself further, Viktor can’t tell. His eyes skim the page, and just like he suspects, his name is not among the hurriedly written names on mine assignments. Viktor can’t bring himself to be upset about it, not when he’s already looking toward the much more foreboding list waiting for him. 

His father’s name is twenty six names down on the list, the ink bleeding slightly on the page like whoever wrote it pressed too hard with their pen when they put it down. The air leaves his lungs all at once, the ground underneath his feet uncompromising and hard but also swaying and unsteady at the same time. 

“Kid.” 

Vitkor whips around, eyes blinking furiously to keep away the tears before they can even think about falling. It will be one thing tonight, to go back to the home that is barely a home without his mother and father there like before, but he can’t cry now, not in front of everyone. 

The man standing behind him isn’t one that he recognizes. At the very least, it’s not one of the men he’s worked beside in the mine before, and it’s not one of the men his father will sometimes go out drinking with. 

“Look, kid,” he says again, like he’s gathering something before he talks. “You can’t stay here, this place ain’t for kids.” 

Viktor finally looks him up and down, trying to not bring attention to the hand that he raises to his face to rub at his cheeks. The man before him is older, probably older than Viktor’s own father. His clothes are nice, nicer than the ones Viktor or most of the other workers wear, there’s no patches sewn in, or seams falling apart. Viktor is pretty sure he’s got at least one hole in either of his shoes, but this man has the shiniest leather shoes Viktor has ever seen. 

When Viktor doesn’t move, the man sighs. “Look, kid, you can’t stay here. You gotta leave.” 

Neither of them move. A couple other workers eye them, sending looks of pity to Viktor while also not being willing to step in.

Viktor supposes it doesn’t take much to put two and two together. A kid like himself wiping his face while standing in front of the list of the dead. He feels their gazes more than he sees them, the pitying looks burning into his skin. 

But orphans are everywhere in Zaun. There are more foundling houses than any other building, filled with children who had no families like himself. 

All at once, a startling realization comes over him, one that probably would have made panic bubble in his skin if he wasn’t around people. He’s one of those children now, the ones with no one to look after them. Another orphan among the many nameless others. 

“I work here,” Viktor eventually manages, because he has lately. His clothes even still have the dust from the mines of them, it’s even in the dirt under his nails. 

The man in the too-fancy clothes sighs. “That was when Damek could watch out for you.” 

Hearing his father’s name makes his brain stop for a moment, startled. Eyes glancing towards the collapsed entrance of the mine, Viktor tries again. “Táta was always put on a different level than me though.” 

The man simply looks more annoyed with him though, instead of appreciating the fine argument Viktor was making in favor of his employment. Viktor tries to frantically think of why they’re pushing him out when before they were fine to have him underaged and with his cane. 

He can’t come up with anything. His head hurts, a part of him does want to go home so he can cry in peace and private, the other stubborn part of him wants nothing more than to fight tooth and nail to not leave. 

To not leave until they at least find his father’s body.

They never do retrieve bodies once the mine collapses though, once the entrance is covered in stone. It becomes a mass grave, a place where people can’t even come to pay respects because the mine is owned by people of Piltover, it’s private property, and the mine foremen are paid to keep out those who don’t work. 

“It’s too dangerous for kids here,” the man ends up saying after a moment, hands on his hips. He’s got a potbelly around his waist, showing more meals than Viktor’s probably ever had in his life. 

But it wasn’t a problem when I was working yesterday during the collapse, Viktor thinks bitterly. 

Something must show on his face, because the mine foreman in front of him scowls down at him. “You need to leave.” 

Viktor chews on his lips, eyes burning again. He does want to go home, to curl up under the one threadbare blanket they had that still had his mothers scent in it, to forget everything that’s happened today. 

“Can I…” he somehow trails off suddenly, voice betraying his age, no longer someone who is trying to fight, just defeat. 

He looks towards the collapsed mine entrance. The foreman’s face remains hard for a couple of seconds, not that Viktor can even see it, before it turns to disgruntlement. 

“Five minutes.”

Viktor nods frantically, something crumpling inside of his chest. He can’t think to give it a name as he hobbles over to the mine entrance, his entire body aching. Everything hurts, now that he allows himself a moment to take stock of himself. His hip, his knee, his wrist from where Silco grabbed it to save him. 

None of that matters as he stands in front of the mine entrance, the smell of dust still hanging heavily in the air like it’s going to suffocate him. Or maybe that’s just the weight of his tears on his cheeks, now that his back is turned to everyone else. 

Gently, he reaches out to touch one of the stones. It’s cold and jagged underneath his fingertips, but grounding all the same. Viktor takes the deepest breath that his weak lungs will allow him, until his body feels like it might explode from all the air inside him. 

“I’m sorry táta ,” Viktor breathes, for himself, for the spirit of his father, now held safely in Janna’s winds. “I have to go now.” 

It feels like only seconds have passed when the foreman is behind him, telling him he has to leave. This time Viktor doesn’t fight him, turning and limping towards the exit with his head bowed. 

If he had lifted it, he might have seen seaglass green eyes looking at him, a slender form next to a mountain of a man. He might have seen a jaw tightening and fingers clenching, a swift pivot to the foreman, away from Viktor himself. 

Or he might have seen nothing through his tears anyway. 

The next morning, Viktor understands why the foreman was so quick to rush him from the job site. 

They come early in the morning, waking Viktor from where he’s laying on what could barely be called a mattress covered in his mothers blanket. His face is still tear streaked and swollen from tears, his leg hurts so badly that he winces with every step to the door and leans so much on his cane that he’s putting almost none of his own weight on his leg. His hip aches, and his wrist reveals darkening blue-black bruises when he reaches for the door. 

If he had thought, been smarter, listened when táta said never, ever open the door, especially when he wasn’t here, Viktor might have bought himself a bit more time. The door opens under his hand at the same time that he remembers his mother had hid them under the same blanket that’s still wrapped around too thin shoulders. 

They live in housing for the mining workers, and with no one working in the mine any longer, the housing is no longer Viktor’s to keep. It makes sense and it doesn’t. Viktor, for a single, desperate moment, looking up at two men who take up the entire space of the doorframe, that they might show kindness to a child who just lost their parent. 

He’s proven wrong with brutal efficiency. Five minutes to pack whatever he can carry, and then it’s off to the foundling house. 

Viktor can’t take much, he realizes. Not if he only tries to carry it. Quickly, he fashions his mothers blanket into a makeshift sack, tying the ends together as he places as much as he can inside. It’s hard when his entire body hurts, but the men in the door make it clear that their patience won’t last long. 

He grabs his toolbox first, then the only photograph he has of his parents–the one of their wedding ceremony before he was even born, the clothes that he has, the small bit of money that his father hides under the floorboards for “emergencies only”, his mothers wedding ring which he slides over his own thumb, and—

“That’s enough, kid. Get out.” 

The voice makes him flinch, breaking him out of his frantic thoughts of what to grab next. He turns to argue, mouth opening, only to freeze when one of the men steps up to him, hand raised. 

Viktor flinches, nodding before he can help himself. The man looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to bring that first down, his knuckles are already split and showing blood, but after a moment he does.

His mothers wedding ring is loose around his thumb, but he doesn’t want to risk putting it into his makeshift sack and losing it. Viktor struggles to carry it out of the house, still trying not to put much weight onto his leg. 

The men don’t follow him. The one who didn’t tell him to leave tells him where the nearest foundling house is, and who to ask for, but doesn’t look at Viktor. A Miss Maisey will apparently help him.

Almost as an afterthought, Viktor wonders with the collapse that happened just how many other families they’ve had to have this “discussion” with. 

One day to mourn. Five minutes to gather belongings. Viktor’s entire life has upended in one day and five minutes, but to everyone else it’s simply another day. 

It’s not fair, Viktor thinks as he arrives at the foundling house, knocking on the door and feeling tears spring up as he glimpses his mothers ring on his thumb. 

It’s not fair. 

Miss Maisey curses him when she brings him inside. 

Viktor couldn’t say he was expecting a warm welcome, but to have the woman curse as she opens the door, staring down at him in disdain as she reluctantly opens the door wider, is not what he expected. 

“Too many damn mouths to feed as it is, then they go sendin’ me ‘nother like I’m made of money,” she grumbles to herself as she opens the door for Viktor to enter behind her. 

Besides a small kitchen that he sees behind Miss Maisey, there are only rows and rows of beds. Children already occupy most of them, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. They’re all young too, the kind that’s too young to go and look out for work on their own, toddlers and a little older who still cry for their mother if they ever knew them. 

“Find yourself a place if there is one. Tomorrow you can join the others.” 

Viktor nods, looking around the room. There isn’t a single bed that isn’t claimed by some piece of clothing or an item. The children still there don’t leave their spots on their beds, as if afraid that if they do, Viktor will rush forward and steal it. Even if he’s not one to do much rushing, with his cane. 

He’s too tired either way. Viktor goes to the back of the room and finds a spot on the floor. It’s hard and makes his hip and back hurt, but no one else occupies the small space. 

He lays his head on the bundle, more so wraps himself around it, his small toolbox pressing against his stomach, his clothes as his pillow, and fist in front of his face to stare at his mothers ring. 

No one comes to talk to him. No one offers any food, later in the day. Viktor isn’t hungry either way. He only stares, twirling the ring around his finger. 

It turns out joining the others means stealing. 

Not in the traditional sense, at least. Viktor gets shaken awake rather roughly by one of the older children just after dawn. There’s a group of about twenty of them, ranging from a little under Viktor’s age to young teen. 

Someone is kind enough to press a bit of bread into his hand, and Viktor takes small bites of it to have something in his stomach as he can’t remember the last time he ate. It tastes like ash in his mouth, he shoves the rest in his pocket for later. 

The oldest lead the youngest. Viktor finds himself with the younger side due to his limp, though he’s not truly paying attention. That doesn’t stop the other younger children around him from glancing at him in concern, trying their best to make sure he doesn’t fall behind. 

They head up to the Promenade, the walk alone enough for Viktor to be wincing with every step. His entire body hurts. The bruises on his wrist ache. His hip and knee feel like they’re on fire respectively, his limp pronounced. 

The older teach the younger how to reach into pockets and purses without leaving a trace. How to bump into someone to hide the motion. Viktor doesn’t get it, only staring, throat dry and aching with thirst from the walk. 

One of the children tugs on his sleeve. “You have to bring back something.” 

Viktor tilts his head. She’s small, probably small for her age just like he is but Viktor thinks that they’re similar in age, maybe a year apart. Mouse brown hair that might be blonde if given a good wash. When Viktor doesn’t brush her hand away, she latches onto his sleeve. 

“What do you mean?” he asks tiredly. 

She squints, like he’s dumb for questioning her. “You have to bring something back.” 

Well, that explains nothing. Viktor squints back at her, silent. They walk a little faster to catch up to the group. 

“You have to bring something back for Miss Maisey, otherwise you don’t get dinner.” 

Ah. There’s the explanation he needs. Of course being at the foundling house wasn’t free. What was he thinking? As though his life couldn’t get any worse.

“Oh. Thanks for explaining, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do much with-” he gestures down at his leg “-this.” 

She grimaces. Viktor does the same. He can feel her grip tighten on his sleeve. 

“I’ll try to get something for the both of us,” she says firmly. “If it’s coins, it’ll be easy enough to split. We’ll just have to hope Miss Maisey decides it’s enough…”

“Does the amount matter?” 

She nods solemnly. Viktor never had the best idea in his head of the foundling houses, but this makes that opinion sour somehow further than it already has. He watches one of the older boys as he reaches into the purse of a woman with a hat that Viktor can’t make heads or tails of. It looks almost like a birdcage, a small and gold one, with purple birds bursting out of it. The cage rests against a couple orange flowers. 

He’s so distracted looking at the hat he almost doesn’t see the older boy pull out a shiny silver watch. 

The boy comes back to the group with a scheming, proud smile. A couple of the other kids come up to see his prize, watching as he turns the watch all different ways. It reflects the lights around them prettily, until the boy finally opens it and reveals the face. 

The other kids ooo and ahhh respectively, some out of genuine admiration towards the watch, some towards the older boy. A leader amongst the ragtag group of orphans that don’t have anyone else to look up to beside a woman who uses them for trinkets to sell. 

Still, the timepiece itself is nice. The silver is polished to a fine shine, which stands out even more against the older boy’s dirt caked nails. He presses the top and it opens, revealing the unblemished glass of the face and an engraving on the other side.

It’s been too long since Viktor’s been able to tinker. His heart doesn’t feel up for it, the same excitement that normally blooms is dulled, even as his fingers twitch all the same from habit. 

The girl still holding his sleeve nods at the older boy. “That’s a really good catch, Axel.” 

Axel smirks like catching such a prize and not being caught are both the same skill, and not the latter being pure luck. It’s the kind of smirk that says he knows he’s on top of things no matter what anyone else says, the pride that comes from being able to push around others to do his bidding. 

Viktor doesn’t see it though, his eyes locked onto the hands of the watch. They stutter in place, not moving properly forward, as though something is caught in the mechanisms to keep it locked in time. It still ticks and tocks, an echo of the purpose it’s meant for, but no longer useful. 

Still showing it off, Axel hasn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither have any of the other kids, if their tired looks of jealousy are anything to go by. 

Not for the first time in his life, and certainly not the last, Viktor’s mouth moves before his brain can catch up. 

“It’s broken.” 

Everyone stops. Stares. Turns to him as though his cane is really an extra leg that grew spontaneously. The fingers in his sleeve tighten. Viktor can barely glance at her, eyes still locked onto the silver pocketwatch. 

Axel breaks first, face darkening in anger. “Shut it, cripple. No one wants to hear from you.” 

The insults don’t phase him. Viktor has been called worse, and knows deep down that he probably will be called worse in the future, maybe by people who mean more to him than another orphan boy picking pockets to get a meal. 

It’s the pocketwatch though. Even with it closed, held tightly in Axel’s fist, Viktor is locked onto it. It’s useless as it is, at least not without repairs that would no doubt cost Miss Maisey more than she is willing to spend. 

“It doesn’t work,” Viktor reiterates, ignoring the twist in his sleeve that presses against his bruises telling him to be quiet. 

Axel snarls, lips pulled back in an ugly snarl to show off crooked, yellow teeth. Viktor doesn’t have it in him to be scared, he’s too tired for that. 

It still feels like someone has carved out his insides, left him empty so that he could be filled with more pain. It still feels like this is all part of some horrible nightmare, that he will wake up to his mother and father shaking his shoulder to wake him from the nightmare of his new life. 

The pain registers before anything else. His teeth dig into the flesh of his cheek, tearing into his skin and the taste of copper flooding his mouth. The ground meets him barely a moment later, the harsh street pavement scraping his palms and drawing more blood. His new… friend? Viktor isn’t sure what to call the girl who’s latched onto him, lets out a shout and kneels beside him. 

Funnily enough, the pain is the first real feeling he’s had since Silco pulled him from the mine with enough force to make him feel like his arm was going to tear out of its socket. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Alex snarles, “or I’ll make you regret it.” 

Viktor spits a mouth full of blood onto the ground. The scarlet stands out even against the dirty street. He brings his gaze up to glare at Axel, not backing down. 

“Open it then. It doesn’t tell time. That’s probably why that lady brought it down here, for cheap repairs.” 

Topsiders do that sometimes, coming down to the Zaun for cheap repairs that won’t be visible to the eye. That’s all they care about, after all, appearances and weird hats that have birdcages in them. Nothing about the function, or the practicality of it. As long as it works, as it keeps up with appearances, the latest fashion trends. 

The other kids glance between Viktor and Axel as Viktor picks himself up off the ground with the girl’s help. Viktor wipes the blood from his chin, white knuckling his cane. 

It would be easier to ignore it, to let it go and not say a word until Axel came back to the foundling house with them. Some of the other children would probably relish in a chance to see a bully like Axel fail with Miss Maisey, to watch him go without supper for the night. 

It’s the pocketwatch though. Viktor can’t decide what should happen to it, but he can already form an idea of it if Axel brings it back to Miss Maisey while it’s broken. It’ll be tossed, never to be seen again. 

Viktor doesn’t know what he wants it for. He wants to bring it back to his small toolbox and fix it in the dead of night. He wants to never touch it. He wants to never see it again. He wants to hold it and never let go. He wants it to be broken forever. 

Broken forever like how he is. 

Axel, flushing from the sudden attention on him and the pressure to prove something he was only just showing off, presses the button to reveal the face of the pocketwatch angrily. Other kids gather closer, looking for what Viktor knows is already there. 

“He wasn’t lying, see!” the girl at his side says. “The hands don’t move.” 

The scowl that crosses Axel’s face is one for the books. He snaps it shut hard enough to crack the glass inside, glaring down at Viktor like the watch not working is specifically his fault. 

For a moment, Viktor thinks he might be hit again. Axel’s knuckles are white where he holds the watch like he’s using every bit of his limited self control not to throw it at Viktor’s head. 

“Hey, check out that easy score,” one of the older kids says, with either the worst timing or the best, Viktor can’t decide. “Bet all of us could find something to snag there.” 

Almost everyone in the group turns. Viktor and Axel glare at each other for a moment longer,  before Axel lets out an ugly scoff and throws the broken pocketwatch down an alley. 

“Useless piece of shit,” Axel mutters, and from the way his eyes linger on Viktor, he isn’t talking about the pocketwatch. 

But that’s all he does. The watch clatters further down the alley, and the group moves on like the incident never happened. Viktor hesitates for a moment before he limps after it, picking up the watch. 

There’s a new scrape on the side, but thankfully it’s not dented nor did the glass crack. The girl follows after him, her fingers once more latching onto his sleeve. 

“You should go with the others,” Viktor murmurs after a moment, thumbing away dirt from the watch. 

“I think they’ll be fine without me,” she replies, not upset, simply matter of fact. “I’m Sky. What’s your name?” 

He hesitates. Her fingers don’t loosen in his sleeve, not even as they emerge back onto the Promenade, looking for the rest of their group. 

Sky doesn’t look like she has any plans to leave him. Somehow, Viktor feels as though he’s made a friend without even trying. 

“It’s Viktor.” 

She smiles, a small, shy thing that does look like it’s gotten much use. Viktor can’t say that he’s had much practice lately with his own smile. 

“Come on,” she says with a tug. “We might still be able to find something that works to bring back to Miss Maisey.” 

And Viktor, without much thought on what else to do, follows after his new friend. 

Life changes, it moves on, whether or not one is ready for it. 

Every day, he walks with Sky up to the Promenade, where they try to scavenge enough to satisfy Miss Maisey before they return for supper. More often than not, Sky will manage to get enough coins for one of them to be awarded dinner, and they’ll split that together. 

The first night coming back, they didn’t have anything to show for their efforts beside the non-working pocketwatch hidden in Viktor’s pocket. Sky was one of the only kids who hadn’t been forced to share her bed yet, so she made room for Viktor and showed him where to hide his things under the bed so the younger kids wouldn’t go through it while they were gone. 

They had curled underneath Viktor’s threadbare blanket, sharing warmth and a bit of security. Viktor apologized in the morning for not having a better blanket for them to share, and Sky, who apparently had no blanket before him, shyly told him that it’s the best nights sleep she had since arriving. 

A week later though, and the lack of meals was getting to him more than anything else. Sky didn’t seem to be doing any better, the food she would get was barely enough for one of them, much less enough to consistently split with someone else. 

They trailed behind the rest of the group as they took the elevator up to the Promenade, lingering behind just enough that they would have to take the next elevator. Viktor didn’t question it, too tired to really hurry his pace. 

“Viktor,” Sky whispers when the others finally leave them. “Do you think you can keep a secret?” 

He tilts his head back at her. “It’s not really like I have a lot of people to tell, Sky.” 

Camaraderie built easily between the two of them, with no other people to talk to besides a woman who’s only job seemed to be to hand out a piece of bread in the morning to them and then hold her hand out for coins and trinkets at night. 

The smile she gives him is a bit conspiratorial, as they turn and walk right back into the Lanes. Part of him is relieved that he won’t have to make the long walk up to the Promenade, the rest of him is burning with curiosity. 

It doesn’t take them long to arrive at their destination, Viktor twirls his mothers wedding ring around his thumb as they walk. Sometimes at night, when Sky is asleep, he takes it off to admire the slim silver band, thumb feeling the groves of the engraved words when it became too dark to read them. It didn’t matter, he had them memorized a while ago. 

Jakob and Elena forever.

The year follows the small declaration of love. Three years before his own birth year, one of the only mementos that he maintained. 

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Sky warns in a whisper. “Promise?” 

Viktor didn’t even know they arrived , much less what she was talking about. All that stands in front of them is a wooden door much like any other that he’s seen in the Lanes. It looks one splinter away from breaking apart, with nothing of note besides a shiny bronze doorhandle. 

“Viktor!” Sky hisses, tugging roughly at his sleeve, “Promise me!” 

“Alright, alright!” he hisses back. “I promise!” 

Thankfully she isn’t pulling on the sleeve that hid his bruises. They were fading from black and blue into sickly green and yellow. Thankfully, they weren’t too tender anymore, only when Sky got a little bit rough without realizing. 

Glancing around like there would be another person at the back of the alley, Sky reached up and knocked lightly at the door. 

The silence drags for a moment. Sky presses a finger to her lips when Viktor shifts uncomfortably, beginning to wonder if his friend is a bit less mentally stable than he originally thought. 

Then shuffling, the sound of a throat clearing. A light clicks on, shining underneath the door and through the cracks before the door swings open. And Viktor can’t help his instinctive step back. 

There’s a mountain of a man standing there, taller than anyone that Viktor’s seen before, and arms as thick as Viktor’s torso alone. His hand tightens on his cane, glancing at Sky for reassurance, but she just looks up at the large man. 

“Yeah?” the man asks, voice deep. 

Viktor pauses. He knows that voice, even if he can’t make out the face due to the light in the background. Where does he know that voice?

There’s a pause as the man shifts, the light no longer obstructive but revealing as it’s meant to be. It shines down on their two forms, and for a moment Viktor feels ashamed of how they must look. Sunken cheeks, exhausted from work, grimy nails and dirty clothes. 

Vander stands before him. He looks the same as that day at the mines, a little less dirty from having survived an explosion. An apron is tied around his waist, and he looks a little frazzled. Viktor almost wonders if he recognizes him. 

But there’s no recognition in his gaze when it sweeps over Viktor. Instead, he looks like he knows exactly why they’re there, even glancing up and down the alley much like Sky did. Then, he lets out a thunderous sigh, and steps aside to let them in. 

“I swear, Silco is going to have my skin,” Vander mutters more to himself than to them. Viktor perks up a bit at the mention of the other man. 

He doesn’t remember much of being saved by Silco. The whole day is a blur, and the next day of when he left home. He hadn’t given too much thought to how the other mine workers would have reacted to the explosion. 

It doesn’t seem like Vander is just a mine worker though. He ushers them inside into what is a kitchen, the kind Viktor would expect to see in the back of a restaurant. There’s what is possibly the biggest stove that Viktor has ever seen, with a large pot sitting on top of it bubbling with something fragrant. There are boxes of other supplies as well, some food, but most of them bottles of liquor, the same kind of bottles his father would bring home often. 

Vander brings them a bit further in, past another door and into what seems to be the main room. It is a restaurant, filled with tables and booths that line the wall. Vander brings them to the booth closest to the kitchen, then making a ‘stay here’ motion. 

“Sky,” he hisses as soon as they’re alone. “How do you know Vander?” 

Her brows furrow in confusion. “That’s his name?” 

“He worked with my táta,” Viktor confirms. “I didn’t know he had this place though.” 

“I heard about this from one of the other kids,” Sky ends up explaining. “They said if you come and knock there’s a nice man who will give you extra, if he has it.” 

Viktor doesn’t get a chance to reply before Vander comes back out from the kitchen, two steaming bowls accompanying him, one held in each hand. Viktor and Sky both go silent, though Viktor can’t tell if it’s from nerves or the sudden screaming of their stomachs. 

“Eat up,” the older man says, walking away again once more. 

Neither of them need much more encouragement. It’s a rather thick stew, and Viktor is sure that he’s never had anything so delicious before. It’s filled with root vegetables, reminding Viktor of the stew his mother used to start making as soon as it started to get cold outside. It’s the opposite now, summer is about to begin and the heat will soon make this almost too unbearable to eat, but for now it’s perfect. 

Though Vander could have set a loaf of moldy bread in front of Sky and Viktor, and they would have thanked him. 

Somewhere above them, a door opens and closes, and Sky shoves more food into her mouth as footsteps come down the stairs. Viktor does the same, not wanting to have someone come to them and kick them out before they could finish their meal. 

“Silco,” Vander greets as he returns with his own thunderous steps, setting down two glasses on the table, one in front of each of them. Viktor could smell the sweetness of it from here. 

A laborious sigh greets them before Viktor hears a familiar voice. “Really, Vander. More strays?” 

“This one isn’t a stray,” Vander argues, laying his hand on top of Viktor’s head. His whole palm seems to cover Viktor’s entire head. 

Not a stray? Viktor supposes that’s true, as he shoves more stew down his throat like Silco might come and take the bowl from in front of him. Viktor wasn’t really a stray in every sense of the word. He’s not sleeping on the streets, but a small, cramped bed with Sky. 

He’s not even alone with her. For once he has a friend to face the hard times with. 

Silco appears on the other side of the booth, laying before himself a leather bound open on the table. He meets Viktor’s gaze with a bit of surprise from the other man, and then his expression quickly schools itself back into indifference. 

“Ah, our little mine worker,” Silco starts. Vander finally takes his hand off of Viktor’s head to leave them once more. 

“Hi,” Viktor returns shyly, after a long moment of hesitation. 

Sky is almost done with her strew. Viktor does his best to match her, his spoon scraping across the bottom of the bowl. It feels like Sky is doing her best to try to disappear into the table to avoid Silco, but Viktor only reaches for the glass Vander set down before them earlier. 

Silco watches him carefully, leaning forward slightly to rest his chin in his hand as he regards the two children. “Vander and I didn’t see you again after the accident.” 

It’s a question without really being a question. Viktor winces as the sweetness of the drink makes his teeth ache fiercely. Silco glances him up and down, eyes lingering on Viktor’s wrist and the fading bruises he left. 

“Got fired,” Viktor mumbles after a moment, when the silence lingers enough to be awkward. 

Vander interrupts them before Viktor can speak more, setting down a bowl of strew for Silco as well. Upon seeing their two empty bowls, Vander scoops those up as well. 

The hunger that continues to cramp Viktor’s stomach makes him wish he had enough time to lick the bowl clean. Alas, he’s too grateful for anything to even think of asking for a moment more. 

Silco has bread with his stew. He tears off a piece of it to dip into the broth. Sky twitches next to him. 

And Viktor, Viktor finishes off the rest of his drink, and let’s his eyes wander to the open book in front of Silco. It’s got two columns of numbers on each page, with annotations for each entry and totals at the bottom to keep better track. 

“We’re opening the bar in about an hour,” Vander says when he comes back. 

Two more steaming bowls of stew are placed in front of him and Sky. Neither of them waste any time in picking up their spoons to start eating immediately. 

“Thank you,” Viktor mumbles around a mouthful of stew that’s so hot it almost burns his tongue. Vander gives him a small smile, sharing a heavy glance at Silco that Viktor can’t interpret. 

The rest of the time is quiet. Vander does work behind what must be a bar, even though Viktor can’t see the same dark brown bottles his father used to bring home at times. Silco eats much slower than the two children, and either doesn’t notice the wary looks from Sky or ignores them entirely. At some point, he tears apart the piece of his bread and gives half to Viktor and Sky each. 

Sky mumbles a thank you. Viktor nods his as well, trying not to notice that Silco, for some reason, has given him the larger chunk of bread. It makes for mopping up the remains of his stew much easier than constantly scraping it with his spoon. Maybe that’s why Silco gave it to them. 

Viktor spends the rest of his time basking in the calm atmosphere, a full belly, and the numbers that are upside down across from him. Silco’s brows furrow as he looks it over, pencil scraping across the page as he tries to find his error. 

It’s not hard to see it. At least not from Viktor’s point of view. Fourth amount down on the second column. The number glares at him from the page, as though daring him to speak up and correct the man who was not only gracious enough to save his life once, but now give him food. 

“Sil,” Vander calls. “We need Benzo to take a look at this. I’m tired of the tap not working every god damned night.” 

Silco waves a hand dismissively. With a flourish, he picks up the book, giving both children across from him what can only be described as a look. Sky immediately seems to understand this, rising up quickly as though Silco would grab her by the scruff and toss her out. 

“Alright you two, this is no place for children any longer, hm? Head on back home.” 

Viktor almost wants to correct that the foundling house is not his home. It’s never going to be his home. It feels more like a place to store his things for when they leave for the day, a place he has to deal with Axel at night. 

Still he rises, making sure his cane is underneath him properly. Silco has tucked the pencil behind his ear, notebook under his arm as he heads to the bar. 

The numbers though. The numbers still aren’t correct and the book is so nondescript that Viktor is sure he won’t see it again if he does ever get to come back here. 

“Mr Silco,” he murmurs, voice so quiet he’s not even sure the man will hear him. 

And yet he turns, eyebrow raised like he’s wondering why Viktor hasn’t scampered off after Sky, who’s waiting impatiently for him by the back door they entered through. Viktor bounces from foot to foot, twirling his mother’s ring on his finger. 

“Yes?” Silco asks, more patience in his voice than Viktor thought he’d hear. 

It gives him a moment of bravery, to think, to look the older man in the eye. They’re the color of seaglass, pale, but not judgemental. 

“You’re adding the total incorrectly,” Viktor says after a moment, still twisting his mothers ring. “It should be nine hundred and forty three point zero six.” 

Silco stops, even Vander gives him a look over. After a moment, perhaps not believing him, Silco smiles indulgently. 

“Is that so?” Silco murmurs. “I’ll take a look over it later. Now head off, young man. Perhaps come and visit us another day.” 

He has to resist the urge to tell Silco to check his math, if he doesn’t believe Viktor, but he lets it go. Once again, Silco and Vander had been kind to him when they didn’t have to, even giving them food when sometimes food in the Zaun is more scarce than clean air. 

“Thanks,” Viktor eventually says, and he doesn’t just mean for the food. He waits to see if Silco will say anything else, but all the man does is look at the wrist that Viktor knows is still green and yellow with mottled bruises. 

“You’re very welcome.” 

Sky demands to know how Viktor knows them as they make their way back to the place they rest that Viktor refuses to call home. It is not home. Viktor doesn’t have one of those anymore, not since they left his father to be buried in the rubble. 

Maybe he and Sky can go and see Silco and Vander again. Viktor, surprisingly, finds that he wouldn’t mind, even if there was no food involved. 

Though the stew is definitely a bonus.

It’s hours later that a pencil has another chance to be put to paper, for calculations to be made, checked, and then rechecked. 

Without fanfare, and only a note mentally in his head, Silco crosses out the incorrect total and writes in the number the boy–Viktor, if he remembers correctly–told him earlier. 

He’ll have to tell Vander about this, and to tell the Hound of the Underground to keep an eye out for a certain child with a cane. 

Just in case there are any other numbers to fix.

Miss Maisey’s palm is held out flat to him, waiting. 

He has nothing to show for his troubles. The coins Sky managed to snatch had barely been enough for her to secure her own dinner. Even then, it was with Miss Maisey staring down at the coins in her palm with disgust, counting them out one by one until Miss Maisey reached a goal only she knew. 

It’s not really different from any nightly routine. Despite not having anything to show for his time out, Viktor still had to go line up with the other kids and sadly report that he didn’t have anything to hand over. 

Some, like Axel, would snicker at his poor performance. Most of the others looked on with pity, having been in the same position. Viktor could count his ribs in a way he’d never been able to before, even able to press a finger between them sometimes to feel the hollows. 

His mother’s ring twists along his thumb as he twirls it. Miss Maisey’s palm shakes in front of him impatiently, as though he could magically produce something. 

The watch he scavenged from Axel was probably the only thing he had worth anything to a woman like Miss Maisey. It still didn’t work though, Viktor hadn’t felt the tingle of inspiration in his fingers to create, or repair. Not when most of his day was spent thinking about survival and if he was going to eat more than a thin slice of bread in the morning. 

Viktor shrugs. Nervously twists his mothers ring on his thumb. It feels like everyone is staring at him, waiting to see what might happen next. 

“I couldn’t find anything,” he eventually murmurs. “Sorry.” 

Some of the other kids wince, not bothering to hide it as they look away. It’s not the first time Viktor has given this excuse to Miss Maisey. This is the first time that it’s felt different. 

Hesitantly, he steps to the side so one of the other kids can present their earnings of the day to Miss Maisey. Her eyes don’t leave Viktor though, looking him up and down before her eyes lock onto his hands. 

Everything narrows down suddenly, as her eyes stare at his hand. Viktor’s breath stutters in his chest, his tired mind racing as he shifts his grip on his cane, hiding the ring from view. 

“You have something right there,” Miss Maisey declares. “Hand it over.” 

He shakes his head, a motion that makes his head spin from hunger and exhaustion. Viktor can’t give up his mothers ring, he can’t , not when he already has so little to remember his parents by. 

“I won’t tell you again,” Miss Maisey says sharply. 

Everyone’s watching them now. Stares that bore at the pair and no one says a word. None of the other kids do so much as breathe if it means that they won’t get Miss Maisey’s attention the way Viktor has. 

“Come on, brat. You’ve been here a month and you’ve barely brought in enough to earn your keep.”

He shakes his head frantically again. “I’ll bring something tomorrow, I promise–”

Even if he has to repair that watch with shaking fingers and give that broken thing up. Even if he has to walk into a store and steal from the register itself. Viktor knows with sudden certainty, with bone tired exhaustion and determination, that he would give up most everything for his mothers ring. 

Miss Maisey’s eyes narrow. She’s not one for grace, for patience. Viktor has seen it in the way she smacks the youngest around for not helping her fast enough with chores. In the way that she doesn’t hesitate to withhold dinner from even Axel, her favorite, and the one who brings in the most money out of all the rest of them. 

Not even Sky will look at him. That one hurts more than it should. 

“Axel!” Miss Maisey hollers, making Viktor jump out of his skin. “He’s hiding something in his hand.”

The order goes without being said, at least not directly. Viktor gets one stumbling step away from them before Axel is there, kicking out his cane and making him drop to the ground. A large hand wraps around his own, and for a moment Viktor fears that he might lose his thumb before he loses his mothers ring from the way Axel tears it from him. 

His thumb might really be broken from the way it aches when Axel steps away and presents it to Miss Maisey. The silver doesn’t shine under the dim light, it’s nothing special to look at for anyone besides Viktor. Tears prick at his eyes as he watches Miss Maisey hold it up to the light, examining it with a critical gaze. 

“Basically worthless,” she sighs. “Ain’t worth hiding it, brat. Get out of my sight.”

He does so, picking himself up off the ground and glancing at Miss Maisey just in time to see her slip the ring into the pocket of her apron. Viktor goes to join Sky on her bed, shoulders hunched and stomach cramping with hunger. 

“I don’t ever want to see you come back here empty handed again,” Miss Maisey threatens, before she moves onto the next kid in line for supper. 

And isn’t that just the cherry on top. Another night of going to bed hungry, and this time with one less thing of his mothers to comfort him. 

Sky won’t meet his gaze. It feels like there’s a lump in his throat that Viktor can’t swallow past, a rock that refuses to leave him. 

It is only hours later, when he and Sky are under his blanket, with her snoring softly on the bed beside him, and all the other kids sleeping peacefully, that Viktor comes to the realization that he should have come to a while ago. A realization that, once it comes, he thinks should have come the first night he arrived. 

He can’t stay here.

Slowly, carefully, he slips out from bed. No one stirs as he tip toes into the kitchen, setting his cane down carefully with every step so no one hears him enter it. There is no shame as Viktor grabs the first thing he sees, some dried meats, and eats all of it in one go. The next thing he spots is a few dry pieces of bread, which he also eats as quickly as possible. 

Immediate and ever pressing hunger abated for the first time since Sky took him to get that meal at Vander’s kitchen, Viktor takes the next few things he can find. A small bit of cheese that’s probably been sitting on the counter for too long to still be healthy, more bread, and a package of crackers that are in fancy packaging. 

Sky blinks away when he comes back to her, and he quickly shoves his stolen things with the rest of his belongings. 

“Viktor?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep. “What’re you doing?” 

He grimaces, pressing a finger against his lips to show her to be quiet. The last thing he needs is for Axel to wake up and go get Miss Maisey. 

“I…” he hesitates. “Can I have my blanket?” 

Sky blinks again, before she’s pulling up the edge, waiting for him to get back under. After a moment, when Viktor doesn’t move, she pulls it off and pushing it towards him. 

“Oh. You’re leaving.” 

He nods, that lump returning to his throat. If he had more time, or if he paid more attention to where Miss Maisey kept all of the things they brought back on hauls, Viktor could have let her sleep longer. 

Instead he picks up his blanket, and quickly makes the same makeshift pack that he had the first day he arrived. The only difference between then and now is a missing ring and the addition of food. 

“I can’t stay here,” Viktor whispers to Sky, who has laid back down, curled up on her side to face him. 

He could ask her to leave with him. Something deep, deep down inside of him tells Viktor that she would leave with him. Or maybe that’s hope, and only hope, because she does not move to rise, or follow him. Sky only wraps her arms around herself, and stares.

And she only stares. So Viktor does not ask. 

“I know,” Sky eventually murmurs. “I’ll miss you.” 

Oh, and how he’s come to hate goodbyes. Viktor hates the ones that are drawn out by sickness and a cough that won’t leave his mother. He hates the hurried ones with foremen standing at his back to rush him off sight so he can never visit his fathers grave again. 

He can’t bring himself to say goodbye to Sky. He’ll never see her again if he does. 

Instead he reaches over, bringing her in for the tightest hug he can manage. Sky hugs him back just as tightly, and that moment is something Viktor never wants to end. 

He wants it to stretch on to infinity and then go even further. He wants to live in this brief moment where the sun hasn’t risen and maybe never will, where all that matters is the warmth of a friend and not having to wonder if there will be food for him today. This singular moment where all that matters is nothing but themselves. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he eventually manages. 

And he’s not really talking to her. Not completely, at least. He’s talking to his mother, and his father, and the life he could have had with them that he left so long ago. 

In some other timeline, some other possibility, Viktor gets to stay with his parents. His father doesn’t work in a mine and isn’t crushed to death, and Viktor never has to listen to the awful rattle of death in his mothers lungs as she takes her final breaths. 

Perhaps in that reality too, Sky is still his friend. They meet somewhere better than a place that’s only fit for survival. 

Viktor likes to think they’d be friends in every universe. 

He pulls back from their hug first. Sky lets him go, only watching with her large eyes as he slips out the door. 

Silently, Viktor says goodbye to the foundling house. And that goodbye is okay.

There’s nothing left there for him to mourn.

Chapter Text

If there is one thing Viktor never noticed about Zaun before, it’s how supremely… wet the place gets. 

Summer rolls in with thunderclouds weeping heavy raindrops, the kind that make their own wave across your skin and leave you soaked in seconds. The water from Piltover and even the upper parts of Zaun drain heavily down into the fissures, leaving a lot of the city flooded and unsafe for use. 

Well, for more people. If his mother was still alive, they would curl up together when the harshest of the rains start to fall, and she would pull the blanket over them and whisper stories of times long forgotten. Viktor couldn’t remember most of the stories anymore, but he remembers how safe it felt, underneath that blanket with her. And in the brief moment they could hear the thunder overhead, if there was any, instead of stories they would count the seconds between the rumbles of thunder. 

Sometimes, the rain would even get bad enough that the mine would flood as well. His father would come home curing for the lost wages, because the foremen only paid for time spent and material hauled up, so being flooded out meant no work for a few days at the least. 

Even still, when he would come home upset and soaking wet with the rain, his father would do his best to dry off and join them under the blanket. More often than not, work kept him so exhausted that he would fall asleep in minutes, his thick snoring filling up the room. 

“He works so hard to support us,” his mother would whisper in his ear. “I’ll sing us all to sleep, hm? Then we can be just as rested as táta.” 

And her voice was soft, quiet, even if in his memories Viktor can no longer remember the words. He remembers the tone, the feeling of arms around him as he would drift off into sleep between them. His father snoring so loudly behind him that it would make their entire mattress shake, and his mothers arms soft and secure around him. 

Back before things went wrong, when loss and grief were still shadows in the corner and monsters lurking under the bed and not real things he had to live with, Viktor used to think there was no safer place for him. 

Even when the roof would leak and wake him up from sleep, he would still be warm and safe and nestled between them, still hidden from the dangers of life. 

He can almost feel his mothers arms around him, wound tightly. His fathers elbow jabbed into his back as though gaining a few precious inches from his son was more important than his next inhale. A drop of water falls, hitting his forehead and dripping into his hair, and another one falls before Viktor can hope to wipe them away. 

Sometimes, in the land where he is not quite dreaming, and not quite awake, he really is back there. 

With them. 

They never last long enough though. The moment that he realizes he’s half asleep, despite how he tries to hold onto that blissful, half-asleep, half-awake state, it’s like his consciousness has to come up and meet him the rest of the way. 

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep, or drifted off at all. Glancing down, he sees not his mother’s arms but her blanket, wrapped around him a bit too tightly for the summer humidity. And it’s not his father’s elbow behind him, but the ragged edge of a rock. 

He won’t be able to stay here long. This area had managed to avoid flooding by some miracle so far, but Viktor didn’t want to press his luck too much. 

It’s not a bad area of Zaun, this part of it that he’s found for himself. In trying to get as far away from Miss Maisey as he could possibly get, Viktor eventually found that the closer parts of Zaun that get near the water become less industrialized and more natural, with water and plant life and plenty of places to hide. 

The places to hide had to be Viktor’s favorite part, besides the glowing pink flowers he occasionally finds along the paths. Even the water can be pretty to look at, as long as he avoids touching it with his bare hands. It shines on the surface like a rainbow, unsafe to drink, but pretty to look at. Sometimes he would throw pebbles onto the surface, most of the time just for fun, but sometimes to avoid the gnawing hunger at his stomach. 

The rain drenches him as he heads further through the cave system. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he left Miss Maisey’s house. The days blur together, broken apart by when he leaves the cave to look for food or scavenge for trinkets he can possibly sell. 

Viktor mostly knows that it’s been enough time that he’s gone through every last bit of crumb of what he stole from Miss Maisey. Idly, as he ducks underneath an outcropping of rock, wondering if Sky is doing okay back there without him and his blanket. 

There’s a noise, a splash ahead. Viktor’s head tilts towards the sound, trying to peer out without getting any wetter than he already is. It’s sort of a lost cause at this point, the driest part of his clothing is damp at best. 

Giving up on being dry for the time being, Viktor inches his way to peer around the corner. He isn’t sure what he expect to see, considering he’s not sure anyone should be swimming in the water here. 

There’s a man there, standing quietly with a hood over his head. He stands too still for comfort, as though all his muscles are locked and he’s been frozen in place. 

Viktor has a moment and only a moment to observe the man before he sees the source of the splash he heard earlier. A flash of purple, unlike anything Viktor’s ever seen before, and a large creature creates a small wave in a puddle from where it’s splashing around. 

It looks like a waverider but…wrong. Perhaps wrong isn’t the right word, for how happily it splashes around without a care in the world. Viktor’s never seen a waverider in anything but a book, and maybe this one is just different in the same way human bodies all vary in shapes and sizes. 

“Child,” the man rasps, making Viktor jump. He hadn’t even turned around, how did he know Viktor was there? 

Caught, Viktor takes a small step out.  The waverider perks to attention, rushing forward to get closer to Viktor and observe him with great tilts of its head. 

“She won’t hurt you,” the man reassures when Viktor leans back as much as he can. “Her name is Rio. Think of her like… a pet.” 

Viktor didn’t even know one could have waveriders as pets. The waverider, Rio, the man had called her, let out a small trill. He can hear the rush of water behind him from the rain, making his entire form shudder from the cold even as he reaches out a hand to Rio. 

Half of him expects Rio to reach out and bite his hand off. She’s big enough that she could take off part of his arm if she wanted to, but instead all she does is trill again, pressing against his hand for a brief moment before darting back to the man and splashing in another large puddle. 

“She’s very pretty,” Viktor compliments, taking a tentative step forward. The man hums, nodding slightly. 

He’s spindly in the way Viktor used to imagine some characters from his mother’s stories. One in particular comes to mind as he looks at the man, a story about deals where a person that Viktor can’t remember the name of any longer could spin ordinary things into gold. 

Viktor used to be envious of that story, of the man who would spin gold from nothing. Viktor can picture the man perfectly, using alchemy or simply magic to spin gold from nothing and being both a savior in the story and a villain at the same time. 

One time, he had told his mother that if he could do the same, he would give all the gold to his mother so they could go and get food, and medicine, and maybe the rattling in her lungs would finally stop with a good meal and medicine that’s truly only available in Piltover, and never reaches the depths of Zaun. 

His mother held him tighter, while they whispered and tried not to wake his father, and held him tighter so they could go to sleep. 

“Remember, sweetheart. If something comes to you that easy, it will come at a price. Never agree to something you can’t pay for.”

The man pulls his hood down a little, protecting himself from the rain. Viktor can still make out the pointed end of his nose, and the sharp features that give his face too many shadows. He’s a bit jealous that he doesn’t have his own jacket to disappear into, only a long sleeve that is just as soaked from the rain as the rest of him. 

“What are you doing out here, child?” the man rasps. “It’s not safe in this area, with the rain.”

Well, that seems like it should be obvious. Viktor shrugs, lightly shaking his makeshift bag of things. 

“Hm,” the man hums. “Rio, come along. I know you adore the rain, but there will be more tomorrow.” 

Shoulders slumping, Viktor curses himself a bit for being naive enough to think the summer rain would end after only one day. If he’s lucky, and looks around hard enough, he might be able to find somewhere that’s only damp instead of soaking to sleep for the night. 

More than likely though, he’s going to have to head back closer to the majority of the population. Maybe, if he walks quickly enough and ignores the pain in his leg, he can find his way to Silco and Vander’s place, and if he’s even luckier , he might get something to eat as well. 

“You too,” the man says, snapping Viktor out of his thoughts. “Unless you plan to melt away with the rain.”

Viktor blinks. Then blinks again. The man steps away, with Rio trotting up to Viktor and looking at him expectantly. 

The man glances back, a singular glance that has Viktor moving enough to scurry after him. A voice in the back of his head, the one that sounds like his mother, cautions him against trusting strangers. 

You don’t know what he wants. He might not be kind.

Perhaps his hesitation shows in his steps, in the cautious way that Viktor glances up, trying to see more of the angular face hidden by the hood. The man sighs, sounding put out by Viktor’s caution. 

“Do not be afraid. You can stay until the rain ends, how does that sound? Then off to wherever you came from.” 

Viktor nods after a moment. Another shudder goes down his spine from the cold, it must be getting late for the cold to be seeping in despite being summer rain. Or maybe that’s from the lack of proper clothing, from sleeping on rocks and stone despite how it hurts his back, or even from the fact that he’s had so little to eat lately that he’s able to count his ribs easily. 

Rio walks next to him though, not the man. She looks happy to simply be here, next to Viktor, with the excitement of a puppy dog meeting a new friend. 

Either way, Viktor realizes, limping after the man, the promise of a dry place to rest for a moment is enough for Viktor. 

It takes too long to walk. At some point, realizing he is making them fall behind, the man reaches down to take Viktor’s bag from him, carrying it with ease. Rio walks a little closer to him, putting herself between him and any larger body of water they come across. 

Of course, as quickly as she does that, she’s just as quick to leave his side to go splashing in a puddle and would have made a mess if the rain didn’t already make every surface wet. And then she would come back to Viktor’s side with an excitement that couldn’t be matched. 

“Excuse her,” the man eventually says, when Rio goes prancing off on her own for the third time. “She is… young. Perhaps that is why she likes you.” 

Viktor shrugs. “I don’t mind.” 

“I would prefer if she played outside of my home, where we could get dry while she has her fun. Ah, we are almost there either way, so I suppose she can frolic a moment longer.” 

Viktor does his best to keep his shivering to himself. If his mother could see him now, he’s sure she would throw a fit about him being out in the rain. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be curled up under the blanket with her, counting the seconds between rumbles of thunder. 

The man rounds a corner, one that looks the same as all of the others to Viktor. It’s a bit more hidden, Viktor struggles to see the turn for a moment despite spending the last few weeks navigating the twisting turns that come with this area of Zaun. 

There’s an opening that reveals a small area. There’s a large puddle of water that could almost be called a pond, and an entrance in the rock hidden by a frayed wooden door. Rio takes one look at the familiar, chirping in delight as she dives into the water. 

“Come along,” the man says, ignoring Rio. 

He opens the door with a large brass key that Viktor doesn’t really think will do too much to keep intruders out if they truly wanted to get in. He disappears a second later into the darkness inside, leaving Viktor out in the rain with Rio. 

He almost turns around and disappears. But the man still has his things, and Viktor though Viktor could care less about his extra clothes, he can’t give up his mother’s blanket, or possibly the photo that might still somehow be dry in there. 

After a moment, he hobbles in after the man. Rio leaves him to it, content to roll around in the water and enjoy the rain in ways he never could. 

It’s a lab… Viktor thinks it is, at least. Things floating in glowing green jars line the walls. There’s a large desk tucked against a wall, where formulas and math that Viktor’s never seen before are written on graphing paper in neat handwriting.

Perhaps his mother’s story wasn’t too off. Maybe this man could do the same as in the story, and spin gold out of nothing. 

“What is your name, child?” 

Viktor jumps in place, holding his cane tightly. He wishes he had his mothers ring to fidget with, but when he reaches for it, he’s reminded once again that there is only bare skin for him to rub. 

“V-Viktor,” he mumbles through chattering teeth. 

The man hums. “Viktor. It is nice to formally meet you. Would you like something to eat?” 

Viktor can’t nod eagerly enough. The man sets his things on the floor, pulling his hood down before stripping himself of the jacket. Somehow, doing that makes him look more intimidating but also like a regular man as well. 

“Sit, then. I believe I have something you can eat. We will discuss what to do with you when the rain ends.” 

And with the promise of food, and shelter–however brief–from the rain, Viktor does not need to be told twice. 

He sits.

The man is a doctor. At least, that’s how he introduces himself to Viktor later, when what little light that does reach Zaun fades to signal night has come. The rain has not calmed down at all, instead seeming to come down even harder. 

The doctor gives Viktor a bit of bread that’s more stale than it is fresh, and a bit of cheese that he cuts the mold off of. He mumbles to himself about needing to go get more supplies, and for a moment Viktor fears that it means he won’t get anything to eat at all, but the doctor gives over both the bread and the cheese and Viktor inhales them before the doctor can take them back. 

“You’ve been living near here, haven’t you?” the doctor asks, watching Viktor eat with a fever that only starvation could give him. 

He nods carefully. The doctor could be like one of those adults who tries to get him to go to a foundling house again. “It’s quiet out here.” 

Yet the doctor only nods. “I appreciate the quiet as well.”

The food is barely enough to ease the screaming that’s become commonplace in his stomach. Viktor can’t even bring it in himself to save part of it for later, even though he knows he should. He doesn’t know when the doctor will be able to get more. Or if he’ll share more with Viktor. 

“You can stay here tonight,” the doctor announces, as though Viktor would have put up any sort of protest to staying in a dry place, even if it wasn’t particularly warm. 

He nods all the same, arms wrapped tightly around himself to ward off the chill. When that didn’t work too well, he paces as much as he could, trying to keep the warmth about himself. 

“Are these all of your things?” the doctor eventually asks, picking up Viktor’s bag. 

He nods shyly, half expecting the doctor to open the blanket and look through everything himself. Yet all he does is nod, setting it aside and turning his critical gaze to Viktor. 

“I believe I have something that will fit you, if not a blanket you can use in the meantime,” the doctor says, more to himself than to Viktor. 

He fidgets awkwardly, wishing he had his mothers ring to twist. “I don’t need anything, it’s okay.” 

“You will get sick otherwise,” the doctor replies, without hesitating. “My daughter used to love playing out in the rain. She would always get sick after, if I did not get her warm quick enough.” 

The last part is more of a mumble, like a thought meant to remain inside but escaped somehow. Perhaps the man is used to talking to Rio for things, using the waverider like a sounding board that couldn’t reply back. 

“I um,” Viktor starts, then stops, trying to figure out what he wants to say. “It’s okay. I’ll leave when the rain stops, so you don’t have to worry.” 

A thin brow arches in his direction, a pursing of his lips, as though the doctor wants to say something only to hold himself back. Either way, he disappears further down into his lab, returning barely a moment later with a checkered blanket smelling strongly of dust. 

“Tomorrow, you will help clean up some of my experiments and spend some time with Rio to keep her out of my work,” the doctor orders clearly, draping the blanket over Viktor’s shoulders. “That will make up for the food and the blanket, don’t you agree?” 

He doesn’t, but his fingers are already holding the blanket instead of himself, clutching it tightly with a white knuckled grip. Eventually, when the doctor looks at him expectantly. Viktor finds it in himself to nod. 

“Alright,” he agrees softly. “Thank you.” 

The doctor finds a stool, a small thing meant more for stepping up than for actual sitting, and ushers Viktor to sit on it beside his desk. Perhaps the man thinks Viktor might have sticky fingers, even though Viktor has no idea what he’d do with half the equipment in the room, much less where he could possibly pawn it. 

It doesn’t really matter. The doctor eventually lights a fire, in a small hearth Viktor originally didn’t notice. When he does this, he ushers Viktor to move his stool beside it, and then he lets Viktor sit so close that he can feel his skin prickling from the warmth. 

They sit for who knows how long. Eventually, the doctor places a notebook in his hands, telling him to flip to a blank page. 

“Have you ever taken scientific notes, child?” the doctor asks, not looking surprised when Viktor blinks sleepily and shakes his head. “Then tonight you shall learn. Write down everything you see in as much detail as possible.”

Sleep pulls at his eyes at the same time he starts scrawling messy notes on what the doctor is doing. The fire at his side is warm, comforting, and the doctor’s voice has a nice tenor to it that makes staying awake even harder. 

But he does his best, despite all of that. He doesn’t even notice when the doctors voice drifts off, when a thin hand takes the notebook from him and a critical eye scans over the notes he’s taken. 

“This is not bad, considering it’s your first attempt,” the doctor notes to himself. “All great minds must start somewhere, don’t they?” 

Viktor blearily nods, barely hiding a yawn behind his hand. The doctor finally looks at him when he doesn’t verbally respond, a look overcoming his face that Viktor doesn’t recognize. 

“Ah, it’s late for you, isn’t it? I forget how quickly children can tire. I shall set up a bed for you.”

The doctor places the notebook on his desk, rising and mumbling about where he was going to make place for Viktor in his lab. 

Viktor can’t bring himself to wait. The fire is so warm, and he’s so tired. Before the doctor can return, Viktor has moved from the chair to curl up before the fire, blanket hiked up around his shoulders, with one last idle thought crossing his mind. 

It’s still more comfortable than sleeping on Miss Maisey’s floor. 

Viktor wakes the next morning to the rain still pouring, and the doctor gently poking the fire before him to keep the embers alive. The doctor looks him over in that quiet way he has, as though trying to evaluate Viktor by appearance alone. 

He’s sure he doesn’t look great. The rain left him feeling cleaner but dirtier at the same time. He can’t remember the last time he got to bathe properly, or washed his clothes. Tentatively, Viktor hikes the blanket a bit closer to his chin from where it slipped down during his sleep. 

“You’re awake,” the doctor eventually rasps. 

He nods. No use in lying about it when the doctor has already seen him wake. Another log is thrown on the fire, embers sparkling from the weight. 

“I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself. When you feel up for it, you will sweep in here, put away the notes you took last night, and then Rio will require your attention.”

He nods again. The doctor wanders off after that, and Viktor doesn’t bother to watch. Viktor let’s himself sit for a moment, trying to blink awareness back into his body and fight against the urge to lay back down and get a few more minutes of sleep. 

After a moment though, he finally rises. The doctor brings him a broom without comment, and Viktor does as he’s told without being asked again. 

It’s a little awkward, with his cane. He leans more of his weight on the broom than he should for balance, and doesn’t do very good of a job either. By the time he decides he’s “finished” with the task, his knee aches fiercely and he wants nothing more than to sit down once again. 

Which he does, at the doctors desk. The notes are still there, the ones he took last night, along with more precise calculations in math Viktor has never seen before. Formulas and equations that Viktor stares at, and tries to make sense of. 

They start to, after a minute, as he flips a couple pages back. It’s a chemical composition, he thinks. There’s a small diagram of what seems to be Rio next to the formula, annotations written by her body.

There seems to be something… missing from it though. Viktor traces the formula with his finger, knowing just enough to realize that it’s not balanced correctly. 

“What are you doing?” 

Viktor jumps, hands flying off the page as though it burned him. The diagram of Rio stares up at him accusingly as he hesitantly looks up at the doctor. 

There is no malice there though, just indifference. The look of a man with nothing to hide from a child snooping through his things. 

Don’t make me go back out in the rain, Viktor thinks desperately, floundering for a moment. 

The doctor waits patiently, eventually looking at the page Viktor was observing. 

“I was just…” Viktor starts, stops, tries again. “Is there something missing here? It doesn’t look balanced.” 

The doctor hums, motioning for Viktor to continue. When he’s not discouraged outright, Viktor sits up a little straighter, pointing out to a number in the formula. All the other numbers he can understand where they came from, be it from the diagram of Rio or somewhere else on the page. 

“This one doesn’t fit.” 

The doctor looks between him, the page, back to Viktor, before finally seeming to take him seriously. Brows furrow a brief second later, and this time when he looks up at Viktor again, it is with a look of consideration. 

“Interesting,” the doctor murmurs, mostly to himself. “I shall have to look this over.”

Viktor nods, because nothing else really needs to be said. Perhaps he was wrong, Viktor’s never seen formulas and equations like the ones the doctor was working on. Math, he thinks to himself, might be different when there’s chemistry involved. 

The rain doesn’t break until mid-afternoon. The doctor crowds Viktor outside when it does, telling him that he needs to watch Rio for a bit while he goes to fetch more supplies before the rain returns with a vengeance. 

“I shall hang your clothes out to dry while you play with her,” the doctor rasps, waving Viktor out. “If the rain does not return, they should dry quickly.”

The doctor closes the door behind himself and locks it, and proceeds to take a few minutes to hang Viktor’s clothing above the damp rocks. Most of them need a good wash either way, and almost all of them need some kind of patch to cover a hole or the seams repaired to prevent further damage. 

With that done, the doctor finally pulls on his hood and gives Rio’s head an idle pet before disappearing the same way he led Viktor through last night. 

It isn’t really bad. Rio seems to have boundless energy, splashing in the small pond while Viktor watches. It makes a small smile appear on his lips as he goes to a large rock at the edge of the pond, perching on it while doing his best to keep dry. 

Time passes sluggishly slow and yet frighteningly fast at the same time. At some point, Rio finds a stick she seems to enjoy, and they spend a long time with Viktor throwing it into the pond as far as he possibly could, and Rio immediately returning it. 

He does that until his arm burns with the strain, and then switches to his other arm until it’s aching just as much. The hours blink by, but the doctor doesn’t return either. Not even when the rain starts to sprinkle once more and Viktor has to rush to gather his clothes to keep them dry. 

While the area is a bit more sheltered than other places among the cave, it’s still hard to stay dry unless he’s curled up by the doctor’s door. Viktor does so for a little bit, leaving Rio to her pond and her stick that she chews into oblivion once she realizes he won’t be throwing it for her anymore. 

He’s not sure how long he spends there, curled up on the ground, but it’s long enough that it’s dark out. The cold seeps in enough that he’s shaking once more, fingers hurting from the cold and the strain of holding himself so tightly. 

He knows that he sits there long enough to finally admit defeat. The doctor didn’t say when he was going to be back, and it’s not until night as almost fallen that he gathers himself up. 

Rio chirps at him as he passes, going to the same exit he saw the doctor leave through hours before. 

“Stay here, okay?” Viktor whispers to Rio, who trills at him, this time with a sad tone to it. 

Covering his head with his blanket, Viktor can only hope he can find another place in the caves that was dry for the night. 

It took a few hours, and eventually he finds himself curled up on the ground once more, dry clothes and blanket all draped over himself, falling asleep with the thoughts of his mothers arm around him, and the bar with Silco and Vander and their warm soup and sweet drinks. 

It is a week before he finds the doctor again. 

Well, finds is generous. Viktor doesn’t exactly find them. It feels like a rare day when the rain doesn’t come down in buckets upon his head. He’s still freezing more often than not, and his trips into the main part of Zaun to scavenge for scraps take more energy out of him than before. 

Still, he’s lucky enough to be eating when he hears a familiar trill. Viktor can’t stop himself from perking up, looking just in time to see Rio’s giant purple head peek around the corner and light up when she sees him. 

“Rio!” he says excitedly, getting up. His hand shakes where he grips his cane. “What are you doing here?”

A small hum greets him at the same time Rio barrels into his chest with the energy and force of something that thinks they’re much smaller than they are. He stumbles back a step, barely able to catch himself when the doctor appears. 

“She has been quite discontent since you left, child,” the doctor rasps. Viktor gently pets Rio’s head, still nuzzling into his chest. 

The doctor's gaze is almost accusatory, looking down at Viktor. He doesn’t look any different from how Viktor remembers him leaving, except for the missing jacket and hood. Rio presses more of her weight against Viktor when he finally hesitantly looks up to see the doctor, but all he gets is a sigh from the other man. 

“Rio, you will knock him over if you are not careful,” the doctor murmurs. “Now come along, child. I have more notes for you to take.”

It doesn’t really feel real. Rio gently bites at his shirt, tugging him forward and not giving him too much of a choice. She only let go when Viktor took a stumbling step forward gathering his meager belongings. 

“I uh,” Viktor starts, stops, then tries again. “You never came back.” 

The doctor makes a noise of acknowledgement. “I fear my errands took me longer than anticipated. It does not matter now. There are notes to take and Rio needs someone to keep her entertained while I work. Are you opposed?” 

Viktor couldn’t really say that he is opposed. Sleeping on the ground would be much more preferable in front of the doctor’s fire. And some food was better than none, or having to worry about where it came from next. 

Hesitantly, he shakes his head, and takes a step after the doctor. Rio bumps against his back to urge him along quicker. 

“Excellent,” the doctor murmurs, more to himself than to Viktor. “I have found myself in need of an apprentice at times. Perhaps you can look over more formulas to see if you notice any more… errors, I suppose is the word that fits best.” 

Viktor wonders if this is going to become a habit with the doctor, listening to him mumble to himself about plans and ideas he doesn’t fully plan to run by Viktor, despite Viktor being involved. 

Rio pushes against his back again, just a gentle nudge, and Viktor finds he doesn’t care. He’s tired, and wants nothing more than to lay down somewhere dry, or maybe even sit at the edge of the pond again and throw a stick for Rio until his arm feels like it’s going to fall off. 

The doctor mumbles more to himself about plans and how nice it will be to have someone watch after Rio when he can’t. Viktor lets it fade into background noise, following after the doctor until they reach the familiar entrance to the doctor's home. 

Viktor wonders if, in enough time, it will become his home as well. 

For the next couple of weeks, Viktor learns more than he ever has attending school. 

Not that school ever taught him much. It gave him access to a few books, which he read with an eagerness none of his peers displayed, and the one teacher who taught the children of all ages didn’t know what to do with him when he could complete math equations that were meant for someone twice his age. 

The doctor has no reservations. He hands Viktor books larger than his head with the unsaid expectation that Viktor would read and understand them. He does for the most part, though the medical textbooks often had terms he would have to write down to later look up on his own. 

It’s other things too. The way he narrates his experiments when he knows Viktor is paying attention. Not only for Viktor to take notes on his observations or to write anything else he might deem important. The doctor explains proper laboratory safety as he mixes what he says is Rio’s blood with other chemicals that Viktor struggles to pronounce and write. 

It’s fascinating, all of it. Viktor learns how to give stitches the same day he learns the chemical composition of the Grey that lingers in the air. He does his best to absorb all the knowledge with the understanding that the doctor doesn’t like to repeat himself twice, and doesn’t like answering questions. 

And the doctor gets visitors too, people who come desperate for him to fix things that are wrong, to save lives.

Those days, Viktor learns more than just medical treatments and formulas. He learns that not a lot of people like the doctor. The ones who come in, stumbling through the caves that are more mazes than anything else, are not the ones who come for a friendly visit. 

And it’s not just for the weird jars the doctor has of embalmed specimens that Viktor’s been instructed to never, ever touch. It’s the doctor that they look at with disgust, even as they ask for him. 

Most of them at least try to hide it when they see Viktor. Some of them meet his gaze with wide-eyed shock at the sight of a child, some of them see Viktor and round on the doctor with more blatant disgust over Viktor’s mere presence. 

He doesn’t really get it. Once a woman was dragged in by two of her friends, with a burn on her thigh almost down to the bone. Viktor almost wanted to hurl at the gruesome sight, but the doctor looked at him expectedly, and Viktor swallowed back his own bile to help. 

That day, he learns the best treatment for a burn, and how to wrap bandages. The sight of the burn is something he won’t be forgetting any time soon. Nor will he forget the doctor’s cold voice that sounded when he noticed Viktor’s pale pallor. 

“Either leave, or help, child. I have no use for an assistant who can not help when needed.” 

That’s another thing he’s still getting used to. Learning medical things from textbooks and the doctor's narration is one thing, but actually helping to treat patients who come to the doctor as a last resort is something he’s still trying to get used to. 

He is given no time to adjust. It is adapt or leave, and Viktor… has nowhere else to go. 

Silently, he tells himself it’s easy enough to deal with. It could be worse. At least here he doesn’t need to worry about the doctor stealing his things, because the doctor has no interest in it. At least the doctor feeds him. At least Rio is here, and that makes things so much easier to deal with. 

He adapts. Viktor always adapts. He adapted when his mother died from the Grey. He adapted when his father was crushed. He adapted when the foundling house was nothing like he needed. 

Viktor thinks himself able to adapt to anything at this point. He is a chameleon, able to blend into anything needed of him. 

Viktor gives Rio a pat on the head as he listens to the woman scream as the doctor treats the burn. Pain medication is hard to find. The doctor only likes using it when he has no other choice. 

He feels like he does not live, he survives. But that’s what all of Zaun’s children are, survivors, and Viktor is no exception.

It is the wailing that wakes him, on a day when the rain breaks and the scent of petrichor isn’t heavy in the air. Viktor doesn’t react to it much beyond looking up from the book the doctor told him to read. 

The wailing of pain gets closer, echoing through the caves. Viktor almost doesn’t get up. One of the first lessons he learned from the doctor was that screaming isn’t a bad thing, even if the noise makes his ears feel like they’re bleeding and make his anxiety worse. 

“Screaming means they feel pain, the nerves aren’t damaged. If they’re screaming when they’re conscious, they’re still alive,” the doctor had murmured, stitching up a gash made by mining equipment. “An alive patient is much better than a dead one, child.” 

He marks his page in the book just in time to see a stout woman round the corner, her arms wrapped around someone small. It takes Viktor a second to realize it’s another kid, just like him, maybe a year younger. 

She locks eyes with Viktor, confusion flashing across her face. Viktor doesn’t know how to react, only holding his book tighter. Rio lets out a noise he’s never heard from her before, not quite a growl but not anything friendly either, standing in front of Viktor, still half in the pond. 

“Please!” the woman shouts, “I need help, please!” 

Viktor winces, grabbing his cane. Before he can head to the door, the doctor is already there, opening it and poking his head out curiously. 

The woman lets out a sob, stumbling forward. The child in her arms is bleeding, her pallor pale and the crimson on the thin sheet covering her spreading. The doctor takes half a step forward before the woman is sobbing on the ground, holding the girl tightly. 

“There was–there was an accident. Please, you have to–”

She chokes on her own voice, caught in her throat with a sob that makes her entire body shake. The doctor steps forward, his long legs eating up the distance easily. 

“Viktor, retrieve the samples from last night,” the doctor orders. He reaches easily, taking the girl from her mother. “You must wait out here.”

“I-I can’t,” she mourns, wailing, already stealing grief from the future.

The doctor shows no sympathy for her. “You must, or I will not treat her.” 

Viktor is already pushing the wooden door open as the doctor follows him inside and locks it behind him. He had explained once that he doesn’t like an audience for his work, that Viktor was different because he’s meant to be the doctor’s assistant, but the door being closed never stops the muffled sobbing of family or loved ones. 

The most recent samples are from Rio, pink shimmering liquid of her blood that the doctor experiments on almost constantly. It’s what Viktor takes notes on almost every night, per the doctor’s orders. 

Viktor can still hear the woman’s wailing as the doctor lays the girl out on the table. She can’t be any older than Viktor himself, maybe a year younger. The sheet is unwrapped from her slowly, with a care that Viktor has never seen from the doctor. 

He sees why she’s here a moment later. The girl’s arm is mangled, bone poking through the skin in several places, and the limb completely unrecognizable from the elbow down as an arm. It is a maimed, torn mess. Bile rises up in Viktor’s throat at the sight. 

Her screaming has stopped. Only small whimpers come from her, eyes barely cracked open. Viktor takes the bloody sheet as the doctor prepares a shot of something opaque, pressing the needle into the crook of the girl's non-injured arm. 

She’s unconscious only moments later. Viktor blinks as he sees it happen. The doctor has never used the limited supply of pain medication before. 

Viktor prepares fresh bandages as the doctor takes the samples from him and begins preparing them. 

He tries not to think of how strange it is to work on a patient who isn’t conscious. 

Who isn’t screaming. 

The girl's arm is almost beyond saving. The doctor plucks out mangled pieces of bone from the skin, letting them fall into a dirty metal tray with wet plinks that Viktor will never be able to unhear.

When most of the mangled flesh and bone is clear, the doctor hands Viktor a wet rag and finishes preparing the syringes of shimmering pink liquid. Viktor can’t stop himself from speaking up even as he cleans ruined flesh as gently as he can. 

“Have you ever tested it before?” 

The doctor doesn’t look at him. “There must always be a patient zero.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Instead, he grabs the doctor's notebook before he can tell Viktor to, ready to take notes. 

The next hours blur together. At some point, the doctor injects more pain medication to keep the girl asleep. It’s not any less strange the second time Viktor sees him do it, but he makes no comment, only noting the time and marking it down. 

Eventually, the woman–Viktor can only assume it’s her mother–stops her wailing outside. Viktor hopes that Rio is nice, and gives her a bit of comfort like she does for him. 

At some point, he nods off near the girl, leaning awkwardly in his chair. Viktor does not leave because the doctor doesn’t leave. Even when he wants nothing more than to go to his place by the fire and curl up for sleep, Viktor does not allow himself to rest, nor to move. 

The doctor does not spare him a glance. 

It is only when the next morning arrives that the doctor finally makes a move. Viktor can’t bring it in himself to take notes. He feels frozen in his spot, fingers clutching the edge of the notebook. 

It only gets worse when the doctor brings out the saw. 

“She is stable, and she will live. I’m sure she will be grateful to only lose her hand and part of her arm, and not the entire limb,” the doctor murmurs to himself. “I shall need to study the changes.”

Viktor has never heard the snap of a bone under a saw. He catalogs another noise that will haunt him as the bone snaps. 

The girl does not stir. 

Purple streaks run up her arm from just above the place the doctor cuts from. It looks almost like bruising, but the purple is too vibrant, too colorful to be natural, not the dark purple of harsh bruising. Viktor watches it disappear underneath heavy bandages as the doctor wraps up her wound. 

The woman sobs when the doctor finally allows her inside to see her daughter. She drapes herself over her still unconscious child, her sobbing and wailing only growing worse when she realizes part of her daughters arm is lost. 

“She is lucky to not lose the entire arm, or her life,” the doctor says coldly. “Be thankful for the second chance you have been given.”

Nodding frantically, the woman reaches into her pocket and dumps out a handful of mismatched cogs. Then, possibly fearing the doctor would do more damage, she scoops her daughter up and leaves. 

Viktor takes the chance to wipe down the blood from the table. It’s tacky and sticky, he more so pushes it around with the dirty rag than actually clean it. 

“Will she be okay?” Viktor eventually asks, when the doctor fetches his notebook to correct and add to the notes Viktor took earlier. 

“As well as she can be.”

There is blood on Viktor’s hands now. He wonders if it will truly wash away, or if it will sink into his skin and stain his very soul. 

Several questions rest on the tip of his tongue, ones that he swallows down like bile. They burn as they go back down. 

And still, one slips out unbidden. 

“Would you do that to me?” he asks, voice small. 

The doctor does not look up.

“Do what, child?” 

Viktor swallows. “Use Rio’s blood like that. If I ever got hurt.” 

The small noise of a pen scratching against paper stopped. Viktor can feel the gaze of the doctor burrowing into him, fire against his skin. 

“I will do whatever is needed to keep my patient alive,” the doctor eventually says, before turning back to his notes. 

For a moment, Viktor just nods. The words don’t sit right, like there’s a meaning behind them that he can’t figure out. Perhaps sensing his confusion, the doctor continues after a moment. 

“You are no exception to this, Viktor. Alive is alive. That is all that matters.” 

Hours later, Viktor washes the blood from his hands and still feels the tackiness of it against his skin, and he curls up on the doctors floor in front of the fading fire. Rio curls up near him, leaving Viktor between herself and the too warm fire. It is the only comfort he has outside of his mother’s blanket.

That night, his dreams are filled with images of shimmering pink liquid, the voice of the doctor repeating again and again, and a needle heading to his skin despite his struggles. 

Alive is alive. Alive is alive. Alive is alive. Alive is–

What does it mean to be alive?

Rain in summer eventually ends, the humidity breaking and giving way to the cooler airs of fall. Viktor is already not looking forward to it. The rain and dampness of summer is something he can suffer through. Winter though?

It snows in Piltover and Zaun during the winter. Bitter, biting cold that doesn’t ease until spring decides to show its face just when someone becomes convinced winter will never end. 

Viktor worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at Rio. Her strength had waned during the colder that it got, and both Viktor and the doctor were worried about her surviving the winter. 

A small sigh left his lips as he hand fed Rio flowers. She ate them slowly, sluggishly. 

“Viktor,” the doctor says softly. He always speaks like that, softly, as though a slightly louder voice would raise the dead. 

He blinks slightly, realizing he’s been holding out a flower to Rio but she’s made no effort to eat more. It’s less than she had yesterday. 

“She ate less than yesterday,” Viktor explains, placing the flower on the ground. “Aren’t you worried?” 

The doctor hums. “She will survive.”

There’s so much confidence in how he says it, the way that he turns back to his work after a moment, like he hadn’t called Viktor’s attention in the first place. 

He thinks of the girl and her missing arm. And the burn down to the bone. The frantic sobs of a mother and family pounding on the doctor’s locked door while he worked, demanding answers and updates. 

He thinks of his mother, and her rattling cough at the end. The way he could feel it under his ear when he would lay his head on her chest. Sometimes, when sleep evades him on the doctor’s floor, he wonders if his fathers death was instant or if he survived down there, waiting for rescue that never came as they sealed the entrance to the mine. 

It’s different now, when he lays beside Rio on the floor, wishing he still had his mother’s ring to twist on his finger as he listens to her breathing, taking on that same rattling note his mother’s had. 

It’s different when he knows what’s coming, and being unable to do anything about it. 

The incoming autumn chill makes him curl up closer to Rio, and he wonders, and wonders, and wonders. 

His mother was in pain, at the end, he thinks. There is no way that rattling was pleasant to breathe. It sounded, in the end, as though every next breath was painful. 

Alive is alive, the doctor said. 

He curls up closer to Rio, and hopes her breathing gets better. He hopes nothing ever happens where the doctor feels the need to fix him. 

There is mercy in death. Viktor has seen it before. 

He hates that some small part of him knows he will have to see it again, with Rio. 

The curved bend of metal is perfect for what Viktor needs. It will need a bit of further bending for it to be perfect, but perhaps the doctor would be able to do it, or have a tool to help him. 

The small corner the doctor has set up for him contained the rest of the scrap metal that Viktor managed to get his hands on. Most of them were useless for his idea, but were good enough quality for Viktor to justify keeping for a later project. 

It’s nice in a way, to have a small amount of possessions that aren’t simply extra clothes or his mother’s blanket. He supposes he still has his photograph, water damaged as it is, but that feels less like his own and more like his parents. 

The doctor doesn’t ask about his growing collection, though he does send curious looks at the metal scraps every once and a while. He seems content to let Viktor have his fun, to allow Viktor to have this small bit of joy in his life. 

He still has to make the engine, but he wants to build the body of his boat first. He wants to see the dimensions he can make it, what restrictions he might have to work out for the engine, Viktor wants to hold it in his hands and see something he’s made.

It won’t be like Axel’s broken watch, or any of the doctor’s experiments. For the first time in a long time, Viktor will have something that’s just his to work on. 

He glances around the scrap yard. If he leaves now, he’ll have enough time to get back to the doctor’s cave before night truly descends and makes the caves impossible to navigate. There probably won’t be any extra food for him tonight, but that’s okay. He ate yesterday.

An idle voice in the back of his head notes that he’s actually not too far from where Silco and Vander live. He wonders if Sky is there, or if he shows up there might be extra food. His stomach grumbles at the memory of the warm stew Vander gave him. 

After a moment, he dismisses the thought. He’s not sure if the doctor is like the foundling house, where beds are given away to other orphans the moment they don’t show up for a night. The thought of a free meal isn’t worth losing a place to sleep, no matter how his stomach grumbles. 

Perhaps another day he can leave early enough to make the trip. Today though, he grips his cane and reaches for a ring that’s no longer there as he returns back to the familiar paths.

“This is a bad idea.” 

The voice is hushed, whispered in a hiss not meant to be heard. Even whispers echo in a cave though, and Viktor tilts his head slightly in that direction. He doesn’t move though, if he can hear people clearly, then others can hear him just as easily. He places down the metal pieces of his hopefully soon-to-be boat, placing his screwdriver back into his toolbox.

Rio’s already perking up at the new voices, looking at Viktor for a cue on whether or not this will be a friendly visit or someone she might need to chase away. She’s been too tired lately for Viktor to allow her to chase someone away, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

“You can’t bring about a revolution without allies,” says the first one, a deeper voice that sounds familiar. 

“I don’t think the ‘mad doctor of Zaun’ is an ally we want!” replies the other person. Viktor hasn’t heard that voice before. 

A scoff. The voices sound familiar. Viktor reaches for his cane, standing at the edge of the pond. He glances behind himself, but the doctor’s door remains firmly shut. The doctor would come out if it was interesting enough for him. 

“It’s better for him to be on our side than theirs,” the more familiar of the two voices replies. 

Viktor’s brows pinch as he tries to place it. All that comes to mind is a feeling he’s not quite sure how to name. It’s not a bad feeling by far, but it is unfamiliar. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t really want an ally who’s willing to give kids experimental drugs.” 

Well, Viktor can’t really blame the stranger for that. The voice that doesn’t like the doctor is familiar as well, though he can’t place that one either. 

Rio trills gently at him, coming to stand behind him so Viktor can rest a small amount of his weight on her. She’s protective in her own way, even one time getting upset because a leaf had landed near Viktor. 

“Be quiet, I think we’re almost there.” 

They’re much closer now. Viktor reaches for a ring that’s no longer there at the same time that two people enter the familiar entrance to the cave. They’re both on the smaller size, not nearly as tall as the doctor, but thin like him and Viktor.

The first thing Viktor sees is a shock of violet colored hair. Viktor’s pretty sure he’s never seen her before, though she looks like a mine worker. A hard hat with a lamp attached is still resting on her head, a smear of charcoal on her left cheek. She looks at Viktor silently, seemingly dumbfounded that he would be here, before rounding on her companion. 

“Silco,” she hisses, “you didn’t say he had a child.” 

Viktor perks up at the name, hoping to see the man who saved his life. It feels almost like a lifetime ago when Silco pulled him out of the mine, and somehow even longer since Viktor was with Sky to get their meal. 

“What are you talking about?” Silco replies, pushing around the woman. “No one mentioned a child.” 

The woman gestures wildly at Viktor, as though her gesture could explain Viktor’s appearance there. Rio let out an unhappy grumble, but didn’t move from behind him. 

It is Silco, looking almost the same as the last time Viktor saw him. His hair is pulled back from his face, dressed in a wine red shirt covered in a black leather jacket that’s been patched over more times than Viktor can count. He stops next to the woman, looking at Viktor with barely concealed surprise. 

“Well, if it isn’t the little mathematician," he eventually drawls. Viktor flushes slightly, unsure if it’s an insult or a compliment with the way Silco says it.

“What are you doing down here, sweetheart?” the woman asks gently, her voice taking on the same gentle one that his mother used to have at times when she would calm him down. 

Viktor tilts his head slightly, paying more attention to Silco than to the woman. She seems nice, but Viktor has a question to ask that can’t be ignored. 

“Did you fix your books?” Viktor asks, unable to help the note of excitement leaking into his voice. 

“Yes, you’ll be happy to know you were right,” Silco replies with a slight quirk of his lips. 

Viktor is happy to hear it, standing up a little straighter. “If… I can help you look over more, if you have them. The doctor focuses more on chemistry than just math, which is nice, but–”

“The doctor?” Silco interrupts, not unkindly. 

Still, Viktor stops talking immediately, nodding slightly. Right, they were here to see the doctor, not talk about books or math. He’s silly for thinking Silco might want to talk about this right now. 

“We heard this is where he lives,” the woman continues gently. 

They step a bit further into the cave, glancing at Rio cautiously. She doesn’t do much other than press herself a little closer to Viktor, making it clear that she’s not guarding her home, she’s guarding a person. 

He nods, glancing back at the door. It’s still closed, no sign of opening. Viktor’s actually pretty sure if he tries to open it right now during his designated Rio babysitting time, he’d find it locked. 

“He’s working right now,” Viktor cautions when the pair go to the door. Silco pauses to glance back at him. “He doesn’t like being disturbed.” 

At least, not by visitors. The doctor didn’t seem to mind the time Viktor knocked on the door to be admitted when the rain was particularly harsh rainshower came and he found himself shaking from the cold. 

He didn’t react kindly to the time a man appeared and tried to enter despite Viktor’s warning. The man had a lung infection, apparently, and the doctor was his last resort. Though Viktor cared less about that and the fact that when the doctor hadn’t opened the door quickly enough, the wheezing man had rounded on Viktor to start demanding answers. 

Viktor had stood his ground until the man raised his hand, and finally, finally the doctor had opened the door and asked what ailed him. He pretended he hadn’t flinched when the man raised his hand, and the doctor listened to the wheezing man for a moment before giving him a vial of something green and sickly looking. 

Later, Viktor asked what it was, because he had never seen it before. The doctor had cryptically answered that it was something to give the man peace, and then told Viktor that he doesn’t tolerate rude patients. 

Viktor didn’t ask any more questions after that. Looking at the pair though, he doesn’t want either of them to disturb the doctor and be given the same sickly green vial. 

“Is that so?” Silco’s voice snaps him out of that particular memory. “Do you stay here with him?” 

Viktor shrugs one shoulder. He does , but he can’t say it feels like home. It’s shelter from the rain, and maybe when winter comes–if the doctor keeps him around–it will be shelter from the snow. 

Nothing has truly felt like home since the two men gave him five minutes to pack everything he could. 

“I help with Rio,” Viktor answers, gesturing at the large waverider. She trills at her name, bumping her large head against his free hand. 

“I see. Fel, try knocking on the door.” 

Viktor shifts slightly in place. “Why do you want to see the doctor? Are you hurt?” 

Silco waves a hand. “Nothing like that, I’m fine. We were hoping to talk to the… doctor here about his plans for the future.” 

Well, that seems a bit silly. Viktor knows exactly what the doctor’s plans are for the future. It’s his experiments and treating patients who appear on death's door. Otherwise, the doctor doesn’t really do much else, though the doctor seems fine with that. 

He almost says just that before the woman, Fel, is knocking on the door for the doctor’s attention. Viktor shifts slightly in place, glancing between the pair and the door. 

There is no answer. 

Fel turns to him, then whispers loudly to Silco. “I didn’t know he had a son.” 

Viktor almost winces. His father’s death is still a bit of a fresh wound, and there’s nothing truly familial about his partnership with the doctor. It’s transactional, Viktor gets food and a dry place to sleep in exchange for note taking and helping with procedures. 

The door unlocks with a heavy click. Rio chirps in excitement, but does not move from Viktor’s side as the doctor emerges. 

“Viktor is my apprentice, not my child,” the doctor clarifies. He looks Silco and Fel up and down critically, eventually leaning back slightly. “Neither of you look very injured. I am not accepting new patients.” 

“We’re not here for that,” Silco says smoothly. “We’d like to discuss certain…” a heavy glance at Viktor, “politics are changing.” 

The doctor doesn’t move. “I have no interest in politics.” 

Well, Viktor knows that’s completely true. He’s pretty sure that the doctor only cares about his experiments, and Rio in a way. 

He’s not even sure the doctor cares about him outside of his note taking and entertaining Rio. Viktor chooses not to say this though, instead sitting back down at the large rock on the edge of the pond. 

‘Politics won’t stop being interested in you though,” Silco replies easily. “Eventually, you will have to choose a side, with us or with Piltover.” 

“Rest assured, I am adept at remaining perfectly neutral,” the doctor reassures. 

Viktor ducks to hide his face at that, not wanting attention on him. All it would really take is someone willing to fund more of his research, and he’s pretty sure the doctor would side with whatever benefited him more. 

“You may leave now,” the doctor dismisses, before Silco can continue. “As I said, I am not accepting new patients.” 

The pair turn to each other, doing that thing that Viktor’s seen adults do before when they’re close. Maybe one day he’ll be able to have conversations in silence and looks like that, but for now Viktor can only understand the doctor’s silent look that tells him to be quiet. 

“We understand,” Silco starts, voice cold. “But if we could–”

The doctor is already retreating though, and Viktor laments at not heading inside when he could. The next time the door closes, it won’t be opening unless an emergency appears. 

Fel steps forward. “Do you do pre-natal care?” 

Viktor’s brows raise slightly, glancing down at the woman’s stomach at the same time Silco and the doctor do. She places her hand on her flat belly, stepping forward and away from Silco. 

“I have,” the doctor says cautiously. 

“Then… I just found out, you see. The midwife isn’t accepting new patients as well, if you could…?”

Silco looks ready to blow a fuse, like it’s taking all his strength not to grab Fel by the arm and haul her away. Instead he stays silent, glaring at the doctor silently. 

Viktor can almost commend her for bringing up the one and only thing that Viktor has seen the doctor bend over. Children. 

Not Viktor though. Viktor is an apprentice, an assistant. Not one the doctor breaks out his very limited pain medication for.

“Come inside then,” the doctor raps. He holds up a hand when Silco tries to follow. “I do not believe I have accepted you as a patient.” 

“I am not letting my sister go off with–”

“Thank you, doctor,” Fel chirps, waving Silco off despite his squawk of protest. 

The door shuts firmly behind them, but does not lock. A string of curses leaves Silco as he stares at the closed door, adding a few new words to Viktor’s own lexicon.

“The doctor won’t hurt her,” Viktor eventually ventures to reassure, once more picking up his screwdriver. 

Silco stops, as though remembering Viktor is there in the first place, arms crossed. After a moment, he sighs heavily, taking a few steps to stand beside Viktor. 

“Felicia can handle herself, I’m sure,” Silco agrees, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. 

Viktor grimaces slightly. In his mind, he sees the mine worker wheezing as he yells, the way he clutched the vile green “medicine” from the doctor. He holds the pieces of his boat tighter, tapping the screwdriver against the metal to hear the sound. 

“If…” Viktor starts, glancing at the door and lowering his voice further. He’s pretty sure the doctor can’t hear him too well when the door is closed, but he can’t be too careful. 

It wouldn’t do to have to find a new place to stay before the winter snow starts. 

Silco leans in, squatting down to be level with Viktor. “If?” 

“If he gives her medicine that is green,” Viktor whispers, barely able to hear his own voice. “Don’t take it.”

Silco hums in consideration. “What is it? Green medicine?”

Viktor shrugs. “I don’t think it’s anything good. He gave it to a man with miner’s lung who yelled at me.: Silco stares at him, obviously not registering the severity, so Viktor continues. “The doctor said it would bring him peace.” 

Neither of them say anything after that. Silco’s brows furrow in thought, his arm wrapped around his knee as he considers what Viktor told him. 

“Do you think he would give Fel that?” 

Viktor shrugs. “It’s unlikely.” 

“But not impossible.” 

Viktor screws the two metal pieces together. They don’t sit completely flush, which is more upsetting than it should be for a minor setback. Water would get into the hull and make the boat sink to the bottom of the pond. 

Well, at least if that happens, Rio would dive down to get it for him. 

“What are you working on there?” Silco asks, breaking the silence. 

Viktor perks up, showing Silco the pieces. “I want to make a boat. These pieces don’t fit together though, so I’ll have to go look for more.” 

They spend the rest of the time waiting for Felicia to emerge from the doctor’s home looking over the pieces of the hull. Silco even tries to bend the metal so it fits together better, but he doesn’t quite manage it with only his bare hands for leverage.

The gesture is nice though, so Viktor can’t even bring himself to be upset that it didn’t work out. He’s just happy to talk about something that’s not the doctor’s experiments. 

Silco eventually lights a cigarette, the smell of smoke invading Viktor’s senses. It makes his lungs ache a bit, but in a familiar way. His father used to smoke the same kind before he died. 

“You haven’t come to The Last Drop with your little friend,” Silco eventually says, flicking away ash from the end of his cigarette. 

“I left the foundling house,” he explains, then perks up. “You’ve seen Sky?” 

A thoughtful hum. “She came by wondering if we had seen you. Should I tell her where you’re hiding now, if she comes back?” 

For a moment, Viktor almost says yes. But the thought of her meeting the doctor leaves a sour feeling in his stomach, and after a moment, he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s okay,” he murmurs, “thank you though.”

Silco stares at him, the stare of a man who is trying to figure out a problem. Viktor has seen it before when the doctor stares at his experiments, and sometimes he wonders if he’s had the look himself when trying to make his boat. 

Before Silco could say anything more though, the door opens once more. Felicia emerges with something clutched in her first, which Viktor can’t see from his angle. He hopes it’s not the green medicine though. 

Silco rises, dusting off the front of his pants, and taking a last drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt away. Hopefully Rio won’t try to eat it before Viktor can find it later.

“I will think about our talk,” the doctor rasps. Then he gives Silco a strange look, glancing at Viktor, then looking back at Silco with barely hidden disdain. “Do not come here unannounced again.”

“You got it, doc,” Felicia says, giving the doctor a smile. “Come on, Sil.”

Silco stares at the doctor, thoughtful, before he looks back down at Viktor. “Come and see us at The Last Drop whenever you get a chance, Viktor. I’m sure Van would like the company.”

“He’s busy,” the doctor says before Viktor can give his agreement. Viktor’s mouth audibly snaps closed as he holds back. 

“I’m sure there are times when he’s not busy,” Silco dismisses, waving his hand. He still hasn’t looked away from Viktor. “What is that man feeding you, hm? I think you’re more skin and bones than the last time I saw you.” 

Viktor flushes. Sure, he eats a bit more regularly than with Miss Maisey, but the doctor never has much to spare. Though Silco’s statement makes the doctor stand a bit straighter, a heavy frown on his face. 

“I’m okay,” Viktor reassures Silco quickly. He’s not sure how he would handle a fight between them right now, and he’s not really in a position to make the doctor upset with him. “Thank you though, Mr Silco.”

Felicia comes and loops her arm through Silco’s own, pulling him away from Viktor slightly. “Still, you should come visit us at The Last Drop! Silco here, he’s been wondering if the little mathematician who corrected his upside down books would be able to spot any more errors.”

Viktor knows he could, he’s sure of it. He opens his mouth to say just that when the doctor levels him with a look , and all he can bring himself to do is nod slightly. 

The doctor heads inside as soon as the pair turn their backs. Silco and Felicia wave goodbye to him, and Viktor does the same as he listens to them as they whisper as they walk around the corner. 

“Did he give you anything? And why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?!”

“Because I’m not,” Felicia snorts with laughter. “He gave me this for it though, why do you ask?” 

“Let me see that.” A pause. There’s rustling, and the sound of glass breaking further down the cave. Viktor gets up to go closer to the cave entrance to hear them for longer. 

“I don’t trust him,” Silco’s voice echoes gently. Viktor won’t be able to hear them for long. “I don’t think he’s actually taking care of Viktor either.” 

“Oh I know…” her voice fades out, then comes back. “...skin and bones.”

“...taking care of him?”

“I don’t know… trust him.”

Viktor takes his time walking back to the edge of the pond. Once he sits, Rio places her head in his lap, blocking his work, but Viktor didn’t feel like working on his boat any longer either way. 

He hopes that the open invitation to The Last Drop remains. 

Later, when night falls and the doctor still hasn’t unlocked the door for Viktor to come inside and rest, he goes to look for the broken glass and medicine. It is not the sickly green color the mine worker got, but it is not the shimmering pink that the doctor has been using for medicine and experiments. 

Instead it’s a new color, one Viktor has not seen the doctor work on before. It’s a blue, and it pulses a brighter color when Viktor nudges a shard of glass with the end of his cane. 

Silco’s words echo through his mind as he turns back to wait for the doctor to open the door. 

“I don’t trust him.” 

Rio’s breathing is much too labored. 

It rattles in her chest, where she lays on the ground, too heavy to be moved by Viktor. The doctor left an hour ago, mumbling to himself about supplies and medicine and something Viktor couldn’t make out. Viktor hadn’t tried to stop him, knowing that sometimes the doctor got into his own head, and needed to leave to clear it. 

He regrets that now, listening to the rattle of Rio’s lungs. Viktor presses a hand against her chest, feeling the rattling of her labored inhale. 

After a moment, he presses his ear to her chest to hear it as well. Her entire body seems to shake with the force of her struggle to breathe, and the sound is familiar in the worst type of way. 

They lay there together for a while. Rio’s stuttering breathing, the rattling in her chest, and Viktor sometimes murmuring words of comfort, reminded of another time he did the same thing. 

It is horribly different and yet so familiar at the same time. He is lying on the floor of the cave, the stone digging into his hip. He is lying on a threadbare mattress holding his mothers hand.

Viktor is in two places at once, two times at once. He is there and he is here, he is nowhere and everywhere. 

Everything has changed and yet everything is still the same, he realizes with frightening clarity. He presses his face against Rio just a bit tighter, but not too much, not enough to cause her pain. 

He will never escape the night his mother died, Viktor thinks to himself. For the rest of his life, there will always be a version of him laying on her chest, listening to the rattling of her breathing, until it finally stopped. 

Sometimes, he thinks that’s the worst part of that night. That moment that will live forever in him. The limbo of knowing the end is near and being unable to do anything about it. 

In the worst moments though, he knows he’s wrong. The worst part of that night, before his father came home from work, was when the rattling stopped and Viktor begged and pleaded and cried for his mother to breathe, to inhale no matter how painful. 

Because she couldn’t– wouldn’t –leave him here alone. She had to stay. 

The doctor’s footsteps break through the memory Viktor found himself trapped in. It’s almost startling, to not feel the fabric of his mothers shirt in his hands, or the smell of Grey rot leaking into the air. Instead his hands rest on Rio’s smooth skin, and the only scent in the air is the scent of dampness from the rain yesterday.

“Viktor,” he greets, in the same raspy voice he has. There is no concern in his voice. 

Viktor gently runs his hand over Rio’s head, gaining a weak trill from her in response, but nothing else. He doesn’t speak for a moment. 

“She’s dying,” Viktor murmurs. The doctor nods.

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, the not so secret truth. It is an ugly truth, one that Viktor can’t deny, but it hurts all the same coming out, as though he’s spitting pieces of glass. 

“I can save her,” the doctor eventually says. “I will need some help.” 

Viktor is already nodding. He wonders what it will be, if it will be like the girl with the mangled arm or the burn on the woman. His stomach churns at both of those thoughts. The bile only threatens to rise when he thinks of that sickly green “medicine” the doctor gave away. 

Alive is alive, repeats in his head. 

But the doctor does not instruct him to help drag Rio into the laboratory. Instead, the man stands a bit taller, glancing between Rio and Viktor as if trying to decide something. 

“Go and gather the flowers she eats, child. She will need more food when she is stronger.” 

Oh. Viktor almost feels bad for imagining the horrors he’s seen here. After just a moment of processing, he grabs his cane and rises, petting Rio’s head one last time. 

“Gather as many as you can,” the doctor instructs, not unkind, simply firm. 

“Alright,” Viktor returns. His head feels like it’s full of molasses, thick and syrupy.

A part of him is still laying on his mother’s chest, after all. He has barely learned how to live with that part of him constantly there. 

“She must survive,” the doctor says. “You understand this.”

He does. He doesn’t. He thinks of the pain his mother was in, the pain Rio’s currently in. 

He thinks of the pain of losing them though. And it is selfish, it is so selfish, but he wants Rio to live. 

Viktor doesn’t want to lose anyone else. 

The doctor waves him off, and Viktor isn’t sure what happens next. He gathers every one of the glowing flowers that he can find. They are crushed in his pockets as he grabs more, and more, every single one that he sees as he wanders the caves near the doctor’s home. 

He takes a few hours to do this. His fingers are glowing with their residue, little beacons of light in the darker areas of the caves. He only turns to head back to the doctor when his pockets are full and his arms can’t hold any more. 

Rio is no longer outside the lab. She is not in her pond either, the surface still and smooth as glass. With a large, shuddering breath, he steps towards the closed door. 

It is not locked. 

Alive is alive is alive is alive–

It’s worse than before. Giant tubes stick out of Rio, her skin pulsing. Her eyes are glazed over with blue liquid, blinking tears whenever she closes her eyes. Pained gasps leave Rio’s lips as she cries out the moment her milky blue eyes lock onto him. 

Sometimes, death is a blessing. 

The bulbs fall from his arms as he rushes forward, knees cracking harshly on the ground as he lands by her head. Rio cries out again , more desperate than the last time, as he bends over her head to hug her as best he can. 

Her breathing isn’t ragged any longer, but it is labored. The pain seems to radiate from her, ragged inhales and breathy exhales that make the front of Viktor’s shirt damp with moisture. 

“There is no need to cry, child. She will survive.” 

He gasps, reeling back to look at the doctor. He holds one of the glowing flowers between his thin fingers. 

A part of Viktor wants to rage, and say the new curse words he overheard from Silco. Another part of him wants to cry. 

The rest of him though, the rest of him screams that he is not safe here, he potentially never has been safe with the doctor. 

“Why?” is all he can manage, coming out choked and raw from his throat. 

The doctor stares at him as though Viktor has asked something he doesn’t know the answer to. After a moment, he shrugs callously. 

“I thought you understood. She must survive for my research.” 

Viktor does understand, in a way. Not in the way the doctor wants him to. His hands reach for his cane. 

He understands now what a fool he’s been to trust this man. There are no limits the doctor heeds. There is nothing he won’t do. 

Viktor has never been exempt from the examination table. There have only ever been better subjects. 

He crushes the flowers under his foot as he leaves. 

The doctor does not stop him.

Chapter Text

The first snow of the year came the night Viktor fled the doctors. 

The days had been slowly getting colder, Rio hadn’t done well with it. Viktor hadn’t either, but he was used to ignoring his own aches and pains, the way his knee would throb before it got cold, the way sickness tended to make his lungs ache. 

Still, the first flake of grey tinted snow falling before his eyes is a surprise. Viktor holds out his hand to let the snowflake fall into his palm, where it melts immediately. 

If he’s lucky, that will be the snow tonight. Light to fall and quick to melt, not the kind of snow that sticks around and makes life itself colder. Another grey tinted snowflake falls into his palm. 

He’s not exactly sure where he is, now that he takes a look around. Rio’s wails still echo in his ears, a sound he’s not sure is ever truly going to leave him. All Viktor had been focused on was one step in front of the other, the sound of his cane against the ground. 

He could be halfway across Zaun and he wouldn’t have noticed. It’s already too late, only the glow of neon lights highlighting brothels and restaurants he can’t afford to eat at either way. 

Viktor limps out of the main street, heading towards a small alley tucked between two buildings both looking on the edge of collapse. It’s not the best spot he should be stopping at Zaun in, but exhaustion suddenly weighs down on him heavier than anything he’s felt before. 

It’s in the small alley that he evaluates himself. Thankfully, he’s wearing a long sleeve shirt, though the ends of the sleeves frayed and coming apart. His shoes are still stained with the glowing remains of flowers. 

But that’s all he has. 

Viktor almost laughs. In a rush to leave the doctor, he hadn’t thought about taking anything. His mother’s threadbare blanket, the water damaged photo, Axel’s broken watch, any spare clothes he had, and his tools. 

All of it, gone. Left behind in the cave with Rio, a part of him left behind he’ll never fully be able to get back. 

For a moment, he considers going back. It would no doubt take several more hours of walking, but his knee burns at the thought alone. 

He can’t see Rio like that again. Even if a small part of him screams at his own selfishness for leaving her like that. Viktor simply can’t bring himself to. 

Leaning against the wall of the decrepit building, Viktor is overcome with a wave of shame that almost brings him down to his knees. 

Someone else would be able to go. Someone else would be able to stand up to the doctor and tell him that what he’s doing is wrong. Someone else would be able to tell Miss Maisey that his ring was not hers to take. 

Someone else, someone stronger than Viktor. 

He’s tired though. He’s tired physically, but more crucial, he’s tired on a level he didn’t know was possible. 

He’s tired of what his life has become. 

Tired of sleeping on floors. Of burns and experimental medicine. Of stealing for a meal. Of adults who look down at him like he’s nothing but still expect him to be better than them, or adapt to things they can’t imagine. Perhaps they simply don’t care to. 

“I miss máma ,” he whispers to himself, in another moment of pure selfishness. 

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud, allowed it to become an outside thought and not just an inside desire. But he thinks of the foundling house, and the doctor’s cave, and suddenly all he wants is their old home back, to lay under the covers with his parents. 

He wants his mother to whisper stories while his father snores against his back. The moments of peace were rare, and they had so little. 

How foolish of him not to realize he had everything back then. He simply didn’t realize it. 

Something falls further down the alley, the rattle of trash falling on the ground. Someone emerges from where they were hiding, a man still young in adulthood. His hair is so dirty that the blonde appears brown, and dirt streaks his cheeks. 

He has a look of hunger on his face. Viktor wonders if the same is on his own face. 

“Beat it,” the man says, “ain’t no place for you here.” 

The words hit in an unexpected blow, but Viktor accepts them for the truth they are. The alleyway isn’t meant for him, it’s not his space and this man has obviously claimed it for the night. 

But deep down, he wonders if the man means it in general. As though life has no place for him anymore. 

“Sorry,” Viktor mumbles, picking himself up. 

His leg aches. His chest is tight from the cold and pushing himself to walk so much. He’s almost sure he’s got blisters on his fingers from gripping his cane tightly. 

With a heavier limp than before, Viktor exits the alley and searches for a better place to spend the night on the streets. 

This part of the Lanes is not a place his father would have ever allowed him to go to before. 

Viktor’s not particularly sure why, even now. Sometimes, his father would come back with the brown bottles of liquid Viktor wasn’t even allowed to smell. There were other times his father would come back smelling strange, and Viktor would pretend not to notice the way his mother refused to look at him, and how tense things got after. 

It doesn’t really matter now he supposes. There is no adult to tell him he shouldn’t be here, or make sure he’s eating or has a place to sleep or anything really. 

After all, his mother and father are–well they’re—

Viktor still can’t bring himself to think about it. Admitting that he misses them aloud feels safer, easier, in a way he hadn’t expected. 

But to say aloud that they’re dead is something he still can’t do. 

“Snow’ll come again tonight,” someone says close to him. 

It’s an older woman, the kind who’s somehow managed to live a long life in Zaun. It’s not an easy feat to reach old age when it comes to Zaun, with the air quality being so bad and food sometimes being a luxury. 

Her friend nods solemnly next to her. “Winter is coming early this year. I’m not as prepared for it as I should be. Jaxon is working so hard but…”

“But nothing,” the first woman snaps. “He shouldn’t get to say anything, he’s focusing too much on what those rebels are talking about. As though Piltover would give us anything but their scraps.” 

“I don’t know,” the second woman says, almost whining. “What they say makes sense. I think the two of them will really bring some kind of change…” 

Viktor turns away before he can hear much more of whatever they’re talking about. Any timeline he had in his head is now moved up with the thought of the snow not stopping. 

He was lucky his first night on the street, when the snow didn’t stick to the ground. The chill still took a bite out of him though, and he spent most of the first night curled up in the corner of an–thankfully abandoned this time–alley, shivering and rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. 

He wonders if the doctor cares that he doesn’t come back. Or if the man is performing more horrendous experiments on Rio while Viktor isn’t there to judge him. 

Would the man even care? Or did he already dump Viktor’s belongings, tossed out like yesterday's trash. 

He tells himself it doesn’t matter as he keeps moving. It’s the best way to keep away the cold. 

Three days on the streets and being unable to hide in the caves like before, Viktor finally learns he did learn something from Miss Maisey and Sky. 

He learns he does not like being a thief. 

But pressed with hunger eating him alive, cold making his fingers numb, and more things that he can’t begin to truly imagine, Viktor finds that he doesn’t mind the thought of stealing a blanket or snatching an apple from a vendor stall as he walks by. 

It turns out the best way of being a thief is making sure you’re swift enough to not get caught. 

The first real day on the street, he dares to steal an apple from a stand, and contents himself with that for the rest of the day. That night, he sees a large miner’s jacket someone left unattended only for a moment, and he snatches it up as he walks by, acting as though he’s picking up his own clothing. 

It makes a nice blanket, in a way. It reminds him of his father’s own mining jacket, which was oversized on his father but practically drowns Viktor in the brief moments that his father would let him try it on. The one that he finds is even larger than his fathers, and if his father’s jacket swallowed him then this one engulfs him in thick layers of fabric and the smell of the mines.

There’s a part of him that hates what he’s become. The rest of him cares about survival though. 

By his third day wandering the streets, he might be tired and cold and hungry most of the time, but he’s got a schedule down and a routine to follow. 

He is a survivor, after all. 

He wakes up with his lips blue and a light dusting of snow coating the outside of his stolen jacket being used as a blanket. It’s a good blanket at this point, with a couple different pockets on the inside that are great for storing what limited stolen things he’s picked up. Though the miners probably use it for holding their tools while working. 

Cane lightly tapping on the ground as he walks, Viktor blows warm air from his lungs onto his free hand to get some warmth into it, though it only makes his fingers ache more when he stops blowing, as though remembering how much the cold hurts. With a small huff of irritation, he resolves to ignore it until he can’t any longer. 

This is some of the only time he likes during his day now. Being able to walk silently, ignored by adults the way most children are. Especially children on their own, when orphans are probably more common than adults in Zaun. 

It’s weird being a faceless person in a crowd. He doesn’t mind it, not when his main thought is about scavenging enough to eat and staying warm during the night. 

Maybe if he’s lucky, today he can snatch a bit more than simply an apple or some other idle fruit. His jacket-blanket has many pockets on the inside, perfect for hiding packages of food for later. 

It’s always a risk though, especially when getting away means slipping into a crowd and not running away. He passes by one booth, sitting outside of a shop that has multiple pieces of metalwork inside. Viktor recognizes it vaguely from passing by multiple times, always looking at the metal and clockwork. 

He likes to look at the booth the man runs. Most of the time, it has pieces of clockwork that would work perfectly, and timepieces that Viktor wouldn’t get to see otherwise. The man who runs the booth reminds him of Vander in a way, he’s larger than most and an accent like Vander has. 

He’s there today as well, setting out pocketwatches with a critical eye, sometimes even lifting the pieces to examine them closer. He gives Viktor a glance, but other than that doesn’t pay too much attention to him. 

It’s the way Viktor prefers it either way. He doesn’t like too much attention anymore. Adults ask too many questions, they get too concerned. As though they don’t understand that Viktor’s trying to do the same as them, survive. 

“Back again, eh?” the man eventually says. “Not often kids stop over by here.” 

Viktor shrugs. “I like clocks.” 

The man chuckles, reaching over to hand Viktor a gold watch. It wasn’t broken like Axel’s watch, and ticked perfectly with time. Set in the center is a large blue stone, a crystal of some kind. Viktor runs his thumb over it, feeling the faceted face of the crystal. 

“Sure, kid,” the man says, in the indulgent tone adults use when they don’t believe a child. 

Viktor places the watch back down, looking over some of the metal pieces laid out. He looks at a few of them as he mourns the pieces that he left behind in the doctor's lab. He was going to have to start all over again, and it would be even harder this time without his tools. 

Thinking of tools though, Viktor can’t help but notice a few of them laid out on the table. They probably belonged to the man, since he seems as adept as Viktor himself in fixing things. Though some of the tools are older, in need of maintenance and repairs, but it’s still better than having no tools. 

Like Viktor currently has. Only a cane and the large jacket-blanket to his name. And the jacket-blanket isn’t really even his. 

The man seems distracted. There’s a screwdriver relatively close to the piece Viktor’s currently looking at. Maybe with that, he can start repairing things he finds again, maybe he could barter instead of just stealing. 

It would be so easy to reach over and slip it into the sleeve of his jacket-blanket. Viktor’s fingers tighten around the handle of his screwdriver before he can even think about it. 

“Ya know, kid,” the man suddenly says, making Viktor jump in place. “It’s a special kind of daring that drives someone to steal in front of others.” 

Immediate heat floods Viktor’s cheeks. He drops the screwdriver quickly, outright flinching when it rattles against the table. 

“I wasn’t going to,” he lies, stuttering over it. 

The man doesn’t look too upset though. He shakes his head, rising from his seat, and he isn’t as large as Vander but he still manages to look intimidating. Viktor flinches back, unable to meet the man’s eyes. 

“And where’d you get that jacket from then? Looks awfully familiar.” 

Well, this couldn’t be going any worse. The man rounds the corner of his booth, standing in front of Viktor with his hands on his hips. Viktor can’t even bring himself to defend his actions, staring down at his threadbare shoes. 

The man puts a hand on his shoulder, wheeling Viktor behind the booth and then helping him onto his vacated seat. 

“Alright, you stay right there. If anyone comes by, you tell them I’ll be right back. If you stay here and behave, I’ll see about getting you some food, alright?” 

Viktor blinks. Looks down at the table he’s suddenly in charge of. Blinks again. The man waits patiently for a reply. 

“Alright,” he agrees. Then, biting his lip, Viktor dares, “Can I look at the rest of your watches?” 

“As long as you don’t break anything or steal any of my tools,” the man agrees easily. “Stay put, alright?” 

Viktor actually doesn’t feel too bad as the man walks off, seeming to trust Viktor with his livelihood. It’s a weird feeling, a mix of shame like he’s in trouble and excitement at working on something new. 

He ignores the things laid out on the table. Those work, he doesn’t care too much about what’s already working. In a small box near him though, are pieces the man hadn’t laid out just yet, timepieces that are off or simply broken in general. 

Viktor picks through the box, picking out the pieces he needs and taking the best the man has to offer. It’s not long before he’s picking up tools, putting them together until he’s looking at the guts of a watch without the cover. The man doesn’t seem to have one of those though, not that it matters to Viktor right now. 

With just a few twists of a screwdriver to wind it up, Viktor might actually have a functioning watch. The man probably won’t let him keep it, but the accomplishment sat heavy and warm in his chest. 

“Where’s Benzo?” 

There’s a woman in front of him suddenly, looking down her nose at Viktor. She has something held in her hand, but Viktor can’t tell what it is. 

This “Benzo” must be the man. Viktor shrugs lightly, not sure what to tell her. 

“He said he would be right back,” he answers, tilting his head. “What are you holding?” 

She holds it up to show him. It’s a rather strange white mask, which shimmers lightly even with how dirty it is. It reminds Viktor of a doll, in a way, though he can’t remember ever seeing one that looked like that. 

Viktor doesn’t touch it, something unsettled in his gut tells him this isn’t something he wants to mess with. At least not now. 

“He’ll be back soon,” Viktor reassures her. 

He hopes Benzo will be back, at least. He’s not sure how he’s going to be able to make sales or trade, not when all he can really think about trading for is food. Benzo seems like the kind of man who would prefer money. 

Benzo probably has his own food. Viktor grumbles and picks up the screwdriver once more. 

Just as he thought, a few twists in the winding mechanism and the inner workings of the clock tick tick tick in time just as they should. There are no hands for the watch just yet, no face, but it does what it’s meant to do. 

“Putting the poor thing to work already?” a smooth voice breaks Viktor out of his thoughts. “Benzo, how could you.”

“Oh fuck off with that,” Benzo grumbles. He looks Viktor up and down, probably trying to guess if he’s stolen or not. 

Viktor places the screwdriver down, looking up at the pair. He sits up a little straighter as he meets Silco’s interested gaze. 

Silco hasn’t changed much, though it doesn’t feel like it’s been long since Viktor has seen him. He seems happier than when he came to visit the doctor, no visible line of tension on his shoulders. 

Between thin fingers he holds a cigarette, which leaks loose coils of smoke into the air that seem to drift right to Viktor and make his lungs ache with the need to cough. Silco is dressed the same as when Viktor last saw him, with clothes that have multiple patches on them and dark colors of red and black. 

“You messing with my tools, kid?” Benzo asks, though he doesn’t sound irritated. “Those parts are new, ya know. You break ‘em and you’re gonna have to buy them.” 

Viktor frowns petulantly. “It’s not broken.”

Benzo scoffs, reaching over and picking up Viktor’s latest invention. His eyebrows almost fly off his forehead when he holds it up to his ear and hears the consistent ticking from the inside. 

“I’ll be damned,” Benzo mumbles, then rounds on Silco. “You could have told me your little thief was good with tools.” 

“Where did you hear that, hm?” Silco rivals, coming to lean his shoulder against the wall next to Viktor, clearly trying to get a look at what Viktor was using and working on. 

He tries his best not to flinch at being called a thief. It’s true, but the word is almost always an insult though, spat out to him or to other people who have no choices. 

“Well, he’s your problem now,” Benzo says to Silco, then turns back to Viktor. “Anyone come by while I was gone?” 

Viktor shrugs. “A woman had a mask I think she wants you to buy. I told her that you’d be back.”

Benzo makes a grunt of acknowledgement, still holding the piece Viktor was working on as he ushers Viktor from his seat. Viktor holds his cane tightly, lips pursing as he debates asking for what he just made, but then Silco puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on then,” Silco says, tone booking no room for argument. 

He debates arguing for a moment, bringing up a hand to muffle a cough that’s not really a cough. It’s the beginning of one, irritation from the cigarette smoke despite the welcome memories of his father that come from the smell. 

Silco takes another long drag and tosses the cigarette somewhere off to the side. When he exhales the smoke, he does so by turning his body and making sure it doesn’t go in Viktor’s direction. 

Then Silco turns back to him expectedly, clearly waiting for something. Was he asked a question? Viktor can’t quite remember. The day is warming up slightly, and shifting from sitting to standing makes him impossibly dizzy for a moment. He blinks up at Silco once he feels like his feet are underneath him, waiting for whatever’s meant to come. 

Something on Silco’s face changes, softens. Viktor can’t tell what it means. The hand is back on his shoulder, leading him away from Benzo’s stall.

“I thought you were working for that crazy doctor down there,” Silco eventually says. “So you can imagine my surprise when several people came to The Last Drop to tell me about a thief with a cane, stealing apples and a… well let’s say a familiar jacket. What happened with the doctor?”

He grips his blanket-jacket a little bit tighter, looking away from Silco and down into his lap. The thought of parting with it hurts, mainly because he’s not sure he’s going to be able to find something else to keep him warm before night falls. 

After a moment though, he manages, shrugging out of the large thing and holding it timidly out to Silco. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

The jacket really is heavy when he’s just trying to hold it and not wearing it. Thick leather and for the first time, he notices a large ‘V’ stitched at the inside collar. 

For a single, brief moment, he wonders if someone did that knowing he would pick it up. That’s silly though, and Viktor dismisses it easily. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Silco says, ignoring Viktor’s hand holding out the jacket. 

Right, there was another question there. Viktor tries his best to think of how to explain what happened, why he fled and found stealing on the streets a better life than with the mad doctor of Zaun. 

So he shrugs, bringing the jacket to his lap once again. If Silco wouldn’t take it, then he would hold onto it for a bit longer. 

“It wasn’t safe anymore,” Viktor eventually mumbles. 

It takes a moment to think to himself that he isn’t really sure it was ever safe there. Perhaps the doctor was simply keeping him around until he got old enough to experiment on, like Rio. 

“I see,” Silco says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Well, come along then.”

It’s not really said like an option. Silco waits, clearly waiting for Viktor to orient himself, waving away Viktor’s attempt to return the jacket-blanket. It settles back heavily on his shoulders when Silco helps him put it back on. 

He starts walking, away from the deepest parts of the Lanes that lead to the Sumps, and towards the area that eventually leads up to the Promenade with the help of an elevator. This area is more lively, in a way, with more people walking around to where they need to go, making their trades, talking with each other. 

It’s also the way to the enforcer station on the Promenade. Viktor swallows past the lump in his throat, feeling like a man heading for the gallows. 

Did they lock up children in Stillwater? Viktor didn’t think so, but enforcers aren’t the most reliable people. Viktor’s heard of them arresting Zaunites simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, with years spent in that prison with no hopes for a trial or escaping. 

Well, a sad part of him thinks, resigned to whatever fate Silco decides for him, at least I won’t have to sleep on the streets anymore. 

Silco reaches over to him, keeping one hand on Viktor’s shoulders as they head to the busier area. It is a leash and a collar, even though Silco’s hold is so light that he’s pretty certain he could slip away and try to make a run for it. 

Well, if he could run. Stupid cane. Stupid snow and stupid exhaustion and stupid hunger. He’s just so tired–

He can see the prison now, in his mind. Maybe his cell will have a bed. Maybe they’ll let him keep his blanket-jacket. That seems like asking for too much though. 

“How long ago did you leave that quack of a doctor?” Silco asks, breaking Viktor out of his spiral. 

Viktor shrugs. He’s not really sure. “A couple days ago?” 

Silco doesn’t look like he believes him. There’s a grimace to his mouth, lips pursed into thin lines, brows furrowed. He’s even slowed his pace to match Viktor’s slower one. 

“And when did you last have something to eat?” 

Another shrug. Viktor’s not even going to attempt to guess that one. It makes Silco’s frown deepen though, so he ducks his head in shame to avoid the gaze. 

“Sorry.” 

Silco’s fingers tighten for a moment on Viktor’s shoulder, the leather of his jacket-blanket creaking underneath the tension. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Silco reassures, fingers easing. 

He doesn’t say anything more though, wandering further in the Lanes with Viktor at his side. The silence feels suffocating, a heavy weight against Viktor that he’s not sure he can handle when he’s already struggling to carry himself. 

Silco glances at him again, then looks forward. It hurts to think that it will be Silco, the same man who saved his life, who will be handing him over to the enforcers. 

“We’re almost there, a little bit longer now,” Silco suddenly says, bringing the panic down even harder on Viktor’s chest. 

Viktor stops, he can’t help it. It’s like his bum leg refuses to work even further, the knee aching fiercely at the thought of bending. Silco stops as well, looking down at him. Viktor can’t place the expression. Concern? Irritation? The doctor would look at him the same way at times, but more critically. As though Viktor was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. 

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says earnestly, passionately, voice cracking in desperation, “I didn’t want to steal, I didn’t know what else to do. Please don’t take me to the enforcers, I don’t— máma says it’s where bad people go and I didn’t mean to–”

It’s his punishment, isn’t it? For leaving Rio without helping. For not warning the man about the sickly green medicine that’s not medicine. For being on an upper level of the mine when it collapsed and making it out when his father couldn’t. 

“Hey, hey it’s alright,” Silco interrupts, voice soft but also dangerous, much too calm for Viktor. “I’m not taking you to the enforcers, why would you think that?” 

Viktor can’t bring it in himself to speak for a moment, taking a shuddering inhale as he holds his cane tighter. He wants his mothers ring, her blanket, but he doesn’t have any of that. He can only fist his fingers in the thick leather around his arms, feeling it creak under the pressure. 

“That’s–that’s where thief’s go, and I stole,” he whispers, shame coursing through him. 

Silco’s fingers tighten on his shoulder. Viktor looks at him pleadingly, eyes watering, breathing barely controlled. 

“I can give it back, please let me give it back Mr. Silco. I don’t want to go to Stillwater,” he mumbles. 

It’s desperation in a way. The way he reaches up to grab Silco’s sleeve on the hand holding his shoulder, clinging to him as though it will all be forgiven. Silco looks so upset too, as though his plan has been found out and hadn’t been prepared for a crying child to interrupt him.

He rubs his face against his sleeve, dirtying the leather, and mentally he adds that to the list in his head of debts he owes before going to prison. 

Maybe they’ll lighten his sentence if he comes to Stillwater with no debts. 

“Viktor,” Silco says seriously, gaining his attention once more. “I am not taking you to the enforcers. I would never hand over one of our own to them, and I wouldn’t allow anyone to do the same. Now dry those tears, let’s get something to eat.” 

Out from some pocket that he can’t see clearly through the tears, Silco pulls out a soft handkerchief, pressing it into Viktor’s hand. He stares at it for a moment before rubbing it over his cheeks to clear the tears and snot, still sniffling. 

It feels less like a death sentence this time as Silco starts walking once again. This time it feels more like a guide, a tether leading him to safety the way a lighthouse will for ships. 

The Last Drop looks closed when Silco shoulders open the door. It looks the same as when he was last there with Sky, with dim lights and the smell of alcohol in the air. Viktor hands the soiled handkerchief to Silco, tucking himself further into his jacket-blanket. 

“Van!” Silco shouts, making Viktor flinch at the sudden noise. “I found your jacket!” 

Viktor hears Vander before he sees him. The mountain of a man doesn’t exactly move quietly, heavy footsteps coming from the kitchen before the man emerges, cleaning his hand with a rag as he moves. 

He seems… more imposing than Viktor remembers. In a small movement, Viktor takes a half step back, hiding as much of himself behind Silco without it being obvious. 

“Yeah? Where’d you find it? I’ve been looking for the bloody thing everywhere,” Vander says easily. He’s all calm, throwing the rag over his shoulder before he sees Viktor and pauses. 

The ‘V’ stitched into the collar suddenly makes a horrifying amount of sense. It had just been draped over a chair out in the Lanes, abandoned with just enough time for Viktor to take it as he limped past. 

It wasn’t just a miner’s jacket like his fathers own that he stole. He stole Vander’s miner jacket. 

Looking up at Silco in horror, Viktor takes another half step back, quickly shrugging off the jacket and placing it on a table nearest to him. 

Yeah, he is going to jail. He’s going to spend the rest of his days in Stillwater, staring at prison walls and eating prison food and never seeing the light of day ever again. 

Silco puts a hand on his shoulder before he can bolt once again. His grip isn’t unbreakable, Viktor can twist and get himself out of it, he’s sure, but it is a firm hold. 

“Viktor was lucky enough to find it and bring it back,” Silco says smoothly, giving Vander a look. Viktor recognizes it from his mother, she would give his father the same look when she wanted him to understand something Viktor wasn’t meant to know. 

But Vander nods easily, and doesn’t scoff the way his father used to. His eyes are soft when they finally look at Viktor again. 

“Thanks lad, that jacket means a lot to me. Memories, ya know?” Vander says, glancing back at Silco before looking at Viktor again. “Why don’t you hang on to it for a bit. Don’t do me much good anymore.” 

Viktor really wants to argue that. It’s a nice jacket made out of materials that aren’t easy to come by. With the proper care, that jacket was something that could last a lifetime in Zaun. It was the kind of thing someone would keep to pass along to their children, if they had them. 

Viktor can’t accept it. He shakes his head slightly, glancing up at Silco, only to look away when the other man met his gaze easily. It hurts in a way that he can’t apologize for stealing the jacket, not when he doesn’t know Viktor actually stole it. 

“Vander was just about to make lunch, why don’t you join us?” Silco says easily, keeping his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. 

And that is how, ten minutes later, Viktor finds himself sitting in the same booth near the back that he once sat with Sky at, Vander’s jacket placed next to him thanks to Silco, cane leaned against the table, and a large slice of buttered bread on the table before him. 

“I was thinking of soup today,” Vander says to Silco with a heavy glance at Viktor. “What do you think, lad?” 

Viktor shrugs. He’s grateful for any kind of food at this point. He picks up the sleeve of Vander’s jacket to fiddle with it, staring down at his lap. 

The pair of them whisper at that, small gestures flying between them like they’re speaking their own sort of language. Viktor, staring down at his lap, doesn’t see this. 

“Eat your bread while Vander makes the soup,” Silco says gently. “We have more if you want it.” 

It’s gone within seconds. Already his stomach aches from it, too much too soon after barely anything eaten for days. But it’s warm and the butter is melted and Viktor can’t remember the last time he had something as indulgent as butter, so he doesn’t utter a single sound of complaint. 

He’s not sure how long it takes until there’s the noise of Vander bringing in soup. His brain sort of feels like the soup, thick and muffled, not able to stay consistent. The Last Drop is warm with heat, unlike the outside that he’s spent in so long it’s been cold. 

“So Benz’ found him?” Vander asks when he places the bowl down, looking at Silco. 

Viktor nods before Silco can answer. “He kept my clock.” 

He’s not really sure he meant the doctor or Benzo when he says it. It wasn’t really a clock that Benzo kept, more of just the pieces of it that he made work. And the doctor didn’t really keep anything, more like Viktor abandoned it all. 

“Benz’ did?” Vander asks, frowning lightly. 

The soup steams in front of him. Vander sets down another bowl in front of Silco, then goes to get himself one. It smells rich with herbs and roots, Viktor thinks he might have had this one before. Potato, maybe. He hopes it’s potato soup. 

Realizing Vander is still looking at him for an explanation, Viktor shrugs. “I made it while he was gone. It works, just needs a home.” 

“A home?” 

Silco blows on his own soup before taking a bite. Viktor feels horribly envious of it, but doesn’t make a move. He only clicks his tongue, trying to think of the proper words. 

“For the watch. I made the insides. It needs a home to stay in. Housing.” 

Janna, he’s tired. Vander nods, like he doesn’t really understand what Viktor is talking about but doesn’t want to press. 

It doesn’t matter. Silco reaches over, pushing the bowl of soup a little closer to Viktor. “Are you full from the bread?”

Viktor shakes his head furiously. It simply feels like too much, and a part of him is still in disbelief that he won’t be spending the rest of his days staring at the prison walls of Stillwater. 

He picks up the spoon, still feeling like an imposter. He’s half expecting Benzo to jump out from a corner with enforcers on his heels to drag him away. Maybe that was the plan all along, to make Viktor let his guard down before pouncing. 

One bite of soup later, and Viktor decides that he doesn’t care. He’s never tasted anything so delicious before. It’s almost too rich, the heat burns his tongue. He doesn’t care, he immediately shovels another bite into his mouth. 

“Don’t eat too fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” Vander laughs. Silco is still eating silently beside Viktor, keeping him trapped in the booth, though he does look at Viktor from the corner of his eye, like Viktor wouldn’t notice. 

He decides he doesn’t care. Viktor eats soup until he feels like he’s going to be sick, and then he keeps eating. His stomach churns from so much food after so long surviving only on scraps and whatever leftover food the doctor had to spare for him. 

“Alright, let’s give that a moment to settle and then you can have more if you’re still hungry,” Silco says suddenly, pushing the empty bowl back from Viktor. 

He almost complains, but stops himself at the last second. Complaining wouldn’t do him any good, and if he does complain then Silco and Vander might not give him more later. Or they might really hand him over to the enforcers for stealing the jacket still draped in his lap. 

It’s warm in the bar, or at least the area they’re in, it’s warm. Silco eventually pulls out a journal that he lays on the table, scribbling in it while leaving most of the page open for Vitkor to see. He looks on curiously, looking at order totals and notes written in fine penmanship, like the doctor’s own neat scrawl. 

It takes Viktor a bit to realize he’s probably not supposed to be looking at records like this, but Silco doesn’t move it away, and Vander eventually leaves to “start setting up the bar” for the first customers in only a few hours. 

Viktor notes that, silently. That’s probably when he’ll be asked to leave, or get kicked out. If he makes himself too much of a nuisance, he won’t be invited back. He’ll have to leave before they actually ask him to. 

His stomach aches terribly. Maybe he should have only had the bread, but how could he resist?

“You were working for the doctor, weren’t you?” Silco asks after a moment, after he writes a total down at the bottom of the page. 

Viktor silently makes sure his math is correct. It is.

“Yes,” he eventually answers, when Silco arches a brow at him and clearly expects a verbal reply. 

“I didn’t know he hired many assistants. Did he pay well for the position?” 

Viktor almost laughs, a small giggle leaving his lips, but he muffles it before it can become a real laugh. 

“The doctor didn’t pay me,” he explains, when Silco turns his full attention to him. 

“Then why work for him?” 

Viktor shrugs. “It was better than sleeping out in the rain.” 

Silco gets a look on his face at that, something stricken, and Vander drops a glass behind the counter, where it shatters. Viktor hadn’t even known he was listening. 

One warm meal and a nice place to sit and he’s already slipping. Viktor admonishes himself as he sits up a little straighter in his seat. 

“I see,” Silco says quietly. “What did you do for him?” 

There’s a quiet voice in Viktor’s mind that tells him to lie. That people in Zaun didn’t like the doctor unless they absolutely had to, and even then ‘liking’ the doctor basically meant begrudging respect for a man they ask the impossible from, and still delivers. 

Vander is looking at him now too, curiosity in his gaze that’s not hidden behind apprehension like Silco’s is. They won’t want to hear about learning how to give stitches or taking care of burns, or Rio and her shimmering blood and experiments that Viktor still sees when he closes his eyes. 

This time, when his stomach rolls, he’s not sure if it’s from eating too much, or the memories. 

He stares down at the table when he finally speaks, fingers twisting into the leather until it creaked under the tension. 

“I took notes for his work,” he murmurs, quiet, “Swept the floor, took care of Rio. Chores, mainly.”

He can still hear the woman’s screams with her burn. And Rio’s cries, with tubes sticking out of her skin. The leather under his hands is grounding in its pain as accidentally pinches his skin. 

“I see,” Silco repeats. “I never thanked you, by the way, for warning Felicia and myself about the... medicine. Did you ever see the doctor give bad medicine to people?” 

Viktor really, really doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s actually pretty sure he’s going to be sick now, from the soup and bread that sinks like a rock into his stomach and the images of bloody bandages in his mind's eye. 

Silco suddenly grabs his empty bowl, still smelling of potato soup, and shoves it underneath Viktor’s chin just in time for him to vomit his meal into. He clutches at it desperately, more so holding Silco’s hand than the bowl as the food leaves his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps as soon as he can, feeling awful and gross and ready for nothing but sleep but he doesn’t want to go back out onto the street again. 

It’s going to be cold and wet and he won’t be able to take his jacket-blanket with him, and his mother’s blanket is still with the doctor, if the man hasn’t thrown it out or burned it. And now he’s gross from vomiting, and Silco and Vander probably think that he’s just another gross street urchin trying to get something from them. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Silco murmurs easily, free hand going to Viktor’s back. “Sometimes, when people don’t eat for a while, eating more than usual can make them sick.”

That makes sense. Viktor still feels like the grossest person in the world as Silco pulls away to get rid of his vomit, while Vander disappears into the kitchen. 

Probably just to get away from Viktor and his grossness. 

Viktor lays his head in his arms on the table, trying his best to take deep breaths. Maybe if he asks, he can stay here until Vander has to open the bar like he was talking about. 

Maybe not though, it’s more than likely that they won’t want anything to do with him and his grossness now, not even to mention being so ungrateful for the food that he would vomit it all up. 

Silco returns with no bowl and a damp rag that he uses to clean Viktor’s face with gentle strokes, the same way he brushes his pen against paper, like Viktor is something delicate. Vander comes from the back, this time with a bowl of simple broth, rather than a full bowl of soup. 

“Eat a few bites of this,” Silco orders easily, handing Viktor another spoon. “Not too much now, we don’t want you to get sick again. Then you can take a shower and we can go get your things from wherever you’ve stashed them, alright?” 

Viktor eats a spoonful of broth without complaint. It is warm enough to irritate his burned tongue slightly, but it’s mellow in taste and Viktor is pretty sure that he won’t vomit it back up immediately. 

“That’s okay,” Viktor manages after he swallows his bite.  

He wasn’t going back to the doctor’s cave. Even if he did, he’s not sure he could. He can’t stomach seeing Rio again. 

“Don’t you want your things, lad?” Vander pipes up, making Viktor jump again. 

For such a large man, it’s clear Vander knows how to be quiet when it suits him best. Silco gives the other man a look, before encouraging Viktor to take another spoonful of broth. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want his things, he wants all the things he left at the doctor’s place. But what he wants and what he needs are two different things, and he has already learned to go without his wants in exchange for what he needs. 

Silco looks at him though, clearly not about to let it go, so Viktor simply shrugs. 

“It’s not safe there,” he eventually murmurs to Silco, hoping the man understands what he means. 

It takes a few seconds before recognition dawns on Silco’s face. It’s clouded over a moment later with something heavy, something dark that makes the man frown down at him. 

“You left the doctor in a rush then,” Silco says, and Viktor nods, shoulders slumping in relief that he doesn’t have to explain. 

He takes only a few more spoonfuls of broth before Silco is pushing it away from him. Even after vomiting, and the few spoonfuls he has eaten are enough for him to feel full. Plus, Silco doesn’t let Vander take it away, so it’s still there if he feels like eating more. 

“No matter then, thank you for letting me know though.” 

There isn’t much said after that. At some point, Silco leaves his side to go and talk to Vander at the bar. Music comes floating through the air at some point, a light melody that is just quiet enough to make Viktor relax more.

Viktor leans against the wall next to the booth, brings his jacket-blanket a little tighter around himself, and drifts off without awareness as he slips into sleep with ease. 

“I knew that doctor was shady. Doubt he’s a real doc either way. Probably just performing weird experiments and shit.” 

Silco hums in agreement, lips pressed into a thin line as he glances back at where Viktor is sleeping, curled up impossibly small in the booth. Deep shadows rest underneath the child’s eyes, his form much too skinny for the age Silco can only assume he is. His hair is matted and greasy, unwashed for days. 

Viktor doesn’t look anything like the boy he pulled from the mine explosion. He doesn’t even look like the same kid who came to The Last Drop a few months ago with his friend. Sure, he had looked tired then, but healthier. 

This… the kid wasn’t healthy now. He looks like someone on their last legs, someone who’s living to survive and not simply living. 

“I should have gone back earlier for him,” Silco says, more to himself than to Vander, who is still ranting about the doctor. 

There are many orphans in Zaun, many children who have parents that slip away to Janna before their time should come, be it from the air pollution or mine collapses or harsh winters. At the end of the day, Viktor wasn’t unique in his situation. 

Except he was, in a way. Silco didn’t know of any other kids allowed to work in the mines, even when their parents worked with them. Nor did he know any child who could be pulled from a collapsing mine and not be hysterical afterwards. 

Nor did Silco know any child who could go and apprentice for someone who managed to earn the title of “madman” from the people of Zaun, even if it was in a doctoral setting. Nor did he know any child who could do math upside down, or build watches from scratch parts Benzo kept in a box to hopefully trade for better parts. 

Silco never knew his parents. He was passed from foundling house to foundling house until he met Felicia, and when the two of them had enough, they stayed on the streets until they got jobs in the mines. It had been hard, not a way anyone should live, but they had done it. 

He survived that part of his life because Felicia had been there with him. They would sleep in shifts to make sure people didn’t mess with them. In winter, they slept huddled together to keep warm. They would take turns stealing while the other provided a distraction. 

Viktor didn’t have anyone like that with him though. He brought a friend last time he appeared at The Last Drop, but she wasn’t with him now. 

No wonder the kid hadn’t been doing well. Zaun isn’t built for independence. Community matters more, numbers matter more, their revolution would take off only with the people of Zaun backing it. 

“You didn't know Sil,” Vander sighs, breaking Silco out of his thoughts. 

“Still,” he sighs. “I should have asked when I saw him at that quack of a doctor if he wanted to leave.” 

Vander reaches behind the bar, pouring Silco a glass of his favorite red wine. It’s barely two in the afternoon, but Silco takes a heavy sip of the wine and sighs at the rich taste on his tongue. 

The Last Drop is due to open in an hour. Vander stopped preparing for it the moment he dropped a glass, paying more attention to Viktor and Silco at the table. He still hasn’t started preparing for it. 

Silco has a feeling that the bar will remain closed tonight. It’s still early in the foundation of it, just the start of their reputation, they can’t really afford to close for a night. 

But Silco takes one glance over at Viktor, still curled up impossibly small in the booth, breathing slowly and even, and he knows they won’t be opening the doors tonight. 

“Doubt he would have told ya the truth,” Vander says evenly. It’s true, as much as Silco doesn’t want to think about it. “Poor thing looked ready to bolt when you brought him in.” 

Silco swirls the remains of his wine in his glass, watching the dark red liquid swirl. Viktor had looked petrified when he saw Vander, and Silco could hardly blame him. Though he refrained from telling Vander that the kid had been crying just minutes earlier about spending the rest of his life in jail for stealing Vander’s jacket. 

“Do…” Vander starts, reaching down to clean an already clean glass, “do you think that bastard did any experiments on the kid?” 

Silco finishes off his wine instead of answering that particular question. They would know tonight, after all. The way Vander’s grip on the glass tightens, he seems to realize it too. 

They don’t talk much until Felicia’s shift ends. Viktor hardly stirs at their quiet talking, but Silco notices more often than not the way golden eyes blink open slightly at a loud noise, before the kid would seem to realize where he was and settle back down into sleep. 

The most they do talk about is making sure the couch downstairs has spare blankets draped over it, and whether it will be soft enough for Vitkor, and if they should even bother trying to move Viktor if he’s still sleeping when they get back. 

Felicia has to knock on the bar door when she realizes it’s locked and not open for service. Silco unlocks it with a gesture for her to be quiet, leading her over to Viktor who is still curled up underneath Vander’s jacket. 

“Aw, poor thing,” she cooes quietly, tugging Vander’s jacket up a bit further on Viktor’s shoulder. He doesn’t stir under the light touch. 

“Can you watch him while Vander and I go talk to the doctor?” Silco asks, though he already knows the answer. 

They leave The Last Drop not ten minutes later, Silco with his favorite dagger secured in his belt, Vander wrapping bandages around his knuckles. They don’t speak of it, simply looking at each other with acknowledgement before they head down into the deeper parts of Zaun. 

Silco remembers the way. He’s been down to the mad doctor of Zaun twice now, the first time with Felicia, the second time barely a week after that. Both times he had not accomplished the goal he set out to achieve. 

The second time going down had been much quieter than the first time. He couldn’t get his mind off of Viktor, who looked so different than when he had been in The Last Drop with his little friend. The kid looked tired, exhausted in a way Silco had only ever seen in adults. 

But it was the warning that stuck with him. The way Viktor had whispered to avoid what the doctor gave, despite working from him. He looked afraid, like he was stepping out of line, but still warned Silco and did what he thought was right. 

That was not something most adults would do. Silco had seen too many so called “supporters” of the revolution get promoted in the mines, only to turn their backs on their fellow workers to show their bellies to the Pilties in exchange for money or other benefits. 

When he came down a week later, the mad doctor had slammed opened his door long enough for Silco to ask about Viktor, a pensive look on his face. 

“The child has left,” the doctor had said. 

“You kicked him out?” 

“No,” the mad doctor drawled. “We had a… difference of opinion on my work. I do not know where he went.” 

Then, the door slammed, and Silco went back to The Last Drop and started asking customers if they had seen a boy with a cane about. Most said no, some said yes, but none of them had gotten a solid lead until Benzo came to find them. 

And so they head down, with Silco leading the way with the imposing shadow at his back that is the Hound of the Undercity. 

“The doctor had a large… creature, I’m not sure what it is,” Silco warns as they get closer. “It liked Viktor, but I’m not sure it’s friendly. Just warning you in case we see it.” 

Vander grunts in acknowledgement. It’s the most he’s spoken lately besides a suggestion of stopping to get something for Viktor to wear if the doctor had gotten rid of his things. 

Silently, Silco hopes that the mad doctor hasn’t. Items become precious when you lose your home, the things you hold onto are the most important. Silco had lost all of his at some point, nothing from his childhood remaining. 

The door to the doctor’s lab is closed, sealed shut. Vander storms over to it, knocking loud and imposing while Silco looks around for the creature. Rio, Viktor had called it. It didn’t seem violent to the child, but Silco wasn’t going to take any chances right now. 

Silco only reaches out to put a hand on Vander’s arm when the door finally creaks open. He loves Vander, he does, and his passion and fire and violence are a part of it. But there is a time and a place for such a thing, and Silco needs to determine if this is one of those times. 

With a huff, Vander crosses his arms and glares at the mad doctor, but doesn’t move. Not yet, at least. 

“Yes?” the doctor asks, looking Vander up and down before looking at Silco. He looks tired, even when recognition flashes in his eyes at seeing Silco. 

“We came to collect Viktor’s things. He said he left them here,” Silco says calmly. 

The mad doctor stares. Only for a moment, and the door closes in their faces. Silco can’t say he’s surprised, but he’s still disappointed. Vander, on the other hand, looks ready to murder someone. In particular, the mad doctor. 

“Give it a moment,” Silco whispers to Vander. “You can break the door down in a minute. Let’s see if he gets Viktor’s things first.” 

Part of it is hope, and the other part is realizing that they don’t know what Viktor’s things exactly are. He didn’t want to push Viktor, to ask him what he might have, but the doctor would know, especially if he took Viktor in initially. 

Waiting pays off. Only a few minutes later, when Silco actually starts to wonder if he’ll be able to hold Vander back from breaking down the door, it opens again. 

The mad doctor holds two cloth bags. One is larger than the other, looking to be made out of a blanket of sorts. The other bag is much smaller, and Silco can hear metal clinking inside of it as he holds it out to them. 

“Thank you,” Silco says, to be polite, and because on the off chance that Viktor might have more that the doctor is holding back from them. 

Plus, one never knows when a mad doctor might be needed. Even if Silco doesn’t want anything to do with him now, he’d rather have the mad doctor as an ally of Zaun than with the Pilties. 

Vander takes the larger bag and throws it over his shoulder. Silco can feel the tension and anger rolling off of him in waves, an anger in him that won’t be subdued. The smaller bag is handed to Silco, which he takes easily. 

The doctor nods, moving to close the door. Vander’s boot shoves itself in the way, preventing it from closing this time. 

“Did you even feed the kid while he was here?” Vander growls out, one hand going to the door frame to grip it with white knuckles. 

The mad doctor meets Vander’s gaze evenly. “I gave him what I could spare.” 

What he could spare. Silco almost scoffs, but holds it back, just as he pulls back his hand from Vander in silent permission to continue. 

He never understood people like the mad doctor, or some of the people who run the foundling house who have the same mindset. Silco carries those he cares about close to his chest, with a burning desire to protect. He went without many meals as a child so Felicia could eat when they barely had enough for one of them, much less for two. 

How could someone watch a child waste away in front of them, and not do anything about it? 

That’s one of the most infuriating things, Silco thinks, is that the mad doctor seems so normal. A little thin, as most people in Zaun are, but his cheeks aren’t sunken from hunger like Viktor’s are. He’s not pale like Viktor is. 

Silco hates that giving what he could spare makes Viktor sound like a stray dog surviving on scraps thrown at him. It's no better than Piltover throwing their scraps to the people of Zaun and proclaiming their generosity. 

“What you could spare?” Vander asks darkly. “Couldn’t even give the kid a full meal, could you?” 

The doctor frowns heavily, making the lines on his face appear deeper. “I don’t need commentary on how I treat my assistants.” 

“Aren’t assistants meant to be paid?” Silco chimes in, fully aware he’s making things worse for the doctor. “Viktor seemed to do a lot of work for you for barely anything in return.” 

The mad doctor raises a hand, dismissive, until Vander’s fist makes contact with his face. There’s a sickening crack of bone, not the nose, because Vander’s arc of his arm was a bit off, but from his cheekbone. The mad doctor lands in a crumpled pile, not moving. 

It would be so easy to let it continue. Vander raises his arm again, the knuckles of his right hand already bloody, ready to bring down justice the way Zaun does it. 

But Silco reaches out, grabbing Vander’s wrist to stop him. There’s always a risk with this, Vander is a large man who won’t stop unless he wants to. A couple times in the past, Silco has tried to stop him in the same way only to get thrown to the ground when Vander didn’t pull the next punch.

Thankfully though, after a second Vander drops his arm. The mad doctor doesn’t move, not even to flinch, though he is still breathing. 

“Come on, let’s get back to the bar,” Silco says. “Felicia is going to want to be off babysitting duty.” 

With a grunt, Vander secures Viktor’s bag a little more securely over his shoulder, and they leave the cave and the doctor on the ground, still bleeding and hurt. 

Hopefully, it will be the last time either of them ever see it. 

Somewhere deep down though, Silco knows this won’t be the last time he sees the mad doctor, 

Felicia is sitting at the bar when Vander and Silco return, well after the sun has set. She swirls around the straw in her cup, not drinking it just yet. Viktor is no longer sleeping in the booth, curled up. 

“Where’s Viktor?” Silco asks, coming up beside her. 

Felicia looks over at the both of them, giving them small smiles. “He woke up a bit after you left so I gave him a bath and he’s sleeping on the couch in the basement.” 

Well, that’s a relief. Silco slides into the seat beside her as Vander gets him another glass of wine. Vander pours nothing for himself. 

They’re all silent for a moment. The heaviness in the air feels oppressive, weighing down on all of them. Vander drops Viktor’s bag on the counter, Felicia stares at it oddly, like she’s trying to figure something out. 

“He’s a sweet kid,” Felicia says, reaching for the bag. “He kept asking how much he owes to stay the night. Are these his things?” 

Silco nods, watching her carefully. She unties the bag, revealing the contents. A watch that doesn’t work clatters onto the counter, followed by a few pieces of clothing. There’s also a small toolbox, a miniature version of the kind Benzo uses on a lot of his projects. Finally, a piece of paper, but Silco doesn’t focus on that. 

Felicia’s looking at the cloth though, running her fingers over the thin fabric. It’s in desperate need of a wash, perhaps a few, now that Silco is looking at it. 

“This is a wedding shroud,” she says after a moment. “An older one too, Con made me something like this when we tied the knot.” 

Silco looks at it with new eyes. It’s obvious the shroud has been through a lot, traveling with Viktor. It makes sense as to why he’d have it though, wedding shrouds are sentimental in Zaun. Often, a bride would keep theirs for the rest of their life, even handing it down to their children. 

“Important, then,” Vander finally says. 

In his hands, he’s holding the paper. When Felicia and Silco stare at him, he turns it around, so they could see what it is. 

The two people in the photo are not anyone Silco recognizes. It’s water damaged, warping the image slightly, but it clearly shows two people on their wedding date, holding hands together. It’s possibly the only photograph of the two. Cameras are almost impossible to find in Zaun. 

“Poor kid,” Felicia murmurs. 

The three of them talk for a little bit longer.  A couple customers knock on the door, but leave once they realize the bar isn’t opening for the night. 

Vander eventually takes the extra clothes to put them with the rest of the washing, and Felicia goes to be with Connel for the night. Silco takes his own bag and the wedding shroud, heading down to the basement to see Viktor curled up on their couch, still asleep. 

He looks a bit better, all cleaned up. Hair brushed and out of his face, skin clear, he looks underweight and tired, but no longer as though he’s dying. It’s a much better look on him. Vander’s jacket is draped over the back of the couch, exchanged out for a blanket this time. 

Silco, for a moment, wonders what he’s doing. But then his hand reaches out to Viktor, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him up. 

“Viktor,” he whispers to the boy. “This is yours, isn’t it?” 

Golden eyes slowly crack open, confusion mixing with sleepiness as Viktor tries to come back to awareness. 

“Mr. Silco?” he mumbles. Then he sits up, pushing the blanket off. “I’m sorry, Miss Felicia said I could stay, I didn’t mean–”

“You’re okay,” Silco reassures. He’s really got to stop that mister business, he’s not nearly old enough to be called that. 

Viktor still tries to sit up though, pushing the blanket off of him, so Silco waits until he does, and then proceeds to drop the wedding shroud in his lap. He takes a page out of Vander’s book, showing, rather than telling. 

Viktor stares down at it. Rubs his eyes. Pauses. Rubs his eyes again. Silco sits beside him on the couch, watching him. 

Finally, small, trembling fingers touch the shroud. He pulls back, hesitant, then takes it in both his hands, holding the material tightly. 

“The doctor was kind enough to give me your items,” Silco says, not bringing up Vander’s punch. “This is yours, isn’t it?” 

Viktor shakes his head, and for a moment, Silco feels his heart sink. Vander would be more than happy to pay the mad doctor another visit, but Silco does like to avoid violence when necessary. 

“My máma’s,” Viktor whispers, voice subdued barely there. Even in the silence of the night, Silco can barely hear him. 

Viktor holds it tightly against his chest, head ducked to hide his expression. Then a muffled sob, as he buries his face into the threadbare fabric. 

“Oh,” Silco says inelegantly, not sure what to do with a crying child. 

It’s light crying too, shoulders shaking and sobs wracking a body, but no sound coming out. It’s something Silco recognizes from his old days at the foundling house, when crying was liable to get the other kids to beat you up to make you quiet down. 

Silco learned the same quiet crying a long time ago. 

Gently, he reaches out, laying a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. The child crumples instantly to him, leaning against him and muffling his cries further between the shroud and Silco’s shirt. 

Felicia used to ask for comfort like this. On long days where neither of them asked how the other’s day went, when talking about things only made them more real and harder to deal with. 

He does the same thing for Viktor that he does for Felicia. One hand on the child’s back, the other in his freshly washed hair. Viktor melts a little more into his embrace, still sobbing. 

“It’s alright,” Silco murmurs. “You’re safe now.” 

Eventually, sobs peter out into cries, then into sniffles, until Viktor is asleep against his side, shroud still pressed against his face to help absorb the tears, and Silco drapes the blanket over him once more. 

Eventually, Silco lets himself drift off as well, arm still wrapped around Viktor. The position isn’t comfortable, but Silco can do one horrible night's sleep on the couch. Especially when he tries to pull away and Viktor blinks back awake, clearly exhausted but still cautious to fall into a deep sleep. 

“You’re safe,” he repeats in a whisper, feeling Viktor relax against him once more. “You’re safe.” 

Before he drifts off, a wayward thought drifts through his mind. 

Please, Janna, don’t make me a liar this time. 

Chapter Text

Waking up is a slow and arduous process. 

It comes in stages, the awareness, the sounds, the smells. Viktor let’s himself feel the sensations one by one, until slowly he opens his eyes. It’s still dark out, though that might be because there’s no windows in the basement of The Last Drop. 

That’s not to say it’s empty. Silco and Vander seem to be using it for storage, and it’s dusty enough that even upon just waking, Viktor has to shift to cover his nose so he doesn’t sneeze. Boxes line one wall, and close to the stairs there are large kegs, waiting for their turn to be taken upstairs. 

Silco and Vander. Viktor buries himself a bit further under the blanket, ignoring the morning cold, as he thinks about the two adults. He presses his face further against his mother’s blanket, which he held in his arms during the night rather than sleeping with just in case he lost it again. 

Silco and Vander are… weird, to Viktor. Not unkind, which is a nice surprise. But weird in different ways from the other adults. Or maybe that was simply Miss Felicia last night. 

Viktor hadn’t been inclined to believe her when she said he could sleep downstairs without any cost. She got a look on her face when he tried to insist, as though he had said something wrong, but dismissed his worries. Viktor didn’t believe her until Silco came down and gave him back his things. 

He really thought the man was going to tell him it was time to go. Even though he couldn’t hear any noise from the bar upstairs, it had to be open, why else would they be back? 

Oh, and he had been so upset inside when he realized that he would have to leave. And then even more upset with himself for being upset, because he didn’t really want to leave. That wasn’t really an option though, Viktor would eventually have to leave The Last Drop. 

Sky had told him not to come by too often. He would ruin a good thing if he stayed too long, made himself too much of a burden like at the doctor’s cave. At least with Miss Maisey, it was easier to sink into the crowd of other kids and be ignored.

But Silco didn’t seem upset. Confused maybe, but not upset. He didn’t even push Viktor away when Viktor cried against him, getting tears and snot all over his clothes. Viktor still can’t really believe he broke down like that, but his eyes feel a bit swollen, and his head hurts from crying so much. Silco must have been so embarrassed when Viktor started crying. 

He really couldn’t do anything right. If Viktor knew what was good, he’d be getting up while everyone else is still asleep and sneak out the back before he owed Silco and Vander even more for staying the night. 

He shifts to do just that, barely a movement, but something heavy is resting on him. Viktor lifts his head slightly, glancing down at himself, only to see a rather… familiar arm draped over him. 

Silco is still here. 

Viktor hardly remembers anything past crying. He hasn’t cried himself to sleep like that since the night his mother died, and his father came back several hours later smelling of sour alcohol and took her away. Viktor never did see her again. 

His mother used to hold him the same way when he cried. His head in her lap or against her chest, crying about problems that only children can have, with her arm around him. Viktor feels familiarity and yet strangeness in the same position against Silco. 

Oh, he’s really going to owe Silco and Vander more than he can ever pay back. Silco’s head leans back uncomfortably against the couch, a position that looks rather painful to sleep in, but he’s still asleep. Vander’s jacket, which Miss Felicia placed on the back of the couch for Viktor, is over Silco like a blanket, the same way Viktor used it.

His legs are still uncovered though, so when Viktor manages to slide himself free from the man’s arm and can stand on his own, he takes the still warm blanket to drape it over Silco as well. 

Viktor almost screams when he looks back up at Silco’s face and sees two very tired seaglass eyes blinking down at him. Instead he freezes, as though not moving would trick Silco into thinking he’s not really there. 

It doesn’t work. Silco rubs a hand down his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. Viktor feels like he’s been caught doing something wrong, and looks down at the ground. 

“It is much too early for you to be awake,” Silco mumbles, “or me, for that matter. Aren’t you still tired?” 

“I…” Viktor tries to reply, though he’s not really sure if he is or isn’t. Tired isn’t really something he feels acutely anymore, not when he’s tired all of the time. 

Sleeping on the couch helped for sure, especially when Miss Felicia was nice enough to bathe him and help him last night. Viktor’s got a bit more energy than normal, but he could probably still lay down and get a few more hours of sleep, if he let himself. 

But he’s already been such a burden to Silco and Vander, and they’ve helped him even when they didn’t have to. He can’t just lay back down and be lazy. Viktor needs to earn his keep. 

The nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him, it might be like Miss Maisey, they might want something in return. And you better have something to give up before they take it. 

“I just wanted to use the bathroom,” Viktor whispers. Not a complete lie, but not really the truth. 

Silco grunts slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks ready to fall over into Viktor’s empty space on the couch and fall back asleep. 

“Alright,” Silco grumbles. “Do you remember where it is?” 

Viktor does not. But that doesn’t really matter, so instead he nods. Thankfully, Silco doesn’t seem to question him on it too much, simply running a hand over his face again and settling back down onto the couch. 

Viktor doesn’t allow his cane to touch the ground as he limps past the barely awake Silco to climb back up the stairs. It’s still dark out, but the edges of dawn on the horizon bathe the inside of The Last Drop in a hazy, not quite there light. 

He takes his time to walk around the bar and look at everything, mentally cataloging the things he can and can’t fix while he’s looking. There’s a flickering light overhead that Viktor can’t tell is from an almost burned out bulb or a wiring issue. The sink drips loudly, a plop plop plop of water that would drive him insane. An overhead fan swings in place in time with its rotations, something seems to be misaligned in it. A couple of the taps behind the counter are loose when Viktor fiddles with them. 

The list of things he can fix gets much larger when he finds his tools sitting at the bar counter. He thought originally Silco might have only brought his blanket back, but he finds Axel’s watch and his tools and the photo laying in wait for him. 

He slips the photograph into his toolbox as he picks it up. His extra clothes are missing, but he’s got his important items and that’s all that matters to Viktor. Carefully, he takes his toolbox and carries it with him behind the counter, intent on fixing the easiest things first before he moves onto bigger projects. 

Viktor tightens the taps until they no longer wobble and still pour alcohol easily, and thinks of where he’s going to sleep later tonight. 

Viktor won’t be a burden. Maybe, just maybe, if he pays off his debts to Vander and Silco this way, he will be able to come back another night when the cold is too much for him to handle. 

A maybe is more than he’s had in a long time. 

Silco finds Vander still asleep in their bed. 

It’s easy to slip upstairs and into their room. Silco has long ago learned which steps to avoid, which ones creak and which ones squeak. Vander still hasn’t, though the mountain of a man is never quiet, he’s never had to learn how to be. 

Viktor will probably learn the same thing quicker than Silco did. When he peeked through the door before heading upstairs, the kid was looking at something behind the bar, a frown on his face as he fiddles with something. At least if he breaks anything, Benzo will know how to fix it. 

He just knows he’s going to have a mess to clean up later. But if Viktor is feeling well enough to explore and cause trouble, he might just be in a better state than Silco thought he was. 

Vander is still asleep, a huge lump under a quilt with deep, even breathing. It’s still a bit early, well early for Silco and Vander, who end up staying late into the night with the bar and their customers more often than not. Silco tends to be more of an early riser, which gives him excellent mornings like this. 

A perfect morning to wake Vander up in the best way. 

Silco reaches down and grabs the edge of the quilt, throwing it to the side. Then, he takes his very cold hands and presses them against Vander’s stomach, where his shirt had ridden up in his sleep. 

Vander wakes with a shout, pushing Silco hard enough to make the man take a few steps back. Silco snickers at the sight, sitting on the edge of the bed while Vander pants like he’s just run across half the Lanes. 

The man sleeps like a log, and Silco has no intention of spending half an hour trying to coax the man from sleep. He’d push Vander off the bed entirely if it meant the other would wake up, but not many people besides Vander himself can move a boulder with sheer strength. 

“Sil, fucking hell,” Vander complains, voice thick with sleep. “It’s too early for your shit. What time is it?” 

Silco arches a brow, not bothering to look for the actual time. Vander typically slept for a few more hours, but they also have an important guest and he needs to figure out if Vander did the washing before heading to sleep while he was busy comforting Viktor. 

“Early enough,” Silco replies, which is the truth even if it’s not the exact time. “Did you finish the washing or did you just put Viktor’s clothes in the pile?” 

Vander grunts, clearly still trying to wake up, and waves a hand over to the basket of dirty clothes. Viktor’s extra clothes are on top of the pile, clearly unwashed. What a pain, Viktor’s going to have to stay in his dirty clothes for a bit longer. 

“You couldn’t at least start it? Vander,” Silco complains, already rising. “I don’t think that boy’s changed his clothes since he left the doctor.” 

“I was tired,” Vander complains, “You didn’t come back up, either.” 

Silco grimaces slightly, grabbing a bag to put Viktor’s clothes into. They can afford the expense of taking these clothes to be washed by Sasha, while he forces Vander to do their laundry at a later time. 

“My apologies, comforting a sobbing child was a bit more important than coming to bed.” 

Sasha might also need to do some repairs on these clothes, now that Silco is taking a closer look at them. Harsh months of survival didn’t do the garments any good, and while some repairs could be made, there’s at least one shirt that is better for rags than for wearing, and a pair of pants that probably won’t fit Viktor any longer. 

He can’t simply throw them out though, Viktor needs to be a part of that decision. They’re his clothes, and Silco remembers being so fiercely protective of his own things when he had so little.

“Crying?” Vander asks from the bed, finally looking more awake. 

Silco goes to his own drawers, changing into fresh clothes for the day while Vander watches. Another time, Silco might have been more interested in his hungry gaze, but right now all he can think about is chores and the child downstairs that needs watching. 

He has a feeling Viktor might try to leave. Best to keep the kid occupied for a little while until he settles down. 

It’s not like he’s talked about this with Vander. Sure, he told the other man to get him if the kid showed back up in hopes of another meal, but after seeing Viktor with the mad doctor, his mindset has changed. 

“He was happy to have his things back,” Silco says airily, not mentioning how Viktor cried himself to sleep and still let hitching breaths out every time he felt Silco move in the middle of the night, as though he was afraid Silco might disappear the moment he let his guard down. 

Vander grunts, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Kid still here?” 

“Yes, I think we should ask Fel if she’s got anything he might be able to wear. She’s got some clothes Vi is supposed to grow into.” 

Another grunt. Vander never has been a morning person, and he silently watches as Silco places Viktor’s items into a bag to bring to Sasha’s for a wash. The good thing about knowing most everyone in the Lanes is that Silco’s items will get pushed to the front of the queue for her laundry service, something they don’t normally indulge in. 

“Sounds good,” Vander grunts. “Kid’s been living on the streets?”

Silco nods, a barely there thing. His next words are tentative, careful, with a pause to glance at the door as though Viktor would be standing there. The door is closed though, and Silco let’s the next words tumble out. 

“He might need to stay a few days,” Silco says tentatively. 

Vander rubs the back of his neck. There’s a hesitation in the movement, the start to a process that they’re both uncertain about. 

When Silco first told Vander about the trip to the mad doctor and seeing Viktor again, the conversation of “what if” had been aloof, one made without obligations. But facing the reality of a situation and talking about it are two very different situations, especially when it comes to letting a child stay with them. 

If anything, Silco had been the more cautious one in their conversation, laying the ground work that taking on a child is a bigger responsibility than they might be ready for. 

Babysitting Violet is one thing. Having a child with them full time while trying to organize a revolution is a completely different thing. 

“You sure we’re ready for this, Sil?” Vander asks quietly.

The question hangs between them uncomfortably. Silco shifts from foot to foot, placing the small bag of Viktor’s clothes next to Vander. 

“No,” Silco says honestly. 

Vander hums. He reaches out, large hands wrapping around Silco’s waist. The pressure of them is comforting. Vander’s thumbs rub small circles against his hipbones, dipping underneath Silco’s shirt. 

“No, I don’t think we’re ready,” Silco repeats after a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“It’ll make things harder,” Vander agrees. He doesnt sound upset in the least. “We won’t be able to have meetings in the basement anymore if we got a kid crashing there.” 

Vander pulls him forward until he’s standing between his spread knees, though he doesn’t do anything more than rest his head against Silco’s chest, ear over his heartbeat. 

They’re silent for a moment, Silco reaches up to run a hand to run through Vander’s hair and sweep it back from his face. He allows them a few minutes to relax together, holding each other, a moment of peace that almost feels stolen in the chaos of their lives. 

Though when fighting for a revolution, moments of peace like this are often stolen. They are never given freely. 

“Now, you take Viktor’s clothes to Sasha’s while I get ready for the day. I believe I saw Viktor already awake downstairs doing Janna knows what behind the bar. Hopefully, he hasn’t broken anything yet.”

Two loose taps are fixed easily, Viktor tries to follow the wiring for the lamp that flickers when it’s on, but whoever wired it didn’t seem to follow any sort of normal route. Viktor decides that fiddling with electricity isn’t for the best right now, and instead moves on to other things behind the bar. 

He tightens bolts on an ice chest to keep it sealed better for the cold, and stares at plumbing behind the bar. He wishes he had a notebook like Silco’s own, it would be fascinating to write out some of what he sees, and to take notes on parts he might not see again. 

Voices drift down the stairs as Viktor works in the quiet. Carefully, one hand keeping his balance against the wall so he doesn’t need to use his cane, Viktor makes his way over to listen. 

Vander and Silco are talking. They’re talking about him. 

“No, I don’t think we’re ready,” Silco repeats after a moment, voice tired.

“It’ll make things harder,” Vander’s voice drifts down. “We won’t be able to have meetings in the basement anymore if we got a kid crashing there.” 

Viktor’s breath catches in his throat. Shame rolls like a wave over his shoulders and down his spine, his fingers clutching his cane so tightly they hurt. 

Quickly, he hobbles away from the stairs, going to pick up his tool kit. Then, he heads down to the basement, and looks over his blanket, still on the waiting couch. He almost picks it up, but the thought of being on the streets with it is even more horrible. 

What if he loses it again? What if he has to leave quickly and can’t grab it? It would be gone forever on the streets of Zaun, and that breaks his heart more than anything. 

It would be safer here, wouldn’t it? Viktor carefully folds it as much as he possibly can, until it’s a neat square, and looks around the basement. Time suddenly feels like something he doesn’t have a lot of, and he ends up tucking it behind two large pipes in the back of the room, and drags a few boxes in front of it as well. 

There, safe and sound. Even if he can’t come back, it will be safe. 

Another thing to add to the list of things to mourn. It is a list that never ends in a person, the kind that only grows and grows and grows. 

With just his toolbox, Viktor carefully climbs the stairs to the basement, and walks out of the doors of The Last Drop with only a single glance back. He pretends his heart doesn’t hurt as he walks down the now slightly familiar block, until he pauses outside of a familiar shop. 

The white mask sits in the front of Benzo’s shop as Viktor peers into the window. It’s accompanied with two other masks, though it’s the one on the left that gets Viktor’s attention the most. 

He hates it. He likes it. Unlike its newest companions, it doesn’t have filigree or designs, things added to it. It is a simple white mask with two holes for the eyes, and a flat plane for the missing mouth. 

Viktor wonders if it comes from Piltover, for how fancy it seems to be. Benzo must have polished it yesterday after buying it from the woman, as it shines a pearly white even under the dim light of the Lanes. 

The door to Benzo’s shop chimes open as the man himself steps out. The man looks as startled to see Viktor as Viktor is to see him, both of them staring at each other awkwardly for a second. Benzo has a box held in one arm like yesterday, though he doesn’t seem to be setting up a booth for today. 

“Does Silco know you’re not at The Last Drop?” Benzo asks with a raised brow, making Viktor shift slightly in place. 

He didn’t know he had to tell Silco he was leaving. Isn’t it just assumed? Viktor couldn’t stay there, not when he doesn’t have any kind of money to pay for another night. 

“I see,” Benzo continues when Viktor doesn’t say anything. “Guess this’ll just go to waste then.”

He shakes the box a little, the sound of metal clinking together catching Viktor’s attention. It’s the same kind of box Benzo had the spare parts in yesterday, and Viktor can’t help but lean forward in interest. 

“What is it?” he asks, leaning himself back the moment he realizes what he’s doing. 

It could be more parts, more things he can tinker with his own tools with this time, but it could be something worse instead. The doctor would do that sometimes, giving Viktor what he thought might be something for him, or a small meal, but only resulted in more of his chores. 

“Just some spare parts and broken bits that weren’t getting any use here,” Benzo says easily. 

He turns from Viktor, locking the door to his shop behind him as he starts back towards The Last Drop. Viktor shifts in place once again, his cane tapping the ground, unsure if he’s meant to follow, or if Benzo really even wants to talk to him. 

But then the man glances back, clearly looking for Viktor, so he hurries to catch up, almost tripping over himself as he rushes back to Benzo’s side. 

“What kind of parts?” 

Benzo shifts the box away from his curious gaze. “Wouldn’t you like to know? These ones are staying at The Last Drop, so if you want to see them, you’ll have to come along.” 

The box clinks with the sounds of metal as Benzo turns and heads in the same direction Viktor just left, leaving him standing on the street. 

There’s no way he can go back. Silco and Vander don’t really want him there. It’d be silly to return. 

| Twenty minutes later

Easily pulling his hair back into his signature ponytail, Silco heads downstairs while making sure to step on a few creaky steps so Viktor can hear him coming, in case the kid is up to no good. 

Mentally, he’s already making a list of things they would have to get for Viktor to stay with them for more than a night. A proper bed, for one. More clothes as well. He’d probably have a better idea by asking Felicia later what she got in preparation for Violet. 

Though all thoughts of that vanish as he gets to the last step. Benzo is behind the bar, frowning down at things while Viktor sits in the same booth as last night, a box in front of him. The kid is looking between cogs and parts, three piles in front of him of material he’s already sorted through. 

“Oi,” Benzo says, getting his attention. Viktor jerks at the sound, glancing up, but his shoulders drop slightly as he sees Silco there. “Come over here, Sil.”

Viktor looks down at the parts, hiding his eyes, so Silco makes his way behind the bar. Benzo kneels on the ground, checking the lines leading to a few of the taps. 

“Ya know,” Benzo continues, voice much quieter as Silco stands next to him. “For a man who asked half the Lanes about a certain kid, I thought you’d do better at keeping an eye on him.”

He glances up, just barely turning his head so he can look at Viktor again. The kid is quietly looking at another part, very clearly trying to listen in but probably not able to pick up much. 

“I don’t have the slightest idea of what you mean,” Silco drawls lightly, fingers itching for a cigarette. But it’s never a good idea to smoke in a place that serves alcohol, much less around a child. 

Benzo snorts. “So you let the lad sneak out, that it? Sil, I found him outside my shop again not half an hour ago. Why did you look so hard for him just to let him run off?” 

Well, that’s a bit surprising. Viktor had been down here when he went upstairs to talk to Vander, so did something happen while he was gone? Or had Viktor simply got the jitters and felt the need to leave?

Silco knows how hard it can be to settle, when life and fate makes it their job to tear apart your roots before you can plant them. The first time he and Felicia managed to find a stable place to stay, they took shifts sleeping just in case someone decided to break in and ruin what little they had. 

It took them months to break the habit. 

“How’d you get him back here?” Silco asks, leaning back against the counter. Benzo gets up from his kneeling, still looking slightly upset. 

“I was bringing by some broken parts for the kid to look at, since he liked looking through the others yesterday,” Benzo admitted. “Told him he could look at them if he came since they were for The Last Drop.”

At almost the same time, they look over at the kid, who has set the box down on the ground and has moved onto his pile. Viktor’s small toolbox is opened next to him, and he’s looking through the middle pile with a small but serious frown on his face. 

“Is that so?” 

Benzo grunts. “Yeah, kid’s smart, like you said.”

“He said you took his watch.”

“They’re my parts and he used my tools.”

“And you gave him parts you were going to throw out anyway or scam off to some Piltie who would overpay for them. At least give him some cogs or washers for his work.” 

Benzo grunts again, though this time it sounds a bit happier. With a movement of his arm, Benzo gestures down at the pipes and taps in front of him. 

“And return your loyalty for what? So you can hire outside people to fix shit you told me didn’t matter?” 

Viktor’s shoulders draw up around his ears, like he’s trying to disappear. Wide golden eyes are glued to the table, Viktor’s hands holding a small screwdriver with a white knuckled grip. 

I see, Silco thinks, and turns to Benzo. 

“What in the world are you talking about?”

The other man groans, grabbing a pint glass from under the counter. Viktor is still watching them as Benzo holds it under the tap, and pours a perfect glass of beer. 

That particular tap has worked for no one but Vander in ages. The other man could somehow jiggle it just right to make it work, but Silco could never figure it out, and Benzo was somehow worse. 

It’s been something on their list since they purchased the bar that needs, well Silco now supposes it’s needed, repairs. There are plenty of things that don’t work completely right, but not worth the money or effort to actually fix. 

“What a nice surprise,” Silco comments, loud enough for Viktor to hear. “I thought that would never get fixed. You’ve only been promising to fix that for weeks , after all.”

“I got my own business to run,” Benzo grumbles. “And you obviously got a new repairman around, so don’t come crying to me next time something breaks.”

Viktor’s not even pretending not to listen anymore. Benzo takes a long drink of the beer, despite it not even being past noon. 

Silco waves a hand. “Fine by me, I’m sure we can find someone to fix some of the broken things around here.” 

Both Benzo and Silco pretend not to notice the way Viktor seems to relax at that, turning back to his parts now that the adults have made it abundantly clear he’s not in trouble. 

It’s just then when Vander finally shoulders his way in through the doorway, hands empty of the laundry he’d been sent to drop off. The first thing the larger man does is look over at Viktor, arcing a brow at the piles of parts but saying nothing about it. 

“Bit early to be drinking, ain’t it?” Vander says, eyeing the pint glass. 

“Just testing the product,” Benzo replies easily. “Looks like someone fixed your taps.” 

Vander frowns slightly, grabbing the glass to take a sip. Then he eyes the taps, clearly looking at the one Viktor must have fixed while Silco dozed a bit longer on the couch. 

“Sure seems like it,” Vander finally says. “Well since you’re here, I got a couple more things you can fix–”

“I’m off your payroll, Sil said so.” 

Silco leaves the two men to talk, fetching a glass of juice for Viktor. Vander’s already moving to the kitchen, probably to make everyone some breakfast, and Benzo follows him. 

“What did Benzo bring?” he asks, sliding into the booth, next to Viktor. 

He can see the differences in the piles now. One is clearly favored, the parts unbroken and undamaged, some of them even shining in the dim light. The middle pile, the one Viktor’s currently working in, has a couple rusted parts, a few chips in the metal, but mostly seems usable. The final pile is nothing but broken parts too rusted to worry about. 

“Some parts,” Viktor mumbles, hesitantly glancing at Silco through his lashes. “He said they were for The Last Drop, that I could look through them if I wanted to.”

Silco suspects that Benzo brought the parts more specifically for Viktor himself, but holds his tongue about that. Instead he reaches into the middle pile, picking up a part to look at it before dropping it back down. 

“That reminds me, the doctor gave me a bag of some metal with your things. Shall I fetch it?” 

He’s already halfway out the booth when Viktor furiously nods, the most animated that Silco’s ever seen him. Clearly, the kid hadn’t noticed anything besides his mother’s wedding shroud being returned to him last night, but Silco can’t really blame him for that. 

Not ten minutes later, Viktor’s metal parts are on the table as well in their own separate pile. A couple of the pieces are ones Silco recognizes, but mainly because he remembers bruising his hands trying to bend metal for the kid. 

“Are you still building your boat?” Silco asks, taking his notebook out from inside of his jacket. 

Viktor nods, body slightly swaying from where he swings his feet underneath the booth. The juice cup makes a rather awful noise as Viktor finishes off the juice and slurps up the rest through his straw.

“Perhaps you can use some of the parts Benzo brought for it,” Silco offers, as though the parts weren’t brought for Viktor and Viktor alone. 

Still, Viktor hesitates, despite clearly looking at some of the parts. He’s already got something half put together, though it doesn’t look like much to Silco. 

“He can always bring us more, if we ask. Benzo owes me more favors than I know what to do with,” Silco reassures. 

Hesitantly, Viktor nods, and holds out a very slightly bent piece of metal. “Do you think this would be good for the rudder?” 

Silco takes it from him, looking it over as though it is a piece of art and he’s the evaluator to determine its worth. While he doesn’t know too much about boats, or even the type of boat Viktor wants to make, he’s pretty confident the rudder is meant to be straight. 

“Perhaps not this one, unless we can get Van to straighten it out. He might be able to bend those pieces you showed me earlier.” 

Viktor nods, as serious as can be, taking the part back to be placed in the “good” pile he has. 

The rest of the morning is gone quicker than Silco can track it. Occasionally, Vander and Benzo behind the bar notice something else that’s been tampered with, or fixed, and Viktor ducks his head when they do and hides a bit into Silco’s side, while trying to not so subtly look at Silco’s notes in clear hopes of seeing more math. 

Silco, for his effort, pretends not to notice this. It makes Viktor a bit easier around him, and soon the kid is even leaning into his side slightly. 

It feels much like when a cat decides they like you enough to brush against your fingers for the first time. It is not a moment brought about by strong emotions, or tears, just an aching search for comfort in a world that has offered so little. 

“Look at you two, working so hard. You both need a break for some food,” Vander says, coming up to their table. 

Two bowls of soup are placed on the table in front of them, a lighter kind than the potato soup from last night. Silco’s just happy that Vander seems okay sticking with the lighter foods until they can get the kid used to food again. 

“Thank you, Mr. Vander,” Viktor almost whispers, ducking his face. 

“No problem, kiddo. You helping Sil keep the books?” 

Viktor flushes a little, pulling his bowl a little closer in lieu of answering. Silco ends up nodding his head just to reassure him. 

“It’s nice to have someone be able to double check my work, we’re all human, after all. You sure make your fair share of mistakes,” Silco teases. 

Viktor relaxes next to him as Vander laughs. It’s all in good fun, almost a show just to put Viktor more at ease. Vander’s about to leave to head back behind the bar when Silco gestures at Viktor, clearly expectant. 

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Vander?” he prods gently, eyes darting between Viktor and the part he tried to straighten out but couldn’t. 

Viktor’s eyes get wide, completely freezing around a spoonful of soup he’s got in his mouth. He looks like Silco has sent him to the gallows, rather than prompting him to speak and ask Vander for something that would take him only a few seconds to do. 

Vander waits patiently, only glancing at Silco for reassurance to stay as Viktor hesitantly swallows his bit of soup. 

He doesn’t move though, and though it might be pushing it, Silco decides to give him a little nudge. 

“It’s alright, I’m sure he can help,” Silco murmurs quietly to Viktor. “Ask him.” 

Hesitantly, Viktor picks up the piece that he gave Silco last time in the cave, holding it out to Vander. Said man reaches out to take it carefully, as though Viktor is handing him a piece of glass and not a scratched piece of metal. 

“It needs to bend a little,” Viktor hesitantly explains, as though Vander might throw it back in his face. 

“How much is a little, lad?” 

The piece looks comically small in Vander’s large hand compared to Viktor. Already he’s trying to get a good grip on it, testing out the give in the metal. 

“Like this,” Viktor says, motioning with his own hands. Then he shows another piece of metal. It’s sloped slightly, just enough to be considered rounded instead of straight. 

Vander grunts, and with an ease Viktor and Silco can only be jealous of, bends the metal into place. Viktor perks up in excitement, fingers flexing like he wants to reach out and snatch the part from Vander’s hand himself. 

They all pretend not to notice the way Viktor flinches on instinct when Vander hands him the piece of metal back. 

It’s worth it for the awe on Viktor’s face at the newly bent piece. The child quickly checks the integrity of metal before setting it aside in its own special place. 

“Thank you, Mr. Vander,” Viktor barely whispers out, looking more like Vander had handed him the moon instead of the metal. 

“Sure thing, lad. Do you want more soup?” 

Silco carefully does not comment on Vander’s misty eyes. “Let’s finish what you have and then you can see if you’re still hungry. Don’t want to get sick again, do you?” 

Viktor’s agreement comes easily, and quickly the rest of the soup is consumed, along with a thick slice of bread slathered in butter. 

Vander eventually heads back behind the bar, while Vitkor works for a bit longer. Once it’s clear the soup and bread are going to stay down this time, Silco allows himself to relax, and eventually the kid pays more attention to Silco’s notes than he does to the parts still laid in their neat piles. 

“Would you like to help?” Silco eventually asks, when he purposefully adds a column of numbers wrong to see if Viktor corrects him again. 

The boy twitches when he sees the error, but doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t feel like caution that comes from fear, a hesitance to speak up until he’s already safely leaving. 

“Can I?” Viktor eventually asks, returning Silco’s question with a question. 

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to. Here, look over this and I’ll fetch a few things.” 

He slides the open notebook in front of Viktor, leaving his pen laying on the page for the other to pick up. Viktor simply moves it to the side, wide golden eyes already scanning the page. Silco never really has seen someone with eyes like that, like gold coins. 

Viktor twitches slightly when he leaves the booth, righting himself from where he sways from Silco’s support leaving him. Then he blinks, fixing his posture as he looks down at the numbers again, quickly losing himself. 

His first stop is not upstairs to his office, but over to the bar, where Vander and Benzo are chatting away like two old wives exchanging gossip. 

“Looks like you got yourself a little helper, Sil,” Benzo laughs. “You owe me for the parts, by the way.” 

Silco scoffs. “I don’t owe you shit. Don’t pretend you weren’t about to throw all that out anyway.” 

“How’s he doing?” Vander cuts in, as though Benzo and Silco’s banter ever evolves into actual fighting instead of just bickering. 

“Better, I think,” Silco eventually answers. “I think we should keep the bar closed tonight as well.”

It’ll be a hit to their finances, Silco will probably have to call in a few favors. Vander grimaces at the thought, but to have a fully crowded bar while trying to get a flighty kid settled isn’t exactly ideal. 

“Let’s wait until Fel gets here,” Vander eventually says. “We can’t keep closing the bar, Sil.” 

Viktor’s shoulders draw up around his ears. Clearly, the kid has a tendency for eavesdropping, Silco has the same. There were times it saved his life, when he was younger, hopefully Viktor never had to listen for the same kind of warnings. 

“If we have to, then we have to, it won’t be a bother,” Silco dismisses, making sure his voice is loud enough for Viktor to overhear. Then, quieter, “one more night won’t kill us, Van.”

With a great, heaving sigh, Vander nods. If worse comes to worse, Silco knows he can take Viktor to Benzo’s or Felicia’s for the night, but he would prefer not to. It’s already going to be hard enough to get the kid to settle, it’ll be even harder if Silco has to take him to different places. 

“We can talk about it later,” Silco promises. “Alright?” 

Vander nods. “Alright.” 

Silco stands on his tip toes to press a kiss against Vander’s cheek before he heads up to get more of his accounting books from his office. 

When he sits down next to Viktor, the kid doesn’t lean into his side this time. His shoulders are still up by his ears, the pen tapping rhythmically against the table in a staccato pattern. Anxiety almost rolls off of him in waves. 

On the page though, there are three circled numbers, the corrections written next to them. All three errors left on purpose to see if Viktor would spot them. 

“Seems I might need you to check all my work, hm?” Silco asks, turning the notebook back a couple pages. 

Viktor’s got the easiest one in his hands, the one that mostly d eals with inventory and accounts for the bar itself. The notebooks in Silco’s hands have more to do with the raids on enforcers, plots to ransack topside, things a child shouldn’t be dealing with. 

Silco opens his own notebook, looking over the rising cost of materials like gunpowder, and does not comment or move when Viktor tentatively leans against his side once more. 

An hour later, Viktor manages to get through the entirety of the journal that tracks inventory from the day they opened the bar. Numbers are circled almost at random, this time without corrections from a math error, but from missing or misapplied inventory. 

At the same time that Silco looks over the numbers, and Viktor peers over at Silco’s current work, Silco realizes the person they’ve been buying liquor from has been ripping them off from day one by not giving them all that they paid for, or one of the teens that they’ve hired to help bartend is giving out free drinks or possibly stealing. 

Silco ruffles Viktor’s hair in thanks, turning to the bar so he can stare at the broken taps. He looks at the piles of gears and pieces, and remembers Viktor fixing upside-down math. 

Viktor was an apprentice to the mad doctor, not just an assistant. The man isn’t known for taking on children, he barely takes on patients as it is, apparently. 

Viktor taps the pen in his hands against the paper in front of Silco, pointing out an error. Silco doesn’t bother to double check it before correcting it. 

The door slams open with a flourish. Silco doesn’t even bother to look up from his notebook, knowing only one person in his life with that much energy who would dare to enter The Last Drop like a storm. 

“Where is my darling?!” Felicia crows, pulling off her mining helmet. 

Viktor peers over at her curiously, relaxing from where he had tensed up at the grand entrance. Silco raises his pen, not bothering to glance over his shoulder. 

“I’m right here, Fel,” he calls back. 

There’s a dismissive noise, and behind the bar Vander is already pouring amber liquid into a gold rimmed glass for the woman. 

Felicia never enters a place without an entrance. She draws attention naturally, even more so when she’s actually calling for attention. Most of the time it’s meant to distract from Silco enacting whatever plans they’ve made. 

This time, it’s a flourish of activity meant to gain the attention of one particular child. Felicia throws her mining helmet off to the side, making it land somewhere with a thunk! to be found later.

Silco arches a brow, glancing down at Viktor against his side before smirking, getting up and sliding into the opposite side of the booth. 

Viktor looks so confused, and partly betrayed, before Felicia is on him and any trepidation fades away. 

“There he is!” Felicia crows, leaning down to pinch Viktor’s cheeks. “Hello, my darling, how are you doing? Have Vander and Silco been treating you right?” 

Viktor can’t even reply, though he does seem to relax for a moment as Felicia cups his face, turning it all about and examining him as though Silco or Vander might have beaten him.  Upon seeing nothing but a tired child, she brushes Viktor’s hair out of his face, settling down. 

“I’m okay,” Viktor mumbles around squished cheeks before Felicia releases him. 

“How’re your knees?” 

Viktor looks down at his lap, fidgeting in place. Silco arches a brow at Felicia, hesitating to speak up. Felicia shakes her head slightly at him. 

“Can I see, then?” Felicia asks kindly, with the patience that mostly comes from experience of dealing with a stubborn child. 

And Violet is notoriously stubborn. 

When Viktor hesitates though, Felicia doesn’t push. He seems to be considering it, and Silco pushes patience first, making sure he looks calm when Viktor glances at him. There’s a hesitation there, so he picks his journal up, snapping it closed. 

“I should help Vander with setting up the bar,” he says easily, rising. Maybe Viktor feels more comfortable with Felicia. 

It has the opposite effect though. Viktor curls slightly inward, hands pressing themselves over his knees to hide them further than only hiding under the fabric. 

Felicia reaches over and gently pets Viktor’s hair. “I just want to make sure it hasn’t gotten worse. It’ll take two seconds, I promise.” 

With another glance at Silco, Viktor hesitantly nods, letting Felicia roll up the legs of his pants. Silco barely holds back a gasp. 

Both knees are swollen, covered in blue-black bruises that are only just turning to the sickly healing colors of green and yellow along the edges. His right knee in particular almost looks twisted slightly, curling his leg slightly inward. 

Was this why he uses a cane? His poker face is truly being put to the test here, as he watches Felicia gently look over the bruised knees with a tender amount of care Silco isn’t sure can come from anyone but her. 

“What happened?” Silco asks before he can stop himself.

Felicia purses her lips slightly. Viktor fists his hands in his pants, knuckles white. 

“I fell,” Viktor whispers, no doubt afraid of getting in trouble. The poor boy looks ready to throw up. 

“Alright,” Silco says, tone carefully measured. “It must hurt terribly. I’ll get something for the pain.” 

A stunned look crosses Viktor’s face, eyes wide, lips parting slightly, like Silco has said the impossible. Felicia rolls Viktor’s pants back up. 

“I’ll see if Vander has any ice,” Felicia says, rising as Silco does. 

Viktor glances between them, like he doesn’t know who to reach out to stop first. Then his eyes narrow, like he’s figured out whatever scheme they’ve got going on. 

“Wait here,” says Silco before Viktor can argue. “We’ll be right back.” 

They don’t give the kid a chance to argue. Both of them head upstairs to Silco’s office, Silco rummaging around his desk drawer until he finds his limited supply of painkillers, and Felicia wringing her hands together roughly. 

“You could have told me last night he was injured,” Silco eventually starts, shaking out two small white pills into his palm. 

Felicia sighs heavily. “He was already upset and I was trying to convince him that he could stay here for the night. Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t have wanted to look at it right away. There’s not much you can do for bruising besides ice and watching the swelling.”

He can’t tell her she’s wrong, and the image of Viktor, half-asleep and pushing the blanket down so he can leave. 

“Still,” Silco starts, “you should have told me. Did he tell you how he got them?” 

“I think he did fall, but I don’t know if someone pushed him,” Felicia answers after a moment's hesitation. 

He needs a cigarette, badly. Maybe even a cigar. Silco fumbles for a moment for his lighter, pulling it out of his pocket as he fiddles with it. He almost lights up his cigarette before he remembers the way Viktor crinkled his nose at the smell, and the small cough he let out. 

Instead, he puts it back into his pocket and drags his hand over his face.

“Planning a revolution is one thing,” he complains lightly. “That’s easier. I just keep track of enforcers and mark shipments down, make deals. I don’t know how to deal with a child.” 

Felicia, ever the sister she is, snorts at his complaining. “You’re telling me. I didn’t think you had anything parental in you.”

“Don’t be rude. I am dealing with a mid-life crisis.”

“You’re twenty-five.” 

“Enforcers could kill me tomorrow, but fine, I’m dealing with a crisis.” 

Felicia giggles behind her hand, while Silco smirks lightly. It doesn’t stop the heaviness of the situation, or ease the responsibility that seems to have fallen directly into Silco’s lap, but it helps a bit. 

“How did you know? With Violet,” Silco eventually asks. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you show up to the bar one day and tell us your pregnant, and then you just… you’re you. You didn’t seem worried at all.” 

Felicia nudges his shoulder. “You missed me crying to Con every night for a week wondering if we were ready.” 

Silco didn’t know that. It hurts a little, there was a time when he would have been the one Felicia went to comfort. But then she met Connel and he had to learn to pull back and realize that he wasn’t always going to be the one Felicia would rely on. 

She’s a good mother, he thinks, a better parent than Silco could ever hope to be. She could balance working on their jobs and being in the mines and raising a kid. Silco wasn’t so sure he could. 

“You want some real advice or reassurances?” Felicia asks, nudging his shoulder playfully. 

“I want topside to suck my dick.” 

Felicia barks out a laugh, leaning against him slightly. Silco feels a smirk of his own tug at his lips. 

“I don’t think anyone’s really ready to have a kid,” Felicia eventually says, reaching up to pull her hair over her shoulder. “And if they say they are, they're either stupid or a liar.”

Kids were never really in the plans for Silco. It was already hard to let people in, to allow them close enough that they could hurt him deeper than any enforcer with a baton. Vander and Felicia are two of a very limited number of people who could tear him to pieces and leave nothing behind. 

And somehow, he already feels like Viktor has wormed under his walls. Not in the way Vander did, by tearing down the wall brick-by-brick, or like Felicia, who has been around for so long the walls were built around her. 

It’s like a stray seeking shelter on a porch. Slipping under the wall and seeking shelter from the rain. Ready to be cast out, thrown away like yesterday's trash. 

“He’s a sweet kid,” Felicia mumbles against his shoulder. “And he already likes you.” 

Viktor would leave if he told him to. He would go back out into the rain and snow and not glance back if he thought he was unwelcome. Silco stood by the door, one hand on the doorhandle, with the option to open it or leave it closed forever. 

Silco looks out the window over Felicia’s head, looking at the snow falling. The thought of Viktor being out there in the snow, alone and cold, makes something sour settle in his stomach, causing it to twist with bile. 

 “Well,” Silco mumbles, heaving a great sigh, “at least Violet will have a friend.”

The adults in The Last Drop are… weird. 

Benzo and Vander glance over at Viktor when they think he’s not paying attention, as though Viktor hasn’t survived this long by paying attention to everything around him. Silco and Felicia are nice, but too often they look at him like Viktor’s a thing to be pitied. 

None of them seem to be bad, but Viktor’s not sure what to make of any of them. Part of him is still waiting for one of them to come up and hold out their hand for payment for everything they’ve given him. 

It can’t all be free, can it? People didn’t do this. They didn’t give out meals and warm places to sleep without anything in return. They didn’t let him go through parts meant for their business and talk about giving him painkillers of all things. 

Viktor still can’t get over that one. It has to be a trap. There’s no way Silco would indulge Viktor with something as hard to get as pain medicine. Especially when his knees didn’t even hurt that bad. He just couldn’t move them too much. 

It’s like he’s been shoved into some alternate universe where everything is going right for him, for once. Viktor still can’t believe it. 

And he most certainly can’t trust it. 

While Silco goes upstairs with Miss Felicia, Viktor picks up the box from the ground where it still rests, and quietly puts the sorted materials away in it, while trying to keep them somewhat organized. Benzo and Vander are still chatting behind the bar, though this time Viktor doesn’t try to listen. 

It’s got to be close to the time to open the bar, isn’t it? 

The door to the bar opens, a younger woman walking through. She’s got short, cropped black hair and broad shoulders. Viktor shrinks a little in the booth, but she doesn’t even glance his way, heading towards the bar. 

“Hey,” she greets Vander easily, throwing her jacket lightly dusted with snow on one of the barstools. 

“Always nice to see you too, Sevika,” Vander greets easily. 

The woman, Sevika, grunts in agreement before she’s looking around. Her brow arches when she spots Viktor hiding in his booth, but doesn’t comment on it. She just turns back to Vander.

“Where do you want me tonight?” 

Ah, they’re talking about working tonight. Viktor really does need to get ready to leave, before he gets in the way. Plus customers would probably want to sit where he’s currently taking up space. 

He almost wishes Silco would come down with Miss Felicia again. Though the two would probably just end up joining the conversation at the bar, when Silco’s there it feels… easier in a way. 

Despite instinct warning him to keep himself guarded, he finds it hard to not trust the man who saved his life by pulling him from the mine collapse without a second thought. 

“We’re probably not gonna open tonight,” Vander replies, breaking Viktor from his thoughts. There’s a heavy glance in his direction from Vander. “Sorry, Sev.” 

A disgruntled noise came from the woman. “Seriously? You were closed yesterday too. You just want me to go without pay for another day?” 

“No one wants that, but things are… different right now,” Vander counters. “It’s just another night, if you’re that strapped then I’ll talk to Silco about paying you a half day's wage.” 

Another grunt. “Where is he?” 

Quietly, Viktor sinks a little further into the booth, while Benzo announces it’s time for him to leave and make up for a day spent at the bar. Sevika’s got her arms crossed against her chest, upset and stern look to her face when Vander glances back at him. 

“Upstairs,” Vander eventually replies. “He’s talking to Fel. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.” 

Both he and Sevika glance at the stairs when Vander heads back to the kitchen. When Silco doesn’t come down as if summoned by their stares, Sevika pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Then she reaches over the bar and picks up an amber colored bottle, taking a swig from it and placing it back. 

Then she glances back at Viktor. “Where’d you come from?” 

“Outside,” Viktor replies, because it’s the truth and there’s no other real place he’s come from. 

Sevika barks out a laugh, turning her body slightly to blow out cigarette smoke in his direction. Thankfully, the smoke doesn’t reach him, but he still wrinkles his nose at the smell. 

“Best head off to wherever ‘outside’ you come from then. Kids aren’t allowed in the bar when it opens.” 

Viktor nods, already grabbing his cane. He recognizes kindness when he sees it, even if it’s not wrapped up in a pretty package like Miss Felicia puts hers in. Sevika is giving him a moment to leave before Silco and Vander have to kick him out. 

Sevika frowns when she sees the cane and his limp, brow furrowing, and it only gets worse as he hobbles over to the front door. His knees hurt, a furious ache to them that makes his limp worse. 

“Hey, kid–” 

The snow dusts his cheeks as he walks out the door, closing it behind him gently so it doesn’t make a sound on his exit. Viktor shudders at the cold, this time without his mother’s blanket that’s safely tucked away or Vander’s jacket-blanket to keep him warm. 

The cold, if anything, feels worse now that he’s had a night to be warm. It makes his breath fog out in front of him, and his fingers ache from the tension. 

Viktor takes one deep breath, then another, and starts looking for shelter for the night. 

| Ten minutes later, The Last Drop

Silco heads downstairs, giving Felicia a kiss on the cheek as she waves at Sevika and heads over to what is quickly becoming “Viktor’s booth” in Silco’s mind, despite all of them using it for their breaks. Even the customers avoid it unless the bar is fully packed. 

“Hey,” he mumbles when he finds Vander in the kitchen, making something up for Sevika at the bar. It’s some kind of sandwich, though there’s soup on the stove for later. 

“Hey yourself,” Vander returns. “Sevika’s not happy with us.” 

“Mhm,” Silco hums, leaning against the larger man’s side. “She’ll be fine once I talk to her. Did I miss anything?” 

“Benzo went back to his shop for the night. He said a lot of stuff behind the bar has been fixed, little things that he’s been putting off.” 

“I hesitate to say we might have managed to pick up a rather… let’s go with unique child,” Silco explains. “I think he did it to say thanks for letting him stay. Felicia said he didn’t believe he could stay here without paying us for it.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Vander says with a frown, “who would charge a kid like that?” 

“A lot more people than you’d think, Van.” 

He forgets sometimes that Vander is one of the few who had their parents until teenage years. Vander could be considered one of the privileged among Zaunites, his build alone a testament to that. Most Zaunites didn’t get to his size from starvation alone. Most were like Silco, skinny then and skinny in adulthood, body never learning how to put on weight. 

Silco himself paid more than just cogs and washers for a night of shelter. He hopes that it’s not a lesson Viktor has learned, that some people want things from children that children should never, ever have to give. 

The door to the kitchen swings open, cracking against the table that’s too close to it. Vander keeps meaning to move it and never does. They both turn at the same time, looking at Felicia.

“Off for the night?” Silco asks, only pausing when he gets a good look at her. Something in her posture makes him stiffen, taking a step towards her and away from Vander. “Fel?” 

Sevika stands not half a foot behind her, looking both ashamed and scandalized at the same time. From the look on Felicia’s face, Silco already knows he is not going to like what he hears next. 

“I didn’t know it was that kid,” Sevika defends, hesitantly glancing at Silco before she’s looking at Felicia again. 

Oh. Oh how he hates being right sometimes. 

Silco reaches up to run a hand down his face. “Please do not tell me I’m going to walk out there and see Viktor gone.” 

Absolute silence. Silco almost laughs, for lack of anything else to do at the moment. It’s already snowing, it isn’t too far off from evening. It’s only going to get colder and Viktor didn’t even have his own jacket. 

“Alright,” Silco starts, pushing his feelings to the side as everyone looks to him for what to do next. “Van, you might as well open the bar for tonight. Fel, see if you can get a sitter for Violet. If you can’t, either you or Con look for him.”

Felicia’s already heading out, lips pursed tightly as she does. At least Sevika looks thoroughly chastised, actually looking close to her age for once. With the way she carries herself, it’s easy for Silco to forget that she just turned seventeen and doing everything she can to avoid the mine her father works in. 

“Sevika, you and I will go looking for him,” Silco finishes. “If we have any luck, he won’t die of frostbite before we find him.” 

Chapter Text

Mommy says she can do anything. 

Anything! Anything Violet wants to be, she can do it. A shark with sharp teeth at playtime, a monkey jumping on her bed before sleep, or a little gremlin crawling around the floors of home. Violet is so many things that no one but her can keep track of it all. 

Tonight, she is the best thing of all. She is brave. 

Mommy only came home for a few minutes, coming to give her kisses and then talking quietly with daddy for a bit. They do that so much, talking like she’s not there, whispering secrets that Violet is determined to figure out. 

It’s really not fair. Daddy gets to spend all his time with mommy while they work, the evenings are supposed to be Violet’s time. She didn’t even get any time with mommy last night, daddy said she was busy taking care of something, and didn’t come home until after Violet’s bedtime. Violet even tried to stay up late, but she couldn’t stay awake.

Not this time. She’s sneaky this time. Uncle Silly even told her how to be silly. Uncle Van did as well, but his advice wasn’t used this time. 

She let’s mommy take her to bed, and curls up under the warm blanket and waits. It’s not too long until mommy and daddy are whispering in the hall, so Violet carefully creeps out from under the blanket, heading over to the door to press her ear against it. 

“It’s just awful,” mommy says, her voice small. “It’s going to be below freezing tonight, Con you should have seen him, the poor kids skin and bones. He won’t–”

“We’ll find him, okay? It’s going to be fine,” daddy reassures. 

Violet just barely opens the door, doing her best to be quiet, to peek through the crack. Daddy holds mommy’s face, brushing away tears like he does for Violet when she can’t help herself. It’s not like she cries a lot, big girls don’t cry after all. 

But the times she did cry, daddy would always wipe her cheeks clean and make sure she was okay.

“I have to help Sil,” mommy mumbles, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a few hours. And hopefully a certain someone–” mommy glances heavily at her door “–will be fast asleep by then.”

Violet closes her bedroom door in a rush just as her parents do that gross kissing thing that adults tend to do. Violet really doesn’t understand adults, don’t they know that’s how someone gets cooties? 

She’s never going to kiss anyone. 

A couple more murmured words, Violet doesn’t try to listen this time as she climbs back into bed. Mommy is going out, looking for something, and Violet is not about to miss out on that time with her. 

If mommy is going to be brave and leave, then so can she. 

Violet lifts the blanket over her head, holding her stuffed bunny rabbit against her chest as she waits. Sure enough, after just a few minutes, daddy comes in to check on her, but Violet screws her eyes shut and does her best to pretend to be asleep. 

She hears daddy sigh, say goodnight, and leave her alone. Finally. Violet wasn’t ever sure she was going to be left alone. 

Bunny tucked under one arm, Violet stands up on her bed and opens the window. Frigid air pours in, making her nose crinkle as she grabs her blanket to wrap around herself. 

It’s a small drop from the window to the ground, but Violet makes it easily. Daddy kept saying he was going to install a lock to make sure she couldn’t go out, but he still hadn’t. Which is perfect for Violet, giving her the easiest escape route from their home. 

The blanket gets pulled around her tightly, bare toes wiggling against the group at the shock of cold. Her breath fogs in the air before her, the sheer cold making her want to scramble back through the window and into her warm bed. 

Violet doesn’t though. Squaring her shoulders like her daddy does before work, she walks down the block, determined to find her mommy. 

The wind frightens him more than the snow. 

It’s hard to be afraid of something that looks so pretty. Snowflakes dance around each other like butterflies in the wind, cascading patterns Jayce follows. He watches those because it’s easier than listening to his mother cry at the counter.

“Please, we don’t have anywhere to go,” Ximena sobs softly, trying to keep her voice down. “What are we going to do? We have to be there in the morning to make the boat.” 

The wind though, unlike the dancing patterns of snow on the window, howls in its rage. It shakes the glass, makes the building creak, and let’s the cold bite into his skin. Jayce tucks his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. 

“No one’s traveling in a storm like this. I don’t know what to tell you,” the man apologetically replies. Ximena muffles a sob behind her hand. 

This is supposed to be their new start. Nothing is left for them in Ixtal, everything lost with the death of Jayce’s father. They scraped just enough coins together to get ticks for the boat, the boat meant to sail tomorrow morning. 

The boat they were going to miss if the storm didn’t abate. 

Jayce watches snowflakes fall like butterflies, and wills the storm away. The wind howls louder in reply, not willing to bend to an eight-year-old’s desires.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I had room, you could stay here. But everyone’s booked up. I won’t kick you out, you can stay down here, but there’s no way you’re going to make that boat unless you walk there.”

Ximena worries her hands, twisting and twisting and Jayce can’t help but feel like this is his fault somehow. If he hadn’t delayed them at home, insisting on waiting one more day to say goodbye to his friends, they would have beat this storm. 

Jayce didn’t even know what would happen if they couldn’t make the boat to Piltover. Would they end up having to stay here? Jayce wasn’t sure where they were, except that it was a days walk to the dock they needed to be at. 

He does take a moment to glance at other people in the room. There’s a small family, huddled in one corner with a child about Jayce’s age near the fire. There’s a couple sleeping with their hands entwined, reminding Jayce of his own mother and father, before everything went wrong. 

It’s really not fair, Jayce suddenly thinks. Why is his own life being uprooted? Why did his father have to die? 

It wasn’t fair. 

He jumps in place as his mother walks back up to him. She grabs a blanket from another table, one left out by the owner. It’s soft to the touch, a vibrant red on one side and deep, rich blue on the other. 

“Jayce,” she starts, kneeling before him, “listen to me, we’re going to have to walk to the docks. It’s going to be very cold, but we don’t have a choice.” 

Jayce grabs the edges of the blanket, holding them tightly. He doesn’t really want to stay here, even for the night, but is it better than being out in the snow. 

Before he can say anything, his mother pulls him to his feet, brushes him clean of imaginary dust, and wraps an arm around his shoulder to keep him close. 

“Are you sure?” Jayce asks, because he can’t help himself. 

Ximena makes sure his hat is on his head and secure, then pulls his scarf a bit further up on him and covers his mouth from the cold. 

The man at the counter shakes his head when they head to the door. No one tries to stop them. 

The first blast of cold air is a shock to both of them. Jayce gasps, fingers digging into his blanket, and tightens it around himself. It’s too big on him, and drags into the wet snow as they take their first steps out. 

He glances back as they leave the warmth and safety and head into the unknown. Jayce holds his blanket a little tighter around himself, and presses closer to his mother. 

The snow brushes against his shins as he presses on to the future, to change.

Viktor doesn’t think much when he leaves The Last Drop. 

He turns his head left, then right, and watches his breath form in front of his face like a dragon breathing fire. Both ways look the same, one leading further into the Lanes and the other towards the elevators leading to the Promenade. 

Viktor decides to head further into the Lanes, towards the fissures, before he heads up to the Promenade. It would be rather bothersome to encounter enforcers when it’s already cold. And the cold makes people irritated. 

The last thing he wants to deal with is an upset adult wielding a gun and a baton. The enforcers don’t like coming down this deep into the Lanes unless they have to, but Viktor has seen and heard of enforcers creeping their way down when they want to make trades not allowed in Piltover or just need to burn off some anger on someone who can’t fight back. 

His knees, not just his bad one, but both of them ache terribly in the cold. His bad knee does hurt a bit more, but the cold simply exasperates everything. He sticks to the edges of pathways, watching as most put away whatever they’ve attempted selling for the day. 

There’s the idle thought of returning to the doctor for the night. But Viktor can’t stomach the thought of walking that far, only to end up standing at a locked door when the doctor refuses to let him in. 

Plus… Rio. He can’t stomach seeing Rio like that again. Even the thought of all those tubes and the sickly color of her filmed over eyes makes his entire stomach revolt. 

Viktor dismisses the thought before he can continue down that rabbit hole. 

He barely notices where he’s walking anymore, just a few blocks down from The Last Drop. The neon glow of the signs hurts his eyes a bit as he looks around, keeping to himself as much as he can. 

“Oh, look at that one,” someone says when Viktor glances up to see where he is. “Pretty little thing.” 

A hand lands on his shoulder, brushing away a few flakes of grey tinted snowflakes Viktor hadn’t noticed. The person leers over him, smile growing when they meet his eye. 

“Leave the kid alone,” someone else says, disapproval in their voice. 

Viktor blinks, trying to figure out what’s going on, unable to take a step back with the hand on his shoulder. He’s outside one of those shops his father used to visit that his mother never liked. She herself refused to go in, taking Viktor along further through the Lanes and shopping. Viktor never liked how his father smelled after he came back from one of these places. 

“Look at those eyes though! He’d get a pretty good amount of cogs,” the person holding his shoulder laughs. Their grip tightens. “Are you looking for a job?” 

He shakes his head furiously. “No, thank you.” 

A yordle heaves a sigh, her fingers flicking out ash from her cigarette. It doesn’t smell like one of his fathers or Mr. Silco’s cigarettes though, somehow it smells even worse. Pungent and odorous, making Viktor bring a hand to his nose to try to muffle the shell. 

“You heard him, let the kid go. This ain’t that kind of place anyway,” the yordle orders, walking forward. 

The person holding him sighs, letting go of Viktor to walk back to the entrance of the shop. There’s someone standing in the window, dancing with their arms making movements that make Viktor look down at the ground with a blush on his cheeks, though he doesn’t understand why. 

“Don’t let him get to you, darling, now run along home before someone else snatches you up,” the yordle orders, waving her cigarette at him in a ‘go away’ motion. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Ma’am,” the yordle snorts. “Polite one. If you need a job in a few years, come over and tell them Babette gave you a recommendation.” 

“I… uh, thank you?” Viktor shifts from foot to foot, wondering if that’s even an offer he wants to take her up on. 

Not unless he has to, he supposes. Viktor nods his thanks again, scurrying off just as she exhales another puff of the foul smelling herbs. He hopes the smell doesn’t stick to him. 

Thankfully, when he’s a few feet away, the smell fades and doesn’t stick to his clothes. What does stick to him though is the snow, the grey tinted flakes landing on his shoulders and soaking into the fabric, getting into his hair as well. Viktor tries his best to stay under awnings and bridges that connect layers above, but there isn’t a lot of cover that isn’t already being occupied by someone else. 

It’s a strange reminder, in a way, that he isn’t alone in this particular form of suffering. Most people who have booths during the day to hock wares don’t also have a place to sleep as well. Benzo is rather fortunate with his shop and the booth. Most mine workers also only live in housing provided by the mine owners themselves. 

He wonders, briefly, who is in his old house. If it’s still empty, waiting for a new worker and their family. The two men who showed up made it seem like they had new people lined up immediately, but Viktor remembers a few of those houses, just like his own, empty for weeks while they got new workers. 

Would it be hard to go down there and see if it’s still empty? Or would it be a waste of time and energy? The cold makes him want to keep moving, to keep the blood flowing, but his knees hurt. 

No, his best bet would be to find an alley or some place to camp out until morning, when the sun would rise and the temperature would rise with it. Then he could tackle problems in the morning, such as finding a new reliable place to sleep and getting food, when it was warmer. 

With any luck, he would get a few more days before the snow and ice really settled in, and then he could brace for winter. 

Viktor takes a deep breath and heads forward, and brushes more snow from his shoulders. 

The cold hurts. 

And it burns. That’s the strange thing about it, that it burns. Not like the woman with her leg, with her burn down to the bone, it’s a different kind of searing heat, the kind that numbs but also makes Viktor feel like he’s on fire. 

It’s different than when the rain came, and he would get soaked. Those nights he would shake and shake and still be able to warm up in the morning. His fingers shake until they can’t anymore, and holding his cane feels like too much of an effort. 

It’s only been a few hours since he left The Last Drop, long enough that night has fallen and Zaun’s rich nightlife comes into being. Viktor has half a mind to steal a blanket or something to keep himself warm, but that’s what got him caught in the first place. 

He doesn’t want to be called a thief again. 

There’s no time to think of that though when he hears a muffled noise. It’s… strange, the Lanes are never really quiet, there’s always some kind of activity or people talking. Mine workers who want nothing more than to blow off their paycheck after a long day. Enforcers who get the short end of the stick and have to patrol the area. Or even kids like him wandering about looking for things to steal or ways to occupy their time. 

This isn’t one of those noises. It’s not shouts from drunk people fighting, or enforcers shouting orders. It’s..

It’s crying. Soft sobs barely muffled. 

Viktor pauses, glancing around. He shifts in place as he work, trying to flex his fingers to make sure there’s still feeling there. His right hand feels numb against the handle of his cane, fingers frozen in place. 

The crying really isn’t his business. Viktor could walk away, forget he heard anything, but he still stops. He should be going off to find shelter for the night, especially with the later hour. 

But it sounds like Sky crying. Her muffled sobs when they laid under his blanket together on her bed, and she cried because she missed her parents, or how alone she felt before Viktor came along. She would cry into his shoulder until Axel or one of the other kids would throw something at them, and then she would cry quieter, so they wouldn’t get in trouble. 

What if it is Sky? He already left her once, could he do it again?

Sometimes things happen and no one will be able to do anything about it, his mother used to say, but there are times you can do something, Vikki, and you might be the only one who can. 

Viktor’s breath barely warms his fingers when he holds them in front of his face. His lungs feel as cold as the rest of his body. 

He can’t leave Sky again. Who else is going to stop for a crying child when no one would stop for him?

My little inventor.

He spots the crying a few feet away. A small form, hunched underneath an auburn blanket, shivering so violently they’re almost vibrating. If it wasn’t for that, one could almost think they were a discarded pile of fabric. 

His cane clicks against the ground as he stands beside them. Closer, it doesn’t sound like Sky. Large, powder blue eyes are wet with fat teardrops ready to spill. The child, a little girl, rubs the blanket against her face, smearing snot and tears all over it. 

You’ll change the world one day. 

“Are you okay?” Viktor asks quietly, tilting his head a little to look at the little girl. 

She’s at least a couple years younger than himself. Young enough that at Miss Maisey’s house, she would have been left behind. Her lower lip trembles for a moment before she seems to steel herself, large tears still in her eyes. 

“I’m ‘kay,” she mumbles wetly, trying to put on a brave face. 

Viktor nods, not expecting any other answer. When she lifts the blanket up, he sees her bare feet against the ground. Her toes are bright red, almost angry. 

She doesn’t look homeless though, her clothes are too put together and she’s too young to maintain that herself. Her little cheeks are round too, speaking of consistent meals and a more stable life than most. 

“That’s good,” Viktor says, giving an exaggerated shiver. “It’s cold out here.” 

She nods tentatively at him. They eye each other, both trying to make up their next move. Viktor can’t really leave her here, not when the snow falls down even harder. It’s piling on top of the girl’s blanket, getting it wet. 

“I’m Viktor,” he introduces. He holds out a pallid hand. The shivering from before might not have been a total exaggeration. 

“Vi-oh-lit,” the girl enunciates carefully, in the same cadence that a parent would say teaching it to their child. 

They shake hands the way Viktor’s seen adults do when they meet, or make some kind of deal. It feels both silly but also like something they’re meant to do. 

But they need to get out of this cold. Maybe if he helps her home, he can find a nice place for himself as well.

“I’m a bit lost,” Viktor ends up saying, suppressing another shiver, “and it’s cold, do you know anywhere to go?” 

Violet nods after a long moment of thought. Viktor can almost see her little brain working, trying to figure out the question he’s placed before her. 

“Mommy says when I’m lost to go to The Last Drop,” Violet eventually says, sagging in place as she says it. “But I don’t know where it is.” 

Oh, Viktor thinks, that makes things easier. 

“I know the way,” he says, and she brightens completely. “I can take you there?” 

It’s not really a question, she’s not going to be okay on the street with a single blanket and no shoes or even socks. Violet practically shoves him to get a move on, clearly ready to be somewhere warm and not lost on the street. 

“Let’s go then! Come on, come on!” 

Viktor brushes the snow from the top of her head away as her little hand reaches over and fists into his shirt, holding on so she doesn’t get lost. 

He hopes Vander and Silco won’t be too upset to see him again. 

It hurts. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

His mind chants it on repeat with every step they take forward. It hurts. One foot in front of the other. It hurts. His mother’s arm tightens over his shoulder, over the blanket on his shoulders that flaps in the wind. It hurts. 

The cold bites and sinks its teeth in with a ferocity Jayce has never felt before. He’s not sure how far they’ve walked, but it’s far enough that he no longer sees the lights of the small town. 

There is only swirling forms of snow around them. The flakes that look like butterflies fly past him quicker than he could ever think to reach out and grab one. He can only look at them for a few moments before the force of the wind and snow make him duck his head back down. 

His mother stumbles slightly, a grunt leaving her lips that Jayce doesn’t hear. It wouldn’t matter either way, the snow and wind steal any sound from them before anything can happen. 

One step in front of the other. 

It hurts. 

He stopped being cold a while ago. 

It hurts. 

Maybe if they stopped for a second, just for a second, he could catch his breath and keep going. 

It hurts. 

His foot slips in the snow. He barely feels the impact of the ice against his knee before his mother pulls him up to continue. 

It hurts. 

They can’t stop. 

It hurts. 

His mother falls first. 

Hand clutched to chest, two blackened fingers standing out amongst the rest. Her face is deathly pale, breathing shallow. Jayce hates that there’s relief when he falls beside her, even as he cries out. 

“Mama!”

The cold no longer bites into him as he falls to his knees beside her, shaking her shoulder. He can barely feel his own hands as he pushes her, but she doesn’t move, completely limp under his touch. 

“No, no, no, mama please!” he sobs, tears prickling at his eyes. 

She can’t even lift her head. The snow feels like ice in his lungs when he inhales, the blanket around his shoulders flapping wildly in the wind. 

“Help! Someone please, help!” 

The wind steals the words from his lips before they travel far. Butterfly snowflakes dance across his vision as tear tracks so hot they feel like they’re burning make their way down his face. It feels so hot against his chill skin that he’s sure the tear tracks leave burns. 

He shakes his mother again, not even sure if she’s breathing. She has to be though. She has to be. Jayce can’t imagine a world without her. 

“Please, mama, I can’t do this without you.” 

His head bows as a sob leaves his throat, or at least attempts to. Instead it catches in his throat, a keening noise leaving him. The storm does not care, the wind steals away the noise before it travels far. 

Though it’s not as though anyone is around to hear it. 

He bends his head over his mother, sobs leaving his chest and the burning tears dripping down. Jayce is tired, exhausted even, and funnily enough, the cold has finally left him, as he kneels beside his unconscious mother. 

That should be more worrisome than it is, the fact that snow drifts around him but he can’t feel it anymore. In fact he feels surprisingly warm, like he’s been walking in the sun instead. 

Maybe that’s where he really is, and this is all just a horrible nightmare. Maybe they made it to Piltover, and he gets to walk with his mom in the sun and see the so-called city of progress in action. 

But he’s not. He’s out where the snow bites and freezes, and his mother isn’t moving, and there’s the horrible feeling that this is where he’s meant to die. 

He lifts his head slightly, trying to look around one last time into the vortex of swirling snow and wind as though it would have any answers for him. What he does see, makes him blink in disbelief. 

There’s a figure there, standing before him. With a staff, the end of which is buried in the snow below. Jayce can’t make out their face, but their fingers spark blue as they hover over Jayce and his mother. 

He’s so tired though. Maybe a few minutes ago, he would have been able to keep them open, to see what happens next. Life never seems to work out that way. 

Instead his eyes close, and for a moment it feels as though his stomach swoops down to his stomach, and then light. 

The howling wind is gone. The sky is rich and blue above them. His mother shifts beneath him, blinking back into awareness. 

Jayce looks up at the figure, who leans down just enough to grab his blanket, tugging it firmly around Jayce. It feels important, in a way, the way the person tucks it around him. 

He opens his mouth to thank them, to ask what just happened, but when he blinks the figure is gone, and all that’s left is a small blue stone in Jayce’s palm, etched with a symbol he’s never seen before. 

In the distance, much closer than it should be, Piltover waits for them.

Things are not going well. 

Zaun is a lot of things, both good and bad. And very quickly Silco realizes that while a large number of hiding places is great when enforcers come down for raids, it’s not so great when you’re looking for a child who’s able to fit into small places. 

But Silco still looks, sending Sevika off in the other direction to cover more ground. He checks behind boxes in alleyways, behind vent pipes, anywhere that’s big enough for a child to hide away for a night. 

He doesn’t try to make too much of a fuss as he does. His name is not unknown to the Lanes, though Vander’s is more known. And while Silco doesn’t have many enemies, he does not want to even entertain the thought of someone having leverage over him. 

Silco tries not to think about how he can only cover so much ground in a night. How this is probably the night that the snow will finally stick and winter will be fully sinking it’s claws into Zaun and Piltover alike. 

He tries not to think about why he’s so worked up over one child. There’s a foundling house not a few blocks away, filled to the brim with orphans made by Piltover’s greed, Viktor shouldn’t be special. 

Intuition has saved Silco more times than he can count. One has to have good instincts to survive in Zaun. It isn’t enough to just be strong like Vander at times, it takes instincts to learn when to speak up and when to be quiet, when to throw that punch or when to hold it back. 

There’s something about the boy, the kid with gold coins for eyes, who’s smart enough to fix taps and pipes. Another orphan Zaun would chew up and spit out easily. 

It’s how Piltover kept them down. They would rather all of them suffocate in the grey before they gave Zaun an ounce of consideration. To topside, all they’re good for is the labor of the mines. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been looking for hours until he finally loops back to the bar and Felicia collapses in his arms the moment she sees him. 

“Oh Janna, Sil, she’s missing, she’s missing,” Felicia sobs against his chest, his arms coming up around her automatically. 

She’s more hysterical than Silco’s ever seen her before. He feels concussed, confused, he didn’t even see her like this when–

When enforcers dragged him away with laughter for stealing extra ration cards at the mine shop. 

When there was an explosion made by faulty wiring on the same floor Connol worked in. 

When they first got their place and she sobbed in his arms at finally being safe–

“Violet?” Silco croaks out, his voice raw. 

It’s too cold, it’s too cold for her to be out. It’s too cold for any of them to be out. Even the workers outside of the brothels wouldn’t be out on a night like tonight. First snows like this, the real ones, were nights of quiet in Zaun. It’s the start of winter, time to prepare for the cold and spend time with family. 

Part of their family is missing. 

“I got Benzo out looking as well,” Connol eventually says, his voice wrecked. “She climbed out the window, I should have put a lock on it ages ago.”

Felicia lets out half a sob, covering her mouth with her handle to stifle the noise. Silco hushes her, shifting her over to Connol so he can have a moment to gather his thoughts. 

Has anyone told Sevika that they’re looking for two kids now? The bar is still open behind them, and Vander must still be working, because there’s no way the man wouldn’t panic and tear apart the streets to look for the kids. 

“Fel, I need you to calm down, we’re going to find her,” Silco orders. His own panic is pushed down, shoved deep into his soul to deal with later, when the problems are solved. 

Keep a level head, it’s what they need. You’re not good to anyone in a panic, Silco thinks to himself, harsh and unrelenting. 

Connol mumbles sweet nothings to Felicia as she takes a few deep breaths, starting to finally calm down. A twinge of guilt runs through his chest at the sight, but he needs everyone to have a level head. 

“I think we should find Sevika and tell her, she’s out looking as well. Con, you and Benzo can–can…” 

Silco takes a deep breath. His thoughts swirl around in his head, he struggles to get even a single one. Everyone needs him to be calm and he just can’t, Fel is blinking red rimmed gun-metal eyes at him and all he can think about is two children freezing to death in the snow. 

“I don’t think Uncle Silly is a real person,” came a familiar accented voice. 

They whip around at the same time at the sound of Viktor’s voice. Connol still looks down at Felicia, clearly confused, but she’s still got her hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes as wide as Silco’s own. 

“He is real!” comes another very familiar voice. Connol relaxes the moment Felicia let’s out a muffled cry of relief. 

Viktor and Violet appear at the same time, Violet covered in her blanket dusted with snow, her cheeks pink and bare feet bright red against the ground. She’s got one hand tightly tangled in Viktor’s shirt, the other holding her blanket around her shoulders. Viktor himself is as pale as a ghost, a fine tremor running throughout his body, an ice white hand holding his cane. 

“Mommy!” Violet cries loudly as soon as she sees them, letting go of Viktor to spring forward. 

Felicia falls to her knees at the same time, opening her arms for Violet to crash into with full force. It’s all happy tears and smiles, Violet giggling as Felicia kisses her cheeks and all over her face, Connol draping himself over the both of them. 

The relief of it makes Silco feel cracked open for a moment, raw and vulnerable. As though someone’s split open his stomach and spilled out his guts onto the cold ground. He lets out a breath that feels more like exhaling his own lungs, leaving the small family to face Viktor. 

Only to reach out and snatch the child by the shoulder when Viktor tries to quietly walk away. Even his shoulder is cold.

“Janna, can you stay in place for one moment?” he sighs, trying to get himself back together. 

Viktor looks up at him guilty, large golden eyes staring up at him. He mumbles an apology, but Silco can’t bring it in himself to acknowledge it right then. 

Just a second, he needs just a second to get himself together. Then he can take care of things, but in the meantime, he strips off his own jacket, throwing it around Viktor’s shoulders and tugging it tightly around him. 

“Where in the world have you been, young lady?” Felicia finally asks, motherly tone making Violet look down in shame. 

“You had us worried sick,” Connol continues, though every inch of his body language says the opposite. 

Violet, ever the stubborn child that she is, pouts, chubby little arms crossing over her chest in a perfect imitation of her mother’s own pout. Thankfully, both Felicia and Silco are immune to that, though Vander and Connol are notoriously weak to it. 

“Vikki didn’t believe me about Uncle Silly,” Violet bemoans, trying to change the subject in the way only a child can. 

“Don’t change the subject, young lady,” Felicia orders. She scoops Violet up in her arms, picking up one of her hands. “Janna, Vi, you’re freezing!” 

“Cold,” Violet agrees, winding her arms around Felicia’s neck. 

Silco finally turns to look down at Viktor, watching the child shift from foot to foot. He’s not really shaking anymore, but his lips are tinted blue, and his skin is still much too pale, especially around his hands. 

“I think,” Silco starts, trying to figure out his own words, “we should all go inside and have something to eat and get the kids warm, hm?” 

Felicia snaps to attention, passing off Violet to Connol and rushing over to fuss over Viktor. She gives him much the same treatment Violet got, brushing his hair away from his face, checking him over for injuries, even tightening Silco’s jacket over his small frame before showering his face in kisses. 

“Thank you, thank you, Viktor, my little savior,” she coos at him, kissing his forehead once more and leaving the child in quite a daze as she rushes back to take Violet back. 

“I’m still waiting for an explanation, young lady. I’m going to have your father put bars on your window so you never, ever sneak out again,” Felicia threatens, heading into The Last Drop. 

Silco isn’t that far behind. He almost reaches down to copy Felicia to pick Viktor up just to make sure that the kid doesn’t try to sneak away again, but before he can do that, Viktor leans into the hand on his shoulder, and looks up at Silco with his wide golden eyes for direction. 

“Come on, then,” Silco mutters, still trying to get his heart under control. “Let’s get some dinner before Violet eats it all. She’s a bottomless pit, I tell you.”

It makes a small giggle come out from Viktor’s lips, though it’s not very loud. Silco ushers Viktor to walk in front of him, just to keep an eye on him a bit longer. 

Viktor tries to head back to the booth, but Silco gently pushes him upstairs. The first thing they need to do is get him out of those wet clothes, hiding underneath Silco’s jacket. The first priority is getting him warm, anything else can come later. 

It’s only when Viktor stumbles on the stairs that Silco finally gives in and scoops him up. Viktor is much too light, Silco can feel his ribs against his fingers. He half expects a fight, the same way Violet doesn’t like to be picked up by him, but Viktor sags into his hold a moment later, the hand not holding his cane reaching up to grab at Silco’s shirt. 

“You gave us quite a fright, you know, leaving like that,” Silco starts, deciding to get the hard part of the conversation out of the way early. 

It feels like if he doesn’t talk, he won’t be able to function. Silence is a weapon at times, but not when his opponent is a child barely shivering despite the cold. 

Viktor ducks his head, inadvertently bringing himself closer to Silco in an effort to avoid Silco’s gaze. He mumbles out an apology as another shiver wracks his tiny body. 

“I’m not upset with you,” Silco quickly clarifies, reaching his and Vander’s bedroom. “We were all just worried. It’s much too cold for anyone to be out tonight, don’t you agree?” 

A small nod against his neck, just the barest acknowledgement. He sets Viktor down on the bed, helping him to let go of his cane and set it aside before he reaches for the bag of Viktor’s clothes that Sasha must have brought back for them when they didn’t go to pick them up. 

He has half a mind to draw Viktor a hot bath, but he’s seen that do more damage than good. Viktor’s hands are pale and white with the beginnings of frostbite, thankfully mostly superficial and not deep. He lets Silco examine his hands without complaint, his shivers becoming more apparent as he starts to really warm up. 

“Do you think you can change on your own or do you need help?” Silco asks carefully, not wanting to overstep. 

Viktor flexes his fingers, wincing lightly at the movement. He seems to greatly debate with himself as he reaches for his clothes, but eventually shakes his head. 

“I can do it.” 

Silco ruffles his hair before leaving, making sure the door is shut behind him as he makes his way downstairs. Sevika and Benzo are back, Sevika working behind the bar while Vander talks with Connol and Felicia at what Silco is quickly starting to think of as Viktor’s booth. 

“How is she?” he asks as he walks up beside Vander. 

Violet is fast asleep, a hot water bottle pressed against her chest and tucked away in Felicia’s arms. It won’t be too long before the girl is too large to be held like that, but for now she still can, and Silco can’t blame Felicia for holding her for as long as possible. 

Her little fingers and toes are still pink, though not as bright red as before. The damp blanket is draped over the back of the booth, and Felicia runs her free hand through Violet’s hair, smoothing it back from her face. 

“Worn out,” Felicia answers, leaning over to press a kiss against Violet’s forehead. “She said Viktor found her out there and walked her back since he knew the way.” 

A sweet boy they had on their hands, it seems. Vander wraps an arm around Silco’s waist, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. 

The sound of it makes Violet slowly blink her eyes open, looking up at her mother with the unconditional love and trust only children can achieve. 

“Mommy,” she mumbles, “where’s Vikki?” 

“He’s upstairs getting warm, just like you should be, my little bug,” Felicia coos, “What were you thinking? Sneaking out like that.” 

“We have a little troublemaker on our hands, don’t we?” Connol muses to himself, getting a narrowed eye glance from his daughter. 

“Missed you,” Violet whispers, “you were gone all day. Not fair.” 

The adults pause, watching the child burrow further into her mother’s hold. Felicia naturally shifts accordingly, and soon Violet is snoring away again, gone to the world. 

Vander pulls Silco a bit closer by his hip until they’re pressed against each other's sides. Connol does the same thing for Felicia, while Benzo looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

“She seems to like Viktor at least,” Vander eventually says, his voice a rumble behind Silco’s chest. 

“He saved her from losing a couple toes, at least,” Benzo chuckles. “Man, Sil how did you even find this kid? He’s full of miracles, ain’t he?” 

There’s a light tug on Silco’s sleeve. He turns to see Viktor there, still pale and with blue tinted lips, holding his cane and wearing Silco’s jacket once again. 

“Is Violet okay?” he asks, glancing over at Felicia. “She wasn’t wearing any shoes.” 

“She’s going to be perfectly fine thanks to you,” Silco reassures, untangling himself from Vander so he can give Viktor more of his attention. 

“Yes, she’ll manage to keep all of her toes now,” Felicia teases her daughter gently even in her sleep. 

Viktor gives the smallest of smiles at that, moving a little closer to Silco at the same time. Perhaps unconsciously, as the child doesn’t seem to realize how much he’s shivering as he really starts to warm up. 

“Van, think you can get some soup and another hot water bottle for him?” Silco asks, looking up at his lover. 

Vander’s already detaching himself, giving Viktor a small smile before heading over to the kitchen. Viktor blinks up at Silco, looking a little dazed, as silent as could be. 

“Well if that’s all the chaos of today, I best be heading back to my shop,” Benzo finally announces, getting up to head back home. 

They say their goodnights while Silco helps Viktor into the booth across from Connol and Felicia and their sleeping Violet. After a moment, he slides into the booth next to Viktor, feeling the child press against him in a desperate bid to get more of his warmth. 

Silco takes the chance to examine Viktor’s hands. They’re still pale, but Viktor doesn’t twist away in pain when Silco makes sure they all bend properly and that he can make a fist. 

“Does it hurt?” Silco asks, careful as can be. 

Viktor shakes his head. “Pins and needles.” 

Superficial then. Silco doesn’t even realize he’s released a breath until it’s gone, and decides they’ll have to keep an eye on it. 

“You might get a few blisters, but I suppose it’s good you found Violet when you did, hm? No more cold nights for you.” 

By the time Vander’s returned with the hot water bottle and a bowl of soup, Felicia and Connol have retired for the night, heading back home to board up their windows with bars to make sure their wild child never sneaks out again. It probably won’t be doing too much good in a few years if she’s this rambunctious now, but better than losing a small child to the streets. 

“Let’s go down to the basement and eat, then you can get some rest right after,” Silco suggests. Vander carries down the hot water bottle and soup as Silco makes sure Viktor doesn’t fall face first down the stairs. 

It’s too easy to see the child is exhausted. Silco’s not sure that he’s stopped moving since he left the mad doctor’s cave. Silco remembers nights like that of his own, when moving is more secure than staying in one place. 

The couch still has the blanket Silco folded and draped over the back. Silco helps Viktor to sit, the muffled sounds of the bar above echoing through the room as he tucks the blanket around Viktor and presses the hot water bottle against Viktor’s chest. 

Viktor lets out a little whine at the contact, but melts into the couch only a second later. Vander places the bowl of soup on the table, still steaming. He places his hand on Viktor’s shoulder, surprisingly not earning a flinch from the child. 

“I need to go make sure Sevika isn’t giving away free drinks to her friends again,” Vander says to Silco, before squeezing Viktor’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping, kiddo.” 

Viktor looks so confused by the statement, but doesn’t say anything as Vander ruffles his hair and stomps back upstairs. It’s a bit of an adorable look on him, especially when Silco hasn’t seen him so confused before. 

“Are you still cold?” Silco inquires, reaching over to make sure Viktor is fully tucked into the blankets. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t see the wedding shroud anywhere. It was down here earlier, wasn’t it? Silco vaguely remembers seeing it. He’ll leave that problem for another night, when Viktor’s less pale and his lips aren’t blue. 

Viktor shakes his head after a second of thinking it over, hesitates, then nods, like he can’t decide if he’s still cold or not. 

Silco really doesn’t think he’s built for something like this. Felicia took to motherhood like a duck to water, naturally as anything else in the world. Silco though, he was more likely one that children would run from rather than get near. 

Which had happened on occasion when a few children realized they could knock on the door and get a free meal from Vander. It had been quite amusing and disappointing at the same time to open the same door at the tentative knock only to see the small forms running away at the sight of him. 

Uncertain, Silco shifts to sit next to Viktor, untangling him slightly from the blanket and slotting himself under them as well. Body heat is meant to help with hypothermia, which Viktor most certainly has. 

Viktor watches him with those large, golden eyes, only moving when Silco settles himself down. Once again Silco finds himself likening Viktor to a cat, with the way the child presses against his side, half in his lap. 

Not too bony for some, he thinks, remembering the way Violet’s always fussed against him.

It’s a bit of a balancing act, a bit of maneuvering, which ends up with Silco holding the bowl of soup in place while Viktor eats as much as he can. By the time he finishes off the soup, his hot water bottle is no longer hot, and Viktor is struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Better?” Silco asks, not expecting too much of a reply. 

He’s right. Viktor sneezes, shuddering again as he leans against Silco. “I can leave when Mr. Vander closes the bar.” 

He says it so calmly too, still tucked against Silco’s side as though he can’t help but look for that warmth and comfort while it still lasts. Felicia would know what to say to that, but Silco doesn’t have any idea. 

There was no one to reassure him when things were finally safe. It took years to realize he wasn’t the same small kid who could be hurt so easily, and that was only after being hurt. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Silco ends up saying. “In fact, I think you shouldn’t. It really is much too cold for you out there.” 

He reaches down, threading his fingers through brown locks as Viktor pulls the blanket tight around him now that he doesn’t have to worry about eating. He looks a bit skeptical, but also much too tired to fight Silco on much. 

“Consider it a thank you, then, for bringing Violet back safe and sound.”

Now that eases Viktor more than anything. He slumps against Silco further, a tired yawn leaving his lips. It is getting pretty late, especially for a child who’s been on multiple adventures outside. 

It turns out, he doesn’t really have to say much. Viktor’s asleep in only a few minutes, still pale but not deathly so anymore. Silco stays down there with him, running his fingers through his hair until he hears the bar quiet down upstairs, and Vander’s heavy footsteps coming down to join him. 

“He asleep?” Vander rumbles, the low baritone of his voice ringing in Silco’s ears. 

At some point, Viktor had shifted to lay down, resting his head in Silco’s lap. The hot water bottle has been abandoned on the table, no longer providing any warmth. Silco still runs his hands though Viktor’s hair, keeping him asleep. There’s a small hand holding onto his shirt, fingers tangled in the fabric.

“Yeah,” Silco mumbles. He tilts his head up as Vander leans down, pressing a soft but light kiss against his lips. 

“Did he try to pay you for it?” 

“No, but he did offer to leave when you closed up the bar.” 

Vander lets out a snort of a laugh, coming over to Silco’s other side. His large arm drapes over the back of the couch, the entire thing groaning under the additional weight. 

“It’s getting late,” Vander rumbles. 

Silco nods. “We should get to bed.” 

They should. There’s a much larger, much comfier bed upstairs. He would just need to shift Viktor’s head off his lap and remove his hand. It would take two seconds. 

The night continues. Neither of them move.