Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a better future

Silco

There is a particular kind of silence that follows a party. The absence of noise produces this certain ringing in your ears, the ghosts of conversations, glasses being pushed together, dancing, music and laughter.

The last guests have long gone but it has taken Silco almost twenty minutes of arguing to get Vander to do the clean up in the morning, not now in the middle of the night.

Not that morning is far away. The humming of the new hot water boiler ( a luxury that Silco highly appreciates, because it doesn’t leave you shivering in the middle of showering) stops and not long after he hears the sound of a door clicking shut.

Silco closes the last buttons on his pajama top, takes the comb from the dresser and brings order to his still slightly wet hair.

Vander’s heavy footsteps are a good indicator of how tired he really is after hosting the inventor's competition. He takes pride in it but they both aren’t twenty (not even thirty) anymore and it begins to show.

The bedroom door opens and Vander walks in, already wearing its nightly fit. Long underpants and a sleeveless shirt.

"What a night, eh?" Vander grunts as he closes the door behind him.

"But a good one, no?" Silco hears the need for reassurance in his partner’s voice from a mile away, grabs the small brown bottle next to the comb and crosses the small distance between him and Vander.

"Could need a little assistance," he says and the ghost of a smile washes over Vander’s face as he takes the bottle and unscrews it.

"Mh? Little too much champagne, huh?" The amused tone in Vander’s voice doesn't escape his attention and Silco grants him a soft chuckle.It sounds a little forced though.

"Well, yes. I'll drop that stuff anywhere but not my eye."

In reality he's just a bit tipsy but he also thinks that this might help Vander’s little mood.

He tips back his head and forces himself to look straight ahead, towards the wooden ceiling. Not that he can see anything out of his left eye anyway. The artificial one he wears, unfortunately doesn’t magically grant him the power of sight. A shame.

"Alright. Ye want me to count?"

"Just do it," Silco says and when the medical fluid hits, he hastily blinks the sting and burn away, then moves his head away.

The drops help on a daily basis but what he really despises are the monthly injections. The first few times he had nearly slapped Fynna in a kind of reflex.

Right now he leans in for a bit, his shoulder against the bigger man’s, savoring Vander’s warmth and steadiness until the unpleasant feeling subsides. Vander is the one who moves away first, while Silco dabs away moisture underneath his eye, with the edge of a sleeve. Vander walks over to their bed sinking down on the edge, the wooden frame creaking, shoulders slumping.

Silco turns away only for a second to throw a stray sock, that has fallen half under the dresser, into the laundry basket. When he turns to Vander again he has buried his face in his hands.

Oh, Janna...

Without speaking Silco follows, bare feet on the various rugs they have lying about on the floor for insulation. Sooner or later he will get fander to renovate the place. But there's barely time for that when you're selfemployed.

They’ve been talking about building a sun-room but he doubts the plan will ever come into fruition.

He stands in front of his old mate and tilts his head slightly to the left, then carefully puts a hand on Vander’s right shoulder. He winces.

"Hey." Silco breathes. Vander rubs his face and finally removes his hands, then opens and closes them, and finally puts them down, his arms hugging around his own middle.

"Oh, dear. What's this about now?" Silco slides his hand over from Vander’s shoulder to his cheek, not breaking contact once, as if he'd slip away if he did.

Vander looks up. Silco catches his gaze and then gets it.

Silco sighs through his nose and softly shakes his head. His fingers gently comb through Vanders damp hair.

"Are we going there again?" Silco wills his tone to as sound as soft as he can. Because it's not an accusation. It's stating a fact.

"It's because of what Benzo’s boy said earlier, is it not?"

Vanders gray eyes wander away, into the distance for a second, then lock into his.

The color of the sky after a storm, Silco thinks every time he studies them.

So easy to get lost in, like a ship at sea.

Vander’s breathing hitches and then comes up too shallow, too short. He sees his throat work too. Silco’s chest tightens, when he hears this sound coming from his husband. It’s been a while since he has heard it last.

"It's alright, Van. You're alright," Silco repeats the mantra, as Vander buries his face on his chest. His breath is hot and he's shaking. Silco swallows the lump that wants to build up in his own throat, ignores the ache in the back of it. He puts his cheek on top of Vanders head. He smells like soap and... Vander.

"You’re alright."

His arms slide around him as best as he can manage. Silco let's his partner sob silently, repeating his own mantra.

Choked up words, that he has heard Vander say a thousand times. Words that begin to put his own mind into a darker place, the longer he listens to them.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," Vander repeats. A prayer, a well rehearsed line. A beg for forgiveness Silco has long given him, yet it still doesn't seem to drown out the guilt.

Silco draws a deep breath that is too unsteady for his own liking.

"Powder said he had been acting weird all over. Remember their fight?" he then says, willing his voice to steady.

The sobs stop for a moment and Vander removes himself from the embrace, leaving a cold that makes Silco shudder.

He the reaches to the nightstand and hands Vander a tissue.

He clears his nose and wipes his eyes before he looks at Silco again, eyes and nose red from crying. He has left a damp spot on Silco’s top. It cracks something in him. Vander doesn't cry openly. Not even after Violet’s untimely death. The weeks it has taken him to finally get this man to just let himself feel the grief.

Well... Maybe he's the one with a drink too many. Silco can smell the alcohol in Vanders breath even through the minty toothpaste.

To his own shock he had considered reaching across the counter, letting the rage, that still sometimes simmers underneath the surface of his mind, take control and punch Ekko’s teeth in. It barely shows its ugly face these days, but it is there, lying dormant inside his chest, like a sea creature waiting for an unassuming boat to pass its hunting grounds. But he has enough self control, to not ruin a fun night everyone has worked hard for.

Vander’s reaction to the simple sentence, sudden stiffness under his touch, the haunted look on his face, that had disappeared a heartbeat later. He knows this man inside and out but has been naive enough to think that Vander has just gotten over it by the time they went for bed.

"What do you think about it?"

Vander’s words take a moment to register. His thoughts still sneak round the moment behind the bar, after Ekko said those words. Something in the boy’s eyes had made Silco stop. Ekko had been genuinely irritated, honestly upset at seeing him, when in reality he’s more often around than not.

Silco shrugs and hums, giving Vander the impression he contemplates.

"Maybe the stress. Competition and all," Silco muses. His hand once again drifts to Vanders cheek and this time he leans down for a kiss.

He can feel the tension ease in Vander as soon as their lips touch. A nice little trick, he has learned over the years - Vander really likes to kiss him.

The big man melts against him, pulling him closer until Silco leans in with his full weight. He's so warm, so steady and balancing.

"D'You think we need to worry?" Vander breathes against his lips and Silco let's out a grunt.

"We'll worry tomorrow," Silco mumbles, pushing against Vander until he finally gives in and let's himself fall back on the mattress, pulling Silco along.

A soft giggle escapes his throat and he has to admit that there indeed has been plenty of champagne… and wine.

Vander’s hands instinctively move to Silcos sides, who slowly breaks the kiss again to move his lips to Vander’s neck.

A deep hum vibrates through Vander’s chest and Silco still, after all these years together, feels like he's setting his nerves on fire with it.

He's still not tired of this. And how could he?

"Why do you only have clothes that are so hard to remove?" Vander playfully complains and the last bit of tightness in Silco’s chest eases, finally.

The spell has been broken.

"Have to keep you on your toes, don't I?" He breathes into Vander’s ear and feels the big man shudder. It's always a bit of a power trip to have Vander unravel under his touch and movements.

He unbuttons Silco’s top and shoves him off of him, with a swift motion. Silco lands in the pillows and sheets with a grin.

"Didn't know you still knew that move."

"I know a lot of moves, love."

Vander leans over him, his hair falling into his face, he looks so handsome. Heat pools in Silco’s stomach and between his legs.

"Only words, or are you showing me proof?" Silco purses his lips and frowns as skeptical as he can, in this situation. Vander huffs a laugh and bends down to kiss his chest.

The warmth of his breath alone lets a moan escape Silco’s throat. He slaps a hand over his own mouth. But to his credit it has been a few weeks. The hosting of the competition did take a lot of preparation.

Vander snorts and continues his way down towards Silco’s stomach. Every kiss sends a shiver down his spine.

"Vander, you shouldn’t be the one who gets," Silco trails off, when Vander pulls at the seam of his pants, that have been becoming a little tight anyway.

He thinks fuck it, then let's his head fall back into the pillows and surrenders to bliss.

Vander falls asleep in his arms, much later. Happy and exhausted.

Silco’s knows he’ll definitely have trouble getting up in the morning.

They haven't had such a night in a long time. Silco’s fingers move across a streaks where he scratched Vander’s back by accident. Well not entirely accidental.

He still has got it, this sly old dog.

A lullaby made from Vanders warmth, his steady breath and heartbeat, lulls Silco to sleep.

Chapter Text

A week after the riot/

A day after losing everything

Silco

His sense of self has been erased by pain. Even the soft light of the mushrooms, brought to life by noise or touch, is a blinding blade cracking his skull in half. Like a wounded animal he has retreated here. Led by rigid, automatic steps. No thoughts, no decisions, only function. Only moving. Breathing, stopping to purge the remaining contents of his painfully empty stomach, that mostly consist of acid and river water.

He sometimes falls unconscious and then when he drifts back into the real world and the noise of his movement lets the mushroom light flicker, he wails and sobs. He doesn't feel himself outside of the white hot pain. The sounds coming out of his own throat sometimes startle him. They don’t sound human, don’t feel like they come out of his own mouth.

Silco knows something has happened to his left eye. Every time he falls unconscious he prays to whatever deity is listening, that he won't wake up again. Yet his body continues. Sense of time has escaped him, when he finally reaches the hideout.

His throat feels raw and every joint and muscle hurts. His head is pounding, sending waves of nausea over him. He's shivering so hard, he realizes when he tries to close the door behind him, that he can barely grasp the key to lock up.

There's food and water here for about a week, if he's frugal, that much Silco remembers. He then stumbles to the hooks on the wall where their jackets are still hanging, untouched. He takes Vander’s. It's bigger, it can function as a blanket. And it smells of him. Of safety. But Vander is safety no longer.

He takes it anyway. Rest... He needs rest.

Silco makes himself eat and drink. Half of it comes back up, half of it stays down. He mostly spends the days curled up in the corner where Vander has dragged a mattress once, in another life.

Silco shivers and pulls the jacket tighter around his shoulders. The shift in the fabric sets loose a whiff of Vander’s scent and it almost makes him gag.

Something begins to fester inside him in those days. Not whatever toxins are creeping through his blood now but something else. An all consuming rage is his only companion in the hideout. Part of him wants to smash it all to pieces. But he's too weak anyway. The wound of his eye sometimes sends stings of pain through his skull and a second later the world tilts and he finds himself on the ground.

But at the end of the week, when he runs out of water, he decides to leave and hangs Vander’s jacket up again. At that point Silco doesn't know that only a few hours after he leaves, Vander enters the hideout, eyes swollen from grieving so much more than people's death, leaving a note on the desk.

When Silco sneaks into the hall they hold the funeral services in, he only feels halfway in his body. Maybe his mind tries to shelter him from the pain and agony. Nobody notices him. He’s been good at being invisible before.
Before he met Vander and Felicia.
He watches from behind a corner and nobody takes notice.

Three weeks after the riot

Silco

The next weeks Silco spends in hiding, figuring out his next steps. He needs a network separate from Vander’s. He knows they're probably looking for him. Again.

Sevika and a few others she has gathered, are his only companions. A sad number compared to the network he has lost to Vander.

The hound never stops hunting.

Nothing quite dulls the pain of his damaged eye, so he resorts to drugs from a questionable doctor he and Sevika found in an even more questionable establishment in The Lanes.

He doesn't admit it at the time but he misses The Last Drop. He misses Felicia... But misses Vander most of all. His partner through everything.

Silco feels unsteady. Not only because of the dizziness and the way the missing eyesight fucks up his depth perception.

Most nights he just spends taking short naps, then waking up in cold sweat, from nightmares or pain. When he can't take it anymore he drinks himself to sleep because booze is easier to come by in The Lanes than medicine.

Silco knows he's walking a fine line and he feels himself slipping.

One day he finds himself in the hideout again. There's an ache in his chest when he enters. But he’s in pain now all the time, so it barely registers. This morning he did not take any of the stuff the doctor gave him. Clear headed, he tells himself, even though the throbbing behind his eye makes it hard to think. Silco takes a few steps and then stills. Something is different this time.

Someone has cleaned the place from his crash out.

There's a piece of paper on the table. It's a new addition. The desk has been empty before, because they made sure to clean out all their paperwork before the night…

His breath catches in his throat and red hot anger boils up in his chest. He strides over to the desk, grabs the note and unfolds it, almost ripping it in the process.

His seeing eye flies over the lines. Over and over he reads the words. With shaking hands he crumples it and tosses it to the ground, then pushes his hair out of his face. A scream rises in his throat but it comes out as a strangled sob.

Janna, what a mess.

What a fucking mess.

In a fit of rage he kicks the chair in front of the desk and as it topples over, Silco’s head protests with a sting of pain. He stumbles and falls against the desk hitting his hip painfully on the wood. He then finally releases an angry scream. The madness subsides, washes out of him and only leaves a dark hollowness.

The place where his affection for Vander, for Felicia and all of the people he once has loved was, has been carved out of him. An empty vessel. With a shaky sigh he drops to one knee and picks up the note. He unfolds it again, more gentle and careful this time.

He has seen her kids at the funeral. They're with Vander now. An new ache manifests. A new need. Maybe if Vander is that sorry, he is going to let him see them. Those children they wanted to carve out a better future for. A better life.

Silco folds the note and tugs it in the chest pocket of his vest, then continues to gather the lists of contacts he has come here to retrieve.

Vander can go to hell, but Violet and Powder are still there. Not all of Felicia is gone. Not all of their dream is gone. Just most of it, but Silco is used to living off of scraps.

Six weeks after the riot

Silco

Silco suppresses the urge to go the next day and the day after that. The longer he waits, the easier it becomes to avoid it.

When he visits the alchemist in the make-shift laboratory they have set up, Silco is unsteady on his feet. He has to cling to a table to not lose balance. His head feels like someone has put a knife through his eye socket and twists it, while his brain has swollen, trying to crack through his skull.

"Not feeling good?" Singed asks him without looking up from the microscope.

"Have been better," Silco grinds out and steps besides him. The man finally turns to him and points to a syringe next to him.

"What’s that?"

"A way to make you feel a little better, perhaps," no muscle in Singed’s face moves.

"Better than the painkillers?"

"Way better, I hope. We can test it right now." Singed looks at him, waiting for a response. All he wants is for the pain to end, so he nods.

"Sit down. We will inject it directly," Singed points at his own eye and Silco hesitates but only until another wave of agony hits him and makes him gag.

"Sit."

He does.

Like a good fucking dog.

He doesn’t see the needle coming but the sting is unpleasant. Weird warmth then floods his skull and then the pain slowly subsides. It makes space for a feeling of calm and bliss.  Silco feels his heartrate slow, his breathing calm down and he feels… good. For the first time since weeks he feels human again. If they can intensify this feeling they could earn a good load of money with this stuff.
Earn money for the Cause.

The day he visits The Last Drop the pain has reached a level on which the use of drugs has become unavoidable. He tries to not take too much of Singed’s concoction because the long term effects are unknown.

Everything feels a little as if someone has wrapped his thoughts in cotton. He hates this feeling but vomiting all over the bar would do no good either. He smothers the bud of the cheap cigarette, he has been smoking, on the wall next to the entrance.

It's late and he hopes Vander has already thrown out the last drunkard. Hopefully he hasn't closed up though.

He pushes and sighs through his nose when the door actually opens. The familiar smell hits him like a fist, even through the fog of the drug. The stale scent of alcohol and smoke, bodies, the ghost of food served. When did he last eat?

Sevika had thrown a sandwich wrapped in paper in his lap earlier today but he could not recall if he has eaten it or not.

There is silence and then a gasp and the sound of a glass falling on top of the bar snaps him out of his own thoughts.

The light is dim, most of the fixtures are off and Vander’s massive frame hovers behind the bar, as if nothing has ever happened and Silco just comes home, after a long day spent with forming alliances and bribing Enforcers.

Silco feels hands around his neck that aren't there and touches his throat briefly with his fingertips, to remind himself that it’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

Vander is his friend and brother in arms no longer.

"I've found your note." He grinds out. Vander makes a tentative step towards him, around the bar and Silco moves back. Away. He's got the door in his back, a way to flee in a worst case scenario.

"Your... Your eye..."

"Yeah right! My eye. Fucked up, right? You know who I have to thank for that, do ya?" Silco spits out putting as much venom into the words as he can. Involuntary he starts shaking, like an engine with too much steam.

The hot boiling anger clenches his chest tight, makes his jaw hurt and head throb. He’s sobering up a little bit and doesn’t know if that’s a good thing after all. He now moves towards Vander and pushes a hand against his shoulder. The infuriating thing about it is, he let's him. Even takes a step back.

"Fight back you asshole!" he sneers, searching Vander’s face but he turns it away, swallowing. "Like you did when we met at the Pilt. Had no problem laying a hand on me then, did you!?"

"I'm sorry."

The word knocks the wind out of Silco and he just freezes but only for a split-second. How does Vander say it like this? Like he accidentally put a red sock into the laundry and now Silco’s white tie has a hue of pink in it.

"Sorry!? Yeah? Are you!?"

"I... I'm so glad you're..."

"What... Alive?" A bitter and humorless laugh escapes Silco and he shakes his head. Instant regret fills him as the world starts to spin. Strong hands grab him, keep him upright.

"Back off!" he snaps and pulls away. His hands, just in time, grab the edge of the counter, as he almost loses balance again.

"Those chemicals in that fucking river really shred you from the inside, it turns out," he growls and pulls himself on one of the stools. He's in no shape to fight tonight. Even though he really is in the mood for it.

"I’m sorry for what I did… I wasn’t …myself," Vander says. His shoulders slump and he takes a deep breath.

"Oh, you were yourself," Silco mutters mostly to himself.

"Seeing her body… it just made me… You don’t deserve to take all the blame for this, Silco."

"I saw it too," this drowns the anger and replaces it with grief. So dark, so deep Silco feels its black currents in his lungs. The image of Felicia’s and Connol’s corpses flicker before his mind’s eye.

"Had I known they were right there… I would never have…You know that, right?" Silco asks and looks up to find Vander avoiding his gaze. They are both to blame for how it went, but Piltover is to blame for the violence in the first place.
When you start a revolution against an oppressive regime the scale is never tipped in your favor, it turns out. Life is no heroic tale where the most pure hearted win. The people in power win. People with money buy their way out.

Vander does not answer and walks back behind the bar. It feels oddly familiar in the most painful way. A few weeks that feel like a lifetime ago.

"Fix me a drink?", Silco then says despite himself, wondering what the drug will do, mixed with alcohol. Vander pours him a glass of water and Silco can't help himself. An amused sound leaves his throat. Something between laughter and disbelief.

"I am sorry, Silco."

"Stop. You tried to kill me. Sorry won't fix that. This fucking note you left me is an insult at best," now that he's said it out loud the gravity of what happened hits him like an anvil to the gut. "You tried to kill me... I would have... I would have died for you Vander... But not like this."
The rage Silco expects to rise up again like bile, doesn't come.

He clenches his teeth and blinks hastily as his vision blurs, on his good eye. He wants comfort. But Vander has made it impossible.

"If I could go back and stop myself, I would," Vander says too soft for what he has done. Too soft for the rage he has unleashed that fateful day. Silco looks up again. Vander comes in and shifts out of focus again.

"Well, if you find a way let me know," Silco murmurs.

Vander huffs a sad laugh in response. A hopeless sound with no humor in it. His hound, his friend … his…

"Thank you for coming... was hoping you made it out... Saw that you prolly were in the hideout. And..." Vanders voice trails off.

"How are Felicia's girls?"

Vanders head snaps up at the change of topic. His eyes become distant for a second and Silco drinks in the pain he finds in them.

"Traumatized. But alive. Especially Powder is..." Vander shakes his head, unable to form a sentence without bursting into tears. The last surviving bit of tenderness in Silco wants him to reach out but he instead sips from the water.

It’s cold and the sting in his head reminds him, that there is no tenderness left between them.

He turns the thought of asking to meet them over in his head.

"You said you're sorry. But what reassurance do I have that one day... You won't snap again and finish the job. Or hurt one of the kids."

Silco looks up from the bar. Vander is frozen in place.

Good. Silco slides off the stool and turns to leave.

"If you hurt one of Felicia’s kids I will gut you. We're done."

It takes a lot to not turn around, to look at Vander but he manages to restrain himself and leaves. He had anticipated his old friend to yell at him that ’No, of course he would never hurt a child’.

Maybe it hadn't come to his mind. The possibility of it.
He hopes it eats away at him, makes him lose sleep.

Silco walks away the numbing effect of the drug subsiding after it had reached it's peak. The adrenaline has washed it away like a piece of trash stranded at the shore.

When he enters his personal little hiding spot, the top room of an old cannery, he finds the still packaged sandwich.

Eight weeks after the riot

Silco

The mood in the Lanes shifts in the next weeks and becomes something that tastes weird and feels off. Like a living creature it's unpredictable in its movements. People are mourning, some have given up, some are enraged and through it all Piltover is silent. Except for some Enforcers patrolling the Lanes, more than usual. A ballsy move, he has to give them that. A few times there are altercations, some only result in punched in teeth, some results in loss of life. Silco is hesitant in his movements. He has several plans laid out, several scenarios he plays through over and over in his head, but his thoughts always return to Vander’s letter. Blisters and Bedrock, his ass. For now he lies low and waits.

"You can't live off of booze and nicotine, y'know?" Sevika has entered the makeshift office and living space he's made "cozy" for himself. She throws another sandwich on the desk before Silco and slams down a bottle of water next to it.

"Also, one sandwich each day is not enough. Don't make me mother you again!"

She grunts and turns to walk away.

Silco rolls his eyes and stares at the brown wax paper. He hates to admit it but he misses Vander’s cooking and the way he always slipped him snacks, so he ate when he buried himself in scheming and plans.

Gotta feed the mind behind the revolution.

"You’d be the worst mother imaginable, Sevika."

She laughs in return and gives him the middle finger before she leaves, without turning around. His thoughts drift off again. To Vander.

Vander... Who is sorry.

Vander... The man who tried to kill him.

Silco finds himself in front of The Last Drop, only a day later. Weirdly, his anger is lying dormant. It's late at night again and he's been monitoring the entrance for a long time. The last guest is gone and he slips through the door to find Vander behind the bar again. The man's whole face lights up, when he notices him and Silco feels his chest getting tight again.

He's not fully drugged today. He needs a clear head doing this.

Only a small dose of the Prototype, but it usually leaves him clear headed enough, after the first short high slowly subsides.

They don't say anything while Silco sits down in his usual spot. Vander puts down a glass with something that is probably alcohol in front of him.

Vander looks exhausted. Of course he is.

"How's parenthood treating you?"

Vander’s eyebrows shoot up and he opens his mouth and closes it again.

"They all are dealing with things in their own way," he says then, picking up a rag to polish an already clean glass.

"I’ve also taken in two boys. Although I’m splitting the care with Kei. Remember her?"

"The shoe-lady?"

"The shoe- lady."

Silco hums and takes a sip. The drink burns in his throat and fills his chest and stomach with warmth.

"It's not easy to deal with all of this and... Being there for all of them."

"Can imagine."

A moment of silence follows.

"How's your...," Vander vaguely gestures in front of his face

"Hurts like shit. But I have... Someone who may have... An idea on how to...," Silco bites his own lip. For some reason he knows this decision carries a lot of weight. The man he works with is ruthless. Dangerous. And it would be so easy to slip. Also, so easy to come back to the life he once knew. To forgive... Which he desperately wants.

That much has become clear to him, in the many sleepless nights.

It would earn us so much money for a second try. One they don’t see coming.

"I keep bumping into things," the words just slip from his mouth and he catches Vander’s glance. Silco can sense that they both want to laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Neither of them does.

They both fall silent again, Silco finishes his drink and abandons his plan to ask to see the kids, leaves, and that is that.

Chapter Text

Two and a half months after the riot

Silco

The line Silco's been walking on is covered in oil. He finds himself between two paths and no matter how many nights he spends thinking... He can't find a solution. There's nobody to confide in. Some days he finds himself halfway out the door, planning to go to Felicia’s flat or her place of work and then stops himself, when he remembers her body has been long burned, along with all the others. Turned to ashes and dust, just like that.

It's either continuing all efforts to build more diplomatic bridges with Piltover, which very likely is a hopeless effort at this point or... Shimmer. It's the name they gave it. He has tested a new prototype of the drug, after Singed has proved to him, that it stopped killing their test subjects, which at this point are mostly rats and stray cats. The worst thing about it is, that it has made his vision return momentarily. Just shapes and patches of light but... but...

The efforts with the Pilties are exhausting and fruitless so far. But there is hope. There could be a way. He has started to write letters a few weeks ago.

On a whim. Has thought that maybe giving it a try won’t hurt.
The first one he has had to sneak into Piltover himself and somehow they have reached their target. The correspondence is stiff and full of tension. He has to be very careful how he words his messages, but so far he has always gotten a response.

He suspects that Vander knows of these efforts. He still has his people out in the streets, spying and collecting intel. At least that is what Sevika has told him.

The way of Shimmer is the way of violence and corruption, there is no pretty way to put it. Zaun has always had a problem with illegal substances. He has seen them destroying bodies and lives, but he has also seen them make people a whole lot of coin.
It is a way to put pressure on Piltover, on the back of his fellow Zaunites. During the last weeks they’ve found two human test subjects, who didn’t survive the tests, involving the newest mixture. Silco himself still takes the second prototype. Has to take it, because it’s not only helping, but is highly addictive. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is hooked and the short pain after the shot is nothing compared to the feeling following it. It wipes away the horrible guilt for a moment, the pain, the longing and maybe…maybe it is the way. Maybe he has to become a monster himself to fight the monsters at the top.

The crumpled note he carries in his chest pocket is still burning a hole through it.

Once again he visits The Last Drop. This time he's not alone with Vander, when he walks in, long after closing.

Two girls are sitting at a table with their adoptive father, eating cake. It's no-ones birthday as far as Silco remembers. He is interrupting a family moment and the realization hits him hard.

"Silco!" Vander gets up. He hasn't shaved but oh, does it suit him. Silco has always found this beard so attractive. Hastily he buries the thought

A blue haired head peers out from behind him.

"Didn't want to disturb," he dismissively waves a hand and half turns to leave.

But Vander is faster and a big hand clasps his shoulder. He winces and Vander quickly retreats. Touching had once felt so natural to them. Now it is this strange thing that is now a threat of violence.

"You don't. Come there's still cake. I felt like baking."

Silco takes a step back, eyebrows raised and takes Vander in. Vander felt like baking. This world truly has turned upside down.

"You felt like..."

Powder jumps down from her chair and weasels her way back to the kitchen. Maybe she's shy, he thinks and slowly turns his gaze to Violet. He has done his best to not involve himself with Felicia’s family life. Too much of a risk. Voilet eyes him suspiciously. He probably is a sight to behold for a kid. Scar still healing over, his eye slowly turning darker the more Shimmer he consumes. He’s truly turning himself into a monster. The kind Felicia used to tell stories about, when neither of them could sleep. It’s a good thing, he tells himself. The people of Zaun need something like that. A monster that doesn’t feel, doesn’t flinch away from what has to be done.

But here in this domestic little island he feels wrong and unnatural. Every fiber of his being tells him to leave, yet he cannot. Has he not left this weakness and yearning on the bottom of the Pilt?

And have you not always wished for a family?

Light footsteps return from the kitchen. Powder is back, with a fourth plate and a mug. There's a jug of hot cocoa on the table as well. The smell drifts up to Silco, beckoning him to stay.

"You cut your hair…again", Vander states.

"Yes." Technically Sevika did help him with the left side but they agreed to never speak of it ever again. His longer hair and the jagged cut had been hard to take care of and it had stuck to his oozing wound.

Vander grabs another chair and puts it in front of Silco. Despite himself he takes a seat.

"Suits you."

Heat rises in his face and for a second Silco doesn't know what to do with himself in such a peaceful setting. Maybe this part of him is rotting between the sunken ruins of Oshra Va'Zaun. The part of him that felt at home anywhere.

"Does it hurt?" Powder asks, her eyes fixed on his wound.

"Yes, but I think cake could make it better," Silco answers and finds himself smiling at the kid while Vander puts a slice of fresh cake on the plate Powder brought him. He can’t be cruel to her. Nobody asked these kids to be brought into a world like this.

Powder smiles and nods, then sips her cocoa. Violet silently eats her fill and then just stares into the flame of the candle that illuminates the table, like a small island in the dark sea of the room full of empty chairs and tables.

"Mom talked about you a lot," she then says and it catches him so off guard that Silco almost chokes on the sweet treat. (It is delicious and tastes of lemon and lots of sugar.)

"Did she?" he chokes out, clearing his throat with a sip of cocoa from Vander’s cup"Yeah...," Violet props her head on one hand and watches him. Bright, alert eyes. Like her mother. A sting of regret pierces his chest. Every second he has not spent with Felicia and her daughters is now a new weight on his shoulders.

"Then you probably already know the worst stories," Silco leans back and finds himself smiling again, yet he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But the kids probably won’t know the difference.

"I don't know. You tell me. Worse than the hair dye story?" Violet puts on a smug smile herself.

"Did she tell you about the chicken heist?" Silco answers and is delighted by the immediate interest he reads in the older girl’s face.

Violet frowns and Powder climbs on her chair, sitting on her knees so she can lean closer.

"No, please tell us!"

Vander huffs a laugh. Powder stares at him, eyes wide, crumbs of lemon cake on her cheeks, hot cocoa residue on the corners of her mouth.

She's so small, Silco thinks and all of a sudden he has a moment of absolute clarity. Shimmer flooding The Lanes, suffocating every effort on honest diplomacy. The drug making the Undercity an even worse place, than it already is. A small part of him desperately clings to the remains of the man he has been, who would have been appalled, by the idea alone.

But you could build an army. You won’t need Vander for anything anymore, a soft voice purrs in his head. Singed has shown him, how in the right concentration Shimmer can make bodies change. The small rodents he has used in his presentation have never made it more than a few seconds, before the shimmer has shredded their muscles and flesh. Silco sometimes still hears their skin rip and small bones crack. As unappetizing as these experiments are, they have shown him the powers of Shimmer. To make anyone and anything into killer-machines, no Enforcer can ever take on. It is too unstable for now, but he knows the alchemist won’t take more than a few years to change that.

But when he looks at these kids, he doesn't want to build a world where bloodshed is the only way of getting what you want... And he wants this... Janna, he wants this... To save what little he has left on this scorched bit of earth. He wants to make it right.

"Well, first of all... I just wanna make clear. I'm an innocent victim in the chicken heist," Vander than says picking at his cake.

"You sir, were the culprit," Silco gestures his fork in Vander’s direction. Powder giggles. The sound warms his heart. Even Violet smiles and seems eager to listen. He knows he and Vander are their only connection to their mother, so he continues.

"So... Vander brought this horrible berry booze -"

"that I got from Benzo, so he's the true villain in this whole ordeal," Vander cuts Violet another slice of cake and hands it to her.

"Anyway, we may have been slightly intoxicated," Vander says.

"Piss and drunk are the words Vander is looking for," Silco shrugs.

"Don’t ever drink alcohol, it leads to the wrong decisions."

"Says the man who owns a bar," Silco drawls.

Violet let's out a snort that develops into a low cackle. She sounds so much like her mother that it hurts.

"So, we're sitting on a roof, your mother, Vander and myself, drinking that awful concoction. Suddenly Felicia goes 'Y'know what I've always wanted? A pet chicken.'"

The smile that spreads upon Vanders lips is a mixture of melancholy and longing.

For the dramatic effect Silco reaches out and puts a hand on Vanders shoulder. His former friend winces ever so slightly, but looks at him in surprise.

"So, Vander goes 'Imma gonna get ya one.'"

A soft laughter bubbles up in Powder and Silco thinks he feels Vander leaning into the touch, so he pulls his hand away again.

"What he isn't telling ya is... He was immediately on board," Vander interrupts.

"Of course I was. I was piss drunk and Felicia wanted a chicken!" Silco protests. Powder giggles again and asks "Where did you find a chicken in the middle of the night?"

Silco sips from Vander’s cocoa again, ignoring the perfectly fine and still empty cup Powder has brought him.

He then shrugs and just says "Piltover."

Vander and Silco take turns in telling the story how they stole the chicken from its coop. How the poor thing shat all over Silco and how it had lived two happy years in the Undercity with Felicia, until one day it just passed away while laying an egg.

Silco almost feels drunk on the cozy feeling, the girls laughing and Vander... Being Vander. The man who he spent nights plotting their lives with, once Zaun breaks free from its leash. Their life together. Not the man trying to kill him. His eye more than once wanders to the arm he has injured, in an attempt to free himself from Vander’s grasp. But he wears a bandage over it. Always.

Some wounds heal over but don’t really.

He even stays after his friend puts Violet and Powder to bed, helps cleaning up and even after that, he hesitates. He finds that he desperately doesn't want the evening to end. So they stay at the bar for a bit, a good-night-drink in front of them.

"I may have found a way with Piltover." Perhaps it's the late hour, the warm feeling in his stomach but he just needs Vander to know. He needs him to be in on this.

Vander looks at him like he's seen a ghost. So maybe he doesn’t know.

"I'm in contact with them... After all of this mess happened... And I've turned it over in my head... Over and over." Silco’s hand subconsciously wanders to his chest, where Vander’s note inhabits his pocket.

"There are several ways this can end."

Silco can't get the words out so he pulls out the note to give his hands something to do. Slowly he unfolds the paper. He's done it so many times it has become soft like a cloth.

"Whatever you need," Vander then says and Silco slowly looks up to him.

I needed you and you tried to kill me.

"I don't want the girls to grow up like we did. To punch and claw their way through life. We did fail their parents... And all our people really," Silco says. Vander doesn't interrupt him but Silco sees his throat working.

"I am not sure if I can forgive you... But we need to make this right."

His throat hurts with unshed tears, so he knocks back his drink and gets up.

"Silco," Vander says but he moves towards the door.

"See you tomorrow."

With that Silco slips through the door and leaves.

The first thing he does the next morning is visit the disgraced alchemist, he has been working with and ceases doing that.

Silco questions his decision for more than one reason, but reminds himself of these kids, that now depend on them. Felicia is so fresh in his memory, her voice, her laugh, her scent.

If she could see him setting up a drug lab, she’d slap him across the face, no doubt. He won’t let her down a second time.

Singed reacts calmer than Silco has expected. He'll have to keep the man on his radar either way.

When he asks Singed if there will be withdrawal symptoms of the Shimmer, the man shrugs and answers that he doesn't know, because Silco is his first human test subject, that has lived and taken this dosage for an extended period of time.

So he guesses there will be. Silco decides he will cross that bridge when he gets to it.

The air in The Lanes is thick with the smell of oil and exhaust. Underlying scents of waste and old grease from the booths of food vendors round up the whole thing.

Most of the days you don't smell it that much, especially when you live down here, but today Silco is fighting a migraine that doesn't want to go away and has to suppress the urge to gag several times.

It's been a while since he has wandered the streets at day, openly without slipping through alleys and back-doors.

He has made a decision and now he will make it final. Several heads turn as he makes his way through the bustling streets, Sevika a few steps behind him.

Making the decision final before he can take the easier way. The way of hating Vander until the day they both die and if he's really honest with himself, it sounds exhausting. The hatred would be enough to fuel him, keep him alive, up and running but a small part of Silco knows that there is no universe, in which he can completely snuff out the affection he feels, for this big stupid asshole.

He takes a breath before he enters The Last Drop. Not after closing, but open and full of people. Sevika greets a few of them behind him. She's off duty now, unless someone decides to be a problem for him.

He sees Vander behind the bar. A few pairs of eyes settle on him, as he makes his way through the crowd. Silco hears his name in hushed whispers, sneered through teeth, spit out in resentment, very few times uttered in awe.

He knows the tales the people have already spun of him and Vander. Let them talk. He's the villain in most of them, but he can live with that.

Vander looks up from a conversation with a patron and his eyes become wide.

Silco offers a smirk and slips in his favorite spot at the bar.

"Silco. You're..."

"Out at afternoon? You've always been so observant."

Vander blinks a few times, then his ears and cheeks actually take on a reddish shade.

Could be a trick of the light, though.

"Drink?"

"Coffee if you got that. My head's been killing me," Silco admits. Vander eyes him a little concerned but puts the least chipped cup he has, in front of him and pours hot dark liquid, from a beat up thermos, into it.

It smells burnt but it will do the job.

"What brings you here this early?"

"I said tomorrow, didn't I?"

"Mh... true."

"Figured I should be getting used to... People again."

Silco shrugs and sips his coffee. The noise of the bar doesn't help with the headache but he will get used to the feeling of it... Has to...without his supplier. In an attempt to ease the stiffness in his neck he rolls his shoulders.

Vander is off to take care of some other patrons, so Silco pulls out his notebook and flips through it until he finds some drafts for letters he has been working on.

He reads through them, makes adjustments and changes words until he feels a soft tug on his jacket.

He finds a blue head of hair and big blue eyes staring up at him.

"Hello," Powder says and he finds himself smiling.

"Hello, little girl. Are you helping Vander?"

"No. What are you doing there?"

"I'm... Working on some things," Silco taps his notebook.

"I've been working on something too! Can I show you?" Powder beams.

She has caught him off guard and before he knows it, he puts away his book and is led around the counter.

He passes Vander who looks equally surprised but doesn't interfere.

Powder leads him to her room.

"Vi and the boys have gone out and wouldn't take me with them," the girl looks upset for a moment and Silco dreads the thought of her starting to cry, or throwing a temper tantrum but she catches herself and leads him into a corner of the room that's... Well... A mess of metal parts, screws and crayons.

"I'm working on these!"

She declares and Silco stares at the piles of stuff.

He hums in admiration and sits down on the floor, in front of powders little work area.

"Care to explain them to me?"

Her whole face lights up, she falls to her knees next to him and does exactly that. It's a little all over the place but Silco gets the most important parts. He nods and asks a few things, that makes Powder even happier.

After a little while the door opens and Vander comes in. He's got lunch for Powder.

Silco slowly gets up and finds the world spinning for a second. The pounding behind his eyes has eased a little but not much.

"Have you eaten already?" Vander asks him, while he hands Powder her plate.

Silco wants to say yes but he also remembers what Sevika told him about sandwiches and so he shrugs.

"Bye, Silco!" Powder says while she munches her food on her bed. He waves and as they leave the room, the familiar feeling of longing closes its fist around Silco’s chest. He’s still an outsider, looking through the window, to observe this life of this little family, brought together by tragedy and loss.

Vander’s hand suddenly pushes warm against the small of his back while he opens the door for him.

Silco waits until they have left the hearing range of the room and enter the kitchen until he speaks.

"Did you know your kid is trying to build smokebombs and handgranates in her bedroom?"

He asks, tilting his head. Vander lights the stove and chuckles.

"They never work."

"And if they do?"

Vander shakes his head and puts a pot, that has pre-cooked stew in it, on the stove.

"She's a bright kid though," Silco then adds and Vander nods.

"It's been hard on her. Everything. And I don't know if I'm... Cut out to be the parent they all need right now."

Neither of us is.

Silco examines Vander for a moment. In another life he would have a big family of his own, a wife and a house, maybe he’d own a café instead of a bar, in a nice part of a nice town. It’d suit him. He is a born provider, a protector. Of course, Silco doesn’t tell him that.

"You're kidding me. You're eating cake with them in the middle of the night. What kid doesn't want that?"

"You know what I mean."

A moment of silence follows.

Silco sighs and nods. His fingers touch his own throat again.

"You're doing the best you can. I think that should be enough, right?"

"What about the thing you said? Of me losing my temper on ’em?"

"Let’s hope you don’t," Silco says quietly.

There’s a moment of silence again, if you can call it that in the business hours of The last Drop. Silco peers around the corner of the kitchen, watching one of Vander’s new waitresses manning the bar.

"Powder seems to like you lots... And... Seeing you with that notebook at the bar, I..."

"Don't." Silco snaps his head back to him and another wave of pain makes him take a deep breath.

It's too soon to unpack all of this. As if to underline that he’s used his brain too much for today, the world tilts again and Silco grabs the next best thing to hold himself steady, which is Vander’s shoulder. He feels like his skull is going to crack, so he leans his forehead against Vanders upper arm.

"You alright?" Vander asks while he stirs the stew.

"Yeah... 's just my head. Migraine."

Vander is so warm and steady. Never moving, never breaking. It doesn't ease the pain but it helps against the dark waves that were threatening to wash him away.

Vander then slowly turns and Silco feels the loss of his warmth in his bones, until two big arms wrap around him.

The embrace is short and careful but needed. In the softness of it he realizes how much he misses human touch... Vander’s touch. They'd been so close once. Always holding on to each other, always putting a hand on each others back, shoulders, sharing a bed in the cold. Silco let's himself lean into it. The warmth, the closeness, the -

"Vander, the stew is burning."

"Agh, shit!"

When he leaves he does it reluctantly that evening. Something soft and fragile is growing from the ashes of his friendship with Vander. He can't place it yet but it tastes bittersweet on his tongue. It's a need. A deep affection that supersedes anything his heart has known so far. But always looming on the horizon are the most horrible nights of his life. One when he has lost his sister and the other when he has lost everything else.

It’s too soon for forgiveness.

Although two things can be true at once. He can still love Vander and hate what he has done to him.