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“There you are.”
Silco tears his gaze from the muddy depths of the Pilt and lets it fall over Vander. It’s nice to be above him for once, to be able to look down on this face of his – brow furrowed, jaw clenched. It holds promise of yet another argument, and it’s not how Silco had wished for this afternoon to go, but well, what can you do?
“Get down.”
He rolls his eyes but still jumps from the large pipe he has perched on. He nearly loses his footing on the slippery riverbank, has to latch onto the rusty metal – and Vander did not even motion to catch him, he can’t help but notice. So, this is how it’s starting? Great. A lovely day, really. It fits perfectly with how it started, though – the residual aches of their last encounter with the enforcers making themselves known as soon as he opened his eyes, and the leaden sky that greeted him when he stepped outside. Clouds black like bruises, and the very air heavy with the looming threat of a thunderstorm, heated and oppressive. Every smell is aggravated, the sweetish notes brought by the coming rain mixing with the sour from the waste in a nauseating blend. It clings to your tongue, the back of your throat, it’s harder to breathe and sweat trickles down your spine, and the tension mounts as the sky rumbles, ready to burst.
“What do you want, big guy?”
Vander crosses his arms over his chest, it only serves to highlight his build, and Silco wonders if he’s aware of that.
“Tell me, Silco, do you take me for a fool?”
“Erm… no?”
“Then did you think you were sneaky, going behind my back?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Vander gets closer, standing in between him and the city lights, green highlighting his burly frame as his shadow engulfs Silco’s own in the mud at their feet. The sky above shudders and it starts to rain. Large, heavy drops, carrying down the pollutants from the air, acidic enough to slowly eat through stone and metal alike.
“Really, you’re going to play dumb? Fine,” Vander says, his lip curling into a snarl. “I heard rumors going around, rumors of a large-scale attack against Piltover being planned. Will you tell me I’m wrong? Even when the name I found to be associated with these rumors was-”
“Mine, yes. And what about it? We’ve been talking about this for years now. We finally have the numbers to g-”
“And,” Vander interrupts, “when exactly did you come to me about this?”
“I… We are discussing it right now, I guess?”
The rain is irritating, it slips into one of his eyes, starting to make it water, and Silco wipes at it with an annoyed grunt.
“What about we do this somewhere dry, hum?”
Vander goes on as if he hasn’t said anything:
“If we attack Piltover right now and we fail, we will lose these people’s trust, the Lanes, the- everything we have built so far! Why can’t you be satisfied with what we already have?”
“Because ‘everything we have built’, as you put it, it’s only a means to an end! This is- Vander, this is just the beginning; we still have so much to-”
“Yes, we will,” Vander cuts him off, curtly brushing the objection aside – and Silco has to back down to avoid getting hit by his hand. “But not now, no, we-”
“Why? Why not now?”
“We… we just aren’t ready!”
“We are!”
“No, we-“
“We got the people,” Silco insists, “and th-”
His words are cut off as he gets shoved back, hard- “You’re not fucking listening to me!” Vander snaps, as Silco latches onto his wrist on instinct to keep his balance. His nails dig slightly into his partner’s skin.
“But I am!” he hisses. “However, I am not agreeing with you, Vander, and that’s what you can’t stomach, um, isn’t it?”
He has seen it enough times, at the Last Drop; whenever Vander raises his voice, they shut up, keep their head low – cowering in fear of the Hound’s anger, of his fists. Nobody dares to stand against him – nobody, except one man.
“The others,” Silco continues, “they always let you have the last word, and you’ve gotten used to it, right? Used to the way everyone complies with your every command-”
“Everyone but you! Tell me, why aren’t you? Why are you so goddamn hell-bent on arguing with my every move, it’s like- it’s like you’re fucking enjoying it!”
Silco steps away, taken aback.
“Why am I…” he repeats, fumbling slightly over his words. “Because we are partners, that’s why! We’re doing this together!”
He wants to go on, speak of long evenings in the dark, just the light of a cigarette passed between them, of passionate discussions about what they could shape the future into, about Zaun and the dream they shared. There has been love and trust and years spent by each other’s side, through the small victories and the harsh defeats, hands balled up into fists to defend the other, then gentle again when comes the time to tend to their wounds- but he realizes Vander is not listening to a word he says, lost to his own monologue, his own downward spiral.
Lightning tears through the sky, the thunder growls, almost drowning out Vander’s voice:
“Maybe that’s your little power trip, right Silco, I see now; you enjoy it, when you can contradict me in front of everyone and get away with it, don’t you? But I won’t only be the muscles anymore, the brawns when you fathomed yourself the brain, I-”
Silco takes another step back, brow furrowing – wondering what’s gotten into his partner, they have always been equals, different but complementary; at least in his eyes they were, so where did it go wrong?
“You never were just the mus-” His attempt is cut short as Vander invades his space again, looming over his smaller frame. Something inside Silco flares up. Enough folks have tried to use their stature to intimidate him through the years, he’s no longer falling for their hollow displays of force, oh no. His next words, he spits them out: “Maybe if you didn’t act like a rabid dog all the time, then people would listen to what you have to say.”
He doesn’t even see the first blow coming.
Just a blur of- his vision wavers. Next thing he knows, he’s on all fours in the riverbank, his ears ringing. He knows how to take a punch, sure, but Vander’s are always something else. His tongue probes at his teeth, checking if any are broken. None. Good. It takes a couple more seconds before he regains his bearings enough to get back to his feet. He wipes his muddy hands against his pants and spits out blood. It doesn’t quite hurt yet. Just stokes the fire.
His nails dig into his palms as his split lips curl into a sneer.
“Okay, yeah, you sure pack a punch- but can we have a fucking conversation now? Or are you just going to continue hitting me, um?”
“You-”
“Yeah, like this, come on, big guy, use your words. I’m sure you can.”
Silco gets closer again, holding Vander’s gaze – and it’s almost a dare, he’s aware of it, but he’s not backing up. Not ever again. Let his pride be the death of him- it’s also what got him so far, and the Lanes are as much his as Vander’s. Their work, their blood, their sweat and tears. Their dream. His word should matter just as much.
He waits for the next roll of thunder to pass so his voice echoes loud and clear.
“So?” he prompts, eyebrows raised. “What did you want me to listen to?”
“I’m not gonna repeat myself,” Vander forces out between clenched teeth. “You know damn well what I said. We wait. And you wait too.”
“No.”
One step closer, and he has to crane his neck up to look at Vander, but fuck it.
“No,” he repeats. “I will not stand idly by. If enough folks are ready to follow me, I will lead the attack, with or without you. But- but! If they agree with you, then fine, I will relent too.” He lays his hand over Vander’s arm, squeezes slightly. “Come on, what do you say?”
Vander shakes his head.
“That will only end up in infighting, can’t you see that? The Lanes need a leader.”
“And what do we do if said leaders don’t agree?”
“I said a leader, Sil.”
There is a beat of silence. Then Silco withdraws his hand.
Lightning strikes again, closer, so loud it hurts, and their figures cut out on the washed-out skies for a split second. Silco searches for his partner’s eyes, because there is no way he has heard it correctly, no fucking way he said that- that-
He’s still too stunned to react when Vander reaches for his face, wiping with his thumb the blood that trickled down his chin. On instinct, Silco swats his hand away.
“Sorry for hitting you,” Vander adds – and he almost looks sincere, saying this.
“Sorry for-” Disbelief leaves way to anger, burning hot. Silco sees red. “Oh, really? And will you be sorry too, when people won’t obey your every command anymore?”
He sees the way his partner’s brow furrows – and he doesn’t wait for Vander to fully process his words, no, he presses on:
“Ah, wait- did you think that if only one of us remains, it will be you?”
“Sil…”
“Don’t fucking call me that! So, this is it, for real? You’re planning on ruling over the Lanes alone?”
“It’s the only way.”
“You truly think people will follow you? That’s cute. You know, the only reason they listen to you, is because you scare them. They would never disagree to your face, sure, no one wanna get knocked down after all. But their loyalty stops there.”
“That’s not-”
“True? Oh, then you’re even stupider than I thought.”
This time, he barely manages to block the hit, pain surging up his forearm, and he stumbles back from the sheer force behind him. He’s almost sure that it would have knocked him out had it hit its mark. And the look on Vander’s face, black as thunder, in his eyes…
That’s when first sparks the fear.
He instinctively searches for his knife as he glances around. There is a large pipe behind him, and the waters on his left, but if he could just manage to slip past Vander’s arm… He could escape, give his partner the time to cool down, then- Well. That’s a problem for later.
Silco points the blade up, a deterrence as he’s still looking for a way out-
“Back down, big guy. I don’t want to hurt you.”
-hoping the knife would distract Vander for the split second he needs, and-
“Well," Vander says, "I do.”
Large fingers catch his wrist, too quickly for him to pull away- they twist, the joint cracks and the knife falls. Silco tries to pull away, his back hits the pipe, blocking his escape. Vander follows. They are only inches apart and he can feel his breath on his skin, hot and ragged.
Another hit. Pain surges through his ribcage, knocking his breath out, and Silco catches onto the pipe so he doesn’t completely lose his balance. A hand catches the back of his neck, tight enough to bruise. Vander slams his head down, stars explode in front of his vision. A shredded piece of metal tears his cheek open, just below his eye. His blood splatters over the rust.
He’s thrown on the side like a ragdoll, trying and failing to regain his footing, splashing on all fours into the cold waters. He tries to scramble up, but with the riverbank turned quagmire by the heavy rain, he only manages to turn around to face Vander, panting open-mouthed – looking up at the man he thought he could trust with anything, with his life and his dream and-
“Hey, hey, wait-”
He finally finds something solid underfoot amidst the river mud and he manages to get back to his feet, albeit still unsteady. He wipes at his eyes with one hand, trying to clear his vision, only managing to smear the blood. The coppery taste fills his mouth, nauseating. And Vander is entering the waters in turn, marching towards him – and Silco still doesn’t quite want to believe this is happening.
“Wait, I-”
He backs up, his hands raised in what’s vaguely reminiscent of a fighting stance but has more to do with a derisory barrier between him and Vander, and the words tumble out, he doesn’t quite hear himself over the ringing in his ears and the frantic beating of his heart, he’s scrambling for something to say, anything that could- The water is going well past his knees at this point, freezing cold. He’s not going to be able to back away for much longer.
“Vander, you-”
His partner hits him again, then yanks him by his shirt to keep him from tumbling over.
“I what, tell?” Vander spits out, so close that Silco can’t quite focus his gaze on his face. “What were you gonna say, you fucking snake? Another insult, right? Come on, what’s it gotta be now? Oh, you’re silent now? So convenient!”
Silco bites the inside of his cheek to keep the words from slipping out. He’s acutely aware that he’s now doing what “the others” always do – cowering away in front of Vander – and he hates it, but he also knows all too well that nothing he could say right now would make it to his partner, so it’s useless, he just has to let him calm down and then-
“I hope," Vander adds, "that you’re going to stay just as silent from now on, because if you ever challenge me again I-”
“I thought we were doing this together.”
He couldn’t keep it to himself, no, couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone either. It just… fuck, it hurts. And to think he was convinced that they- that for once, someone cared to listen to- He doesn’t want to go there. The storm is raging all around them, deafening, tearing through the heavens. It feels like everything is crumbling around him.
“You know what, Silco? I thought too. But now- now I see it clearly. It was only a ‘us’ as long as I did everything just as you said, as long as I trailed behind you like an obedient little dog, hum? Oh, I’m sure you liked having ‘the Hound’ on a leash- who wouldn’t, after all?”
“Vander…”
“And now, you want to lead the attack alone, before we’re ready, and that’s what it’s always been about, isn’t it? You want blood, and you want power. It’s never really been about our people, about Zaun, it’s-”
“You can’t be fucking serious.”
“Oh, I can’t? Tell me, how much of this is you wanting revenge? How much is because your mother was a dumb whore, with stupid dreams that got her killed, because you’re a weakling that got his ass handed to him during all of his childhood, hum? Because you couldn’t handle mine work so you started to sell your body too?”
For a split second, Silco forgets about the river, about the pouring rain, forgets the stinging from the cuts over his face and the way his ribcage aches with each breath- forgets rationality, and prudence, because he’s hurt, it all feels like a shitty nightmare and he just wants to wake up, so like a cornered animal he lashes out.
“Because you think you care about Zaun? You knew nothing of it until I told you, and you- you’re just glad you have a good reason to bash people’s skulls in, that’s all. Tell me, how does it feel, to see the fear in their eyes, to feel their bones breaking under your knuckles? I bet it feels good, hum? You’re nothing but a brute, and if you believe for even one second that you could have built anything without me, that anyone would have followed you- ah, by the Kindreds, this is just laughable. And even with all of these lovely muscles, to think you did not even manage to save your father, hum? You’re pathetic. You remember, or do I need to remind you? Tell you how y-”
Vander’s hand closes around his neck and he chokes on the rest of his sentence.
“Oh no,” Vander says – growls, really, “no, you don’t get to- I have listened to you long enough.”
Silco dugs his nails into his arms, struggling against his hold, but it doesn’t relent. He feels his pulse just under his skin, knows he doesn’t have long before he passes out.
Something cracks inside him.
This, this is not the same Vander he knew – not the kid that saved him, all these years ago, not the man he has grown to love either, nor his partner- or maybe it is, and Silco was just blind. Maybe he was the only one ready to die for the other.
And maybe the other’s now ready to kill him instead.
Silco stops trying to pry away the hand choking him, instead reaches for the knife at the other’s side – but Vander catches his movement and his wrist. At last, though, the grip around his neck relents, Silco inhales and coughs and tries to catch his breath. From there, it’s easy to twist his arm out of the other’s hold; he had learned that move when he was four or five. He’s a kid from the very depths of Zaun; as long as he doesn’t care about hurting his opponent, he can hold his ground.
He dodges a hit, blocks another, lands one of his own, and- his foot hits something underwater, something hard, with a sharp edge. When Vander shoves him again, he doesn’t quite resist. The cold from the waters almost knocks his breath away. His hand frantically searches for the stone amongst the river mud, finally closes around it, sharp edges digging into his skin.
Silco raises his arm, his makeshift weapon clutched tight into his fist, ready to strike.
(He can’t do that. He can’t risk killing Vander.)
The stone slips from his grip, just as Vander’s leg hooks behind his own and he loses his balance. He tries and fails to latch onto something, anything- one of Vander’s hands is back around his neck, the other over his shoulder- pushing him down. Silco gasps and swallows some water, it burns like acid, bites at the wounds on his face too. His fingers grasp at Vander’s arms- he tries vainly to make him relent- he struggles but the water doesn’t give any support, and his lungs beg for air, dark spots lighting up over the sight of his blood mixing with the river waste-
He’s not going to drown there, is he?
Not like this, for fuck’s sake, not at Vander’s hands- by the Kindreds! it can’t be. Adrenaline burns through his limbs, pain searing along his nerves, the voice in his head screaming louder than the thunder. But his strength isn’t enough, and he can’t breathe, and the man he trusted is going to kill him.
What cracked before all but shatters now, and it’s either his heart or something in his throat.
His body seizes up, tries to inhale despite his best efforts, and he chokes. It’s not possible to cough underwater. It hurts badly for one or two seconds, liquid fire inside his chest, then everything starts to get blurry. Tunnel vision, narrowing slowly. The river seems to breathe all around him, outside sounds muffled, rain blurred and distant. He isn’t quite sure he even hears his own heartbeat anymore - quiet replaces panic, almost peaceful. So, this is it, this is how it ends?
And his hand, on its way down, hits the knife handle at Vander’s belt.
Survival instinct kicks back in. This is not the end. This is not enough. Silco grips the knife with what’s left of his strength, gets it out of its holder, stabs blindly. Steel tears through flesh and Vander’s hands let go. Air too hurts on the way in, but Silco doesn’t have the time to dwell on that; water splashes all around them as Vander tries to grab him again. A flash of lightning split up the skies, everything blinding white and stark shadows, cutting sharp. Thunder roars. There is no time to think- to plan- no time for feelings anymore, his grip on the knife is so tight his nails are digging into his palm and when Vander tries to push him back under, Silco swings it once again, warmth splattering over his hand. He doesn’t stay to check where it hit.
The rain has intensified and Silco slips on the rocks just out of the river, scrambles back to his feet. He has to stop at the alley corner though, he throws up and coughs, holding onto the wall as his legs threaten to buckle under his weight. He wipes at his eyes, trying to clear his vision, blood mixing with water and tears. The pain makes the world whirl all around him.
He hears Vander screaming behind him, he doesn’t make out the words but that’s more than enough to push him to run again. They are quite high in the Undercity, close to the Entresol level, but it’s always easier to go down than up – and down there, in the farthest depths of the Slum, this is where Silco grew up, the mess of alleyways and pipes he knows by heart. No one can follow him there, not even his partn- not even Vander.