Chapter Text
Silco isn’t sure what drives him back to their old hideout down in the tunnels—he tells himself that he just wants to check if there are any viable weapons or supplies left there; he never knew what Vander might have missed, it wasn’t like that man had ever been that careful.
(Although there had been times when he had been careful with Silco, always taking checking him over every time they had slept together, never doing any permanent damage no matter how rough they both got—
But he did permanent damage in the end anyway, didn’t he?
So there’s Vander in a nutshell—careful and caring until hardship shows the real beast inside him all along.
And then instead of unleashing that beast on anyone besides Silco, he turns around and just fucking gives up and runs a bar!
He’d strangle that man right now if it wouldn’t ruin the timeline of his plan.)
But whatever is left there is obviously old and most likely decaying, so maybe it’s really an overabundance of sentiment that is driving him there—between his eye smarting like crazy, and the prototype Shimmer that Singed is working on having to be literally injected into his eye to calm it down, even going to the waters isn’t enough to calm him down.
(Maybe what he really wants is to go back to simpler times—when he believed that Vander had his back and would be his rock and weather all storms with him.
When they would just sit in that tiny warren that they had carved out, drinking beer, planning, dreaming, and almost always, falling into bed together, a clash of teeth and spit and cum and exhilaration.
Even if it was nothing more than a pipe dream, it had been a shelter in a storm, and he—he had felt safe there, in Vander’s arms.
Imbecilic, given that he should have feared Vander above all others, obviously.
Love is a weakness, and he can’t get it back, but maybe going there—
He doesn’t know.
Maybe it’ll remind him again about why he’s doing what he’s doing and strengthen his resolve to stay away from Vander until it’s time.
After all, it’s not like Vander misses him—he has an entirely new family.
All the children he wants while he rolls over and shows Topside his belly and lets the rest of them rot.)
Shoving open the door while gritting his teeth, Silco can immediately tell that no one has been here for a long time—the floor is covered in dust, the furniture is barely holding itself together, and the air is musty with disuse.
And there hangs their coats, Vander’s still covering his (he was such a lovestruck fool to have thought that that had meant anything), there’s the terrible creaky bed (although that was because Vander never knew his own strength—), there’s the old Zaun flag he had stitched still hanging on the wall, there are their cups gathering dust on the table—
And there’s a piece of paper sitting there, with slightly less dust on it than the rest.
Silco frowns, reaching forward to lift it up and unfold it, Vander’s familiar scrawl now before his eyes.
Silco,
I’ve looked everywhere but it’s clear you don’t want to be found.
God I’m shit at this.
I’m sorry.
When she died, I lost my head. I told myself that what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it, but the blood was on both our hands.
Anyway, you know where to find me.
Blisters and Bedrock,
V
(…is this supposed to be an apology letter?
Well, Vander got one thing right here—he is absolutely shit at it.
He’s not even sorry for the right thing!
The murder attempt—of course he hasn’t forgiven him for that, but on the other hand, it did turn him into who he is now and let him be born anew, so that’s—it’s not the main issue here.
The main issue is still that Vander just fucking gave up!
Just decided that paying off the blue-bellies to keep off the worst of their excesses is enough and is leaving the rest of the Undercity to fend for themselves—and he didn’t even bother mentioning anything about that in this shit excuse of a letter.
What did Vander think was going to happen if he read this?
That he would come to him, contrite and sobbing for forgiveness?
Fuck that.
Damn Vander to hell, he never really understood anything—and there he is just sitting in The Last Drop, overseeing all the petty theft and smuggling operations, and telling himself that that is enough—
It fucking isn’t.
And it’s a travesty that Vander is sitting there thinking that it is.
He should go shatter him.
He should go and give him something to really worry about—Vander’s probably sitting there, secretly pleased that Silco’s either dead or run off, acting as if he’s the rational minded, calm leader that Zaun needs.
Well, Silco will go show them all who Vander really is and tear that fucking letter to pieces right in front of his face.)
--
He nearly backs out when he sees the familiar doors of the Last Drop looming before him (this is not how the plan is supposed to go—Shimmer isn’t ready for prime time yet, and he hasn’t completely consolidated his hold on the chem barons yet either) but then the door swings open, and he sees Vander sitting there, older and with a beard now, nodding at something Benzo is saying while murmuring to the crowd of people in front of him.
As though he’s holding court, as though he’s leading them, as though he knows what’s best for them.
(As though he has any right to that after leaving him to drown in the dark and their dream to die.)
He’s slamming the doors open again before he knows what he’s doing, and a hush instantly falls over the crowd in the bar as they take him in, but Silco only has eyes for one person standing at the bar.
Vander is staring at him, hands frozen in the process of making a drink, his mouth slightly agape, and his eyes swirling with stormy emotions.
(He used to drown in those eyes.
And despite himself, he still feels the pull to drown in them once again, but he squashes that feeling down flat and grinds his heel deep into it.
No more weaknesses—he’s not the same man that Vander drowned.)
He forces a smirk onto his face and looks down his nose at Vander. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Vander.”
“Silco,” Vander breathes, carefully placing the drink down and leaning forward, before his eyes flicker over towards the children sitting at a table (oh god, it’s his adopted brats), and he frowns. “…what are you doing here?”
“I’m here because you left me an absolute shit letter, and I’m here to clarify a few matters,” Silco says silkily, drawing the letter out of his jacket pocket and brandishing it in front of him. “Do you really think just apologizing to me for trying to murder me is enough?”
Silco relishes the few gasps coming from the crowd and the stricken expression on the pink-haired girl’s face (…that must be Felicia’s oldest, the one Vander had named. Violet, or Vi), but Vander himself doesn’t appear shaken. His mouth pulls down, his eyes droop, and he says heavily, “No. I know there’s nothing I can do to make up for that—”
“You could if you had bothered to keep fighting, but it seems like the Hound of the Underground has become Topside’s dog instead,” Silco sneers. “When did you start making deals with Enforcers, Vander?”
The crowd starts murmuring again (good), and Vander’s nostrils flare as he narrows his eyes at Silco. “And what would you have me do instead?”
“Fight. You used to know that.”
“Yes, and then I got us all killed, or don’t you remember?”
“Oh, I remember quite fine given that you tried to drown me right after—”
“And I was wrong—”
“I should actually thank you for that, Vander,” Silco smiles at him nastily. “I was weak before that. But now I know the truth that neither of us were willing to face back then—power only comes to those who are willing to do anything to achieve it. And based on your shitty letter, you’ve completely given up on the cause, so it’ll have to be me who carries it out.”
“By doing what exactly?” Vander demands, his knuckles whitening as he grips the bar.
“Wouldn’t you love to know,” Silco says, taking out Vander’s knife and twirling it in his grasp before striding over and sitting down at the bar, ignoring Benzo glaring at him. “You know my usual. Get me some, and maybe I’ll deign to tell you.”
“Or you can just kick him out,” Vi pipes up, standing up and glaring at Silco and then at Vander. “Why are you letting him shit talk you like that?”
Vander blinks and then announces hastily, “Bar’s closed, guys. The Eye of Zaun and I need to discuss some things—and Benzo, could you…?”
“On it,” Benzo nods, immediately walking forward to take hold of a furious Vi and gather the other worried looking children, while glancing over his shoulder at Vander. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back though?”
“Take them, I can handle him,” Vander nods at Silco.
Silco snorts, looking over at Benzo. “I’m flattered that you think he needs back-up against me—after all, we all know who won our last confrontation, don’t we?”
“Put me down!” Vi yells, beating at Benzo’s shoulder while the blue-haired one (and that must be Felicia’s youngest—Powder) angrily tugs at Benzo’s arm and then turns around and hurls something at Silco.
Silco instinctively dodges, and something metallic with neon paint clanks onto the bar, rolling to a stop.
(…a makeshift bomb?
What little terrors Vander is raising—
Typical of Felicia’s daughter.)
“Ugh, it never works!” the skinniest of the boys complains, “I don’t know why you keep trying—I’m telling you, you’re jinxed!”
“Am not!”
“You definitely are!”
“She’s not!”
“Stop picking on Powder! And let me go—”
The door slams shut on the children arguing away as the rest of the other guests also filter out, and at last, Vander and Silco are left alone.
Vander slowly pours Silco a drink and places the glass on the bar delicately, and Silco immediately takes it and downs it.
(Vander’s not the type to poison it, and he poured it right in front of him, so it’s not like he spit in it.
Although what does it matter when they’ve exchanged so many bodily fluids already anyway, and gods he could use a drink—
This was most likely a mistake.
There was a reason he hadn’t bothered to reveal himself or confront Vander all these years—his position is too unsteady, and his resources are too thin to take the role of the Undercity’s leader away from him right now.
And he would need that threat to get Vander to even contemplate working with him again given how far into apathy his old friend has sunk.
But hells, that letter—
Even now, his blood is boiling from it.
But, hm, this is top-shelf Noxian whiskey—this is the stuff they used to save and only break out for the best of occasions.
…is this Vander trying to appease him?
Well, that’s not going to work here.)
Silco simply sneers at Vander, swirling his glass. “Don’t want people knowing about your deals, or your children learning more about your past?”
Vander’s mouth tightens as he tops off Silco’s glass again. “…I’m not that person anymore.”
“So you claim, yet you still hang your gauntlets there,” Silco points out, nodding at Vander’s old, worn gauntlets hanging over the bar. “Reminding everyone while still trying to look the noble leader.”
Vander takes a deep breath and then lets it all out. “Why are you here, Silco?”
(He’s asking himself that right now too, and there’s only one way out of this with his dignity and plan still intact.)
“To do this,” Silco says, taking the letter and tearing it to pieces in front of Vander’s stricken eyes. “If you want to apologize to me, you’d better stop being Topside’s lapdog and remember who you really are again.”
Vander runs his fingers through the shreds of paper before looking at Silco again, his mouth a flat line. “The Eye of Zaun—I had no idea that was you until you walked in.”
Silco straightens his waist coat, meeting Vander’s glare and turning his head so that his ruined eye is facing him. “What, the eye? You know all those nasty toxins and chemicals in the water where you tried to drown me—it does help for intimidating chem-barons though, so I suppose I should thank you for that as well.”
(If he lost all his looks at least he gained that.
Although—he doesn’t miss some things that his formerly pretty face brought him—all the catcalling and having to prove himself as more than just that, that’s all gone now. But some things, like the admiring glances and seething envy of onlookers when he had deemed someone worthy of his attentions—
Well, that’s all gone now.
But not completely in Vander’s eyes—there’s guilt and horror there, but still present is that ever-burning spark of desire that Vander has always had when looking at him.
…maybe some things don’t change, but it doesn’t matter when everything else has.)
Vander draws in a breath, his eyes flickering across the ruin of Silco’s face as his nostrils flare. “So you really are consorting with scum.”
Silco lets out a bark of laughter, fishing out a box from his jacket and shaking a cigarette out. “Even talking like a Topsider now!”
“I’m not the one dressed in Piltover finery here,” Vander fires back, leaning forward and lighting Silco’s cigarette for him. “For all your fine talk of helping the Undercity, tell me, how is helping drug dealers get richer and develop increasingly more addictive chemicals helping any of us?”
Silco leans in as well, sucking in some smoke. “When said chemicals will eventually give us the upper hand over Topside.”
Vander’s eyes widen, and he backs away. “…you’re plotting another uprising.”
“Something like that. As you should have been all these years instead of running a bar and dealing with petty crime,” Silco sneers and takes another drink.
Vander shakes his head. “I told you that I’m done with that—”
“Really?” Silco demands leaning forward and grabbing Vander’s arm to break the clasps of the brace hiding his forearm. “Then why trade on your old name?”
Vander jerks his arm out of Silco’s grasp, pulling his brace back on. “Because it works, but I don’t—I don’t want to be that person anymore. That person got too many people killed, and I—I even hurt you.”
(Something in him twinges treacherously with Vander’s words.
Fuck, can he never pull this longing out of his bones?
But he’s not that stupid or naïve anymore, and it doesn’t matter if Vander’s sorry for that when he fucking gave up on everything.)
“Am I supposed to melt when you say that?” Silco asks sarcastically, taking another sip of whiskey. “Oh, old friend, your lines have never worked on me. And I’m not angry that you tried to kill me, anymore, not really. That’s not the main point—the point is that you’re happy to leave the Lanes to stagnate and suffer under Topside.”
Vander blinks and peers at Silco. “Really, Sil? You’re not angry that I—”
“You don’t fucking get to call me that anymore,” Silco immediately snarls with a sweep of his hand.
(Not that, not when it was only said between the two of them alone, not when Vander was the only one who ever called him that—
That man is dead.
If only Silco can remember that.
It’s so hard when he’s back in front of Vander, and the man is looking at him with those eyes, stormy and soft, affection mixed with sadness, as if he can still see that dead version of Silco in front of him.)
Vander flinches and then says slowly, “Are you sure you’re not angry—”
“Angry? Why would I be angry?” Silco demands gesturing at his face. “Why would I be angry that you tried to drown me, and then you wrecked my eye, and now I have to rely on shots of Shimmer every day to even dull the pain of all the chemicals that seeped into it, and I’m totally deformed and disfigured—”
“No, you’re not,” Vander breaks in, then winces covering his face. “I mean—maybe that’s the wrong thing to say—”
“You think?” Silco asks, then smiles nastily. “Or maybe you like it because you put a permanent mark on me finally, hm? Made sure no one but you could love this face.”
(He doesn’t need to see Vander’s stricken expression to know that’s not the case—Vander’s not that kind of person.
Silco is though—gods, he wishes he had put some kind of scar on Vander’s face, something he couldn’t cover up or forget the way he had with Silco.
And shit, he said all that out loud—
This is what Vander does to him; always digging up all the old bad memories, resentment, and everything he thought had drowned.)
“That’s not—I’ve never forgiven myself for what I did to you,” Vander rushes out with, looking him in the eye. “And I don’t—I know that letter was terrible. I just hoped that—I wanted to see you again.”
“And here I am,” Silco says, spreading his arms and forcing himself to smirk calmly. “Here to remind you of everything you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Vander says quietly, looking down at the scar on his forearm.
Silco blows some smoke straight into his face and purposefully spins the knife on the table. “That you want to forget, then. Like you’ve forgotten about Zaun.”
Vander purses his lips and takes out his own pipe to light. “I haven’t forgotten. I have been taking care of the Lanes—”
“You’ve been letting them molder under Topside, just maintaining the status quo,” Silco interrupts, taking another drag of his cigarette. “You haven’t united them, and you haven’t gotten any of us one step closer to the nation of Zaun.”
“And uniting all the chem-barons under your banner of—what did you call it—Shimmer—that counts as progress?” Vander asks incredulously, shaking out the match.
“It’s something, which is more than you’ve provided,” Silco replies, flicking his cigarette into the ash tray.
“And all the people you hurt in that pursuit?”
Silco sets his elbows on the bar and leans in. “I learned while drowning that you have to be ready to sacrifice anything in pursuit of survival.”
Vander takes a draw on his pipe while frowning at Silco. “You don’t mean that—or else, what? Do you think Felicia dying was a worthy sacrifice?”
(No, because if he could go back and do everything all over again, he would have come up with a better plan that didn’t fail in the first place and get everyone killed.
They don’t have the firepower to take on Piltover directly, fine, then he will just have to make something to even the odds.
Singed’s methods are gruesome, but they are producing results. Give him another year or two, maybe drag back that apprentice he mentioned he had that had somehow swindled his way into the Academy, and Shimmer will be something to terrify Topside into submission with.
And then maybe everyone dying that day on the bridge will mean something instead of yet another thing that Piltover sweeps out like trash.)
“You would like to believe that I think that, don’t you? Then that would justify you trying to kill me,” Silco replies, stubbing out his cigarette.
Vander’s face crumples, his hand shaking as he removes the pipe from his mouth. “No. Nothing justifies that—you can do whatever you want with me, Silco. Stab me, beat me, kill me, ruin me—I deserve all that from you. But don’t take it out on the Lanes.”
Silco snorts, propping his chin on his fingers. “As if you and the Lanes are one and the same—I have plans for you, old friend, never fear. And the Lanes.”
“Silco,” Vander reaches out before quickly retracting his hand back again (he didn’t flinch at Vander’s reach, did he?), “listen to me—you don’t have to forgive me—”
“Of course I don’t, you don’t deserve my forgiveness,” Silco spits out. “You sit here, making deals with Enforcers— the ones who think we’re all trash, the overlords that wanted to keep us down in the mines, the same people who flooded the Lanes with our blood,—and you think you can even imagine I can forgive you for that?”
“No,” Vander says heavily. “No, I don’t. But even so—spare the Lanes your wrath, Silco. Leave them out of your plans—”
“You don’t get a say in my plans, not anymore,” Silco rasps, “I trusted you, and you betrayed me, and even then, you still had my respect—but not with this. Not while you abandon our dream and let Topside rule over us.”
Vander swallows, his fingers tightening at the bar. “Then how can I earn it back?”
(Hope, that bitch of an emotion that he can never fully kill, flickers in him again.
He thought he would have to show overwhelming force to get Vander to join him again—if he cornered him, surely he could have him by his side again.
Hired muscle isn’t the same as having Vander as his strong bulwark, backing him—it would be nice to have someone to plan with again.
And here is Vander, bringing it up all on his own.)
Silco leans forward eagerly. “Break your deal with Grayson, and let the jobs resume Topside—”
“I can’t do that.”
(Of course.
Why had he even bothered coming here?
This was all a mistake.)
“Just tell me what you’re planning, and—”
“Then you can kneel down and lick my boots,” Silco says nastily in response, standing up. “You’ll need to practice for all the boot-licking you’ll have to be doing soon—”
Vander steps out from behind the bar, looming before him, and Silco immediately grabs the knife (shit, Vander sees him as a threat now, so of course he’s going to finish him off properly this time), but then Vander kneels down in front of him.
“…What are you doing?” Silco asks, looking down at him, still gripping the knife tight.
Vander lowers his head. “You’re right—my words never convinced you of anything. I only ever impressed you through my actions. So here—let me make a start of it, and then tell me exactly what this Shimmer of yours is.”
(…this is a trick, it has to be.)
Silco looks down his nose at Vander and sneers. “You are hardly in a position to demand anything of me—”
Vander’s tongue swipes over the tops of Silco’s boots, cleaning the muck off of them. He grimaces, obviously not enjoying the taste, but he carries on regardless, laving at the leather of them, his tongue flickering out and drawing up Silco’s calves.
(…he’s actually serious.
He’s not—
Shit, he’s never gotten this hard this fast before, even in his youth, even young and stupidly in love with Vander.)
“…the Hound of the Underground, at my feet,” Silco breathes, adjusting his tie. “What would your followers say if they could see you now?”
“You’ve never wanted an audience for this kind of thing,” Vander mumbles, a giant hand encircling Silco’s ankle as he works his tongue to the back of Silco’s heel.
(…Gray take him, if Vander is this intent on degrading himself for his satisfaction, why should he deny him?
Why should he deny himself?
It doesn’t change anything, but it’s been a long time since he’s done anything of this nature with anyone.
…it’s basically been since Vander since he can’t trust anyone to put their hands on him anymore.
Let’s see how far Vander will let him push him.)
“I have better uses for your mouth than you ruining the leather of my boots,” Silco says hoarsely, kicking off Vander’s grasp, still not letting go of the knife (but still feeling his phantom touch all over his legs). “Unbutton me.”
Vander looks up, his eyes stormy and conflicted, but he simply reaches up and easily undoes the buttons of Silco’s pants, his large fingers deft and swift as ever.
Silco would be ashamed of how hard he already is, if he didn’t see the way Vander’s pupils dilate as he takes his red cock in hand and strokes it, and the bigger man swallows and licks his lips.
(Perhaps it’s been a long time for Vander as well—
He has heard no rumors of Vander taking another lover, but remembering Vander’s appetites, it’s hard to believe that the man could restrain himself.
No, Vander can be sneaky when he wants to, so whatever twink has been servicing him must be doing it discreetly.
Too bad—he’s the one who knows Vander’s tastes the best, and right now, he’s going to make sure Vander can’t forget this or sweep him under the rug again.)
“So eager,” Silco purrs, stroking himself slowly, drawing the wetness up and down. “If you want it, beg me for it.”
“…please, Silco.”
Silco backhands Vander, biting his lip as his knuckles sting and his blood sings. “Please, what?”
Vander jerks his head back, bruise blooming on his cheek as he shifts in place, hands down at his hefty thighs where a noticeable bulge is forming, and breathes, “…please Silco, feed me your cock.”
“Good boy,” Silco says in a low voice before he grabs Vander’s hair, twisting harshly at the roots as he slams himself into Vander’s mouth, choking him.
(It’s all he can do to not cum then and there.
The heat, the tightness, the wetness—
It’s been so long.
And it’s Vander at his feet, Vander choking on his cock, Vander struggling to breath while every struggle of his throat sends pleasure pulsing through Silco’s body—
And Vander attempting to palm himself through his terribly baggy pants.)
Silco viciously kicks away Vander’s hands, thrusting into his mouth again while hissing, “Oh no you don’t—this is for me, not for you.”
Vander manages to make something that sounds like an assent as he clenches his fists then tries to grab at Silco’s legs, but Silco steps away, jerking Vander’s head forward as he does so. “Don’t touch me, my cock is all you’re getting today—and gods, you’re gagging for it. Do any of your followers know what a cock-hungry slut you are, Vander?”
Vander doesn’t answer, instead slurping at Silco’s cock, trailing his tongue across the vein and sucking on the head eagerly, saliva dripping matting his beard and trailing down his neck, hands clenched right by his quivering thighs.
“If they could see you now—mnghh,” Silco gasps, throwing his head back, gripping the back of Vander’s head hard, tugging at it, and thrusting even harder into Vander’s mouth. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Getting used like a whore in the middle of your own bar, on your knees for me—what a dirty boy you are, old friend.”
Vander lets out a low moan at that, his eyes watering but pinned on Silco’s own, grazing Silco’s cock with just the slightest hint of his teeth—
(So, Vander remembers what he likes as well.)
That tips him over the edge, and Silco can’t help but let out a raspy moan as he starts to cum. Vander eagerly sucks it down, but Silco jerks Vander’s head away from his cock, purposefully making sure to cum all over Vander’s face.
(Now isn’t that a pretty sight, Vander gasping, mouth obscenely red and swollen, face now all spattered with white, some of his cum trailing down his cheek to his beard to mix with the spit there.
If only he had one of those portable cameras…)
Vander’s hand moves once again towards the massive bulge in his pants, and quick as a snake, Silco puts the knife to his throat and snarls, “You don’t cum by any hand but mine, and maybe if you’re lucky, next time I’ll finish you off.”
Vander blinks at him, tries to speak, winces, and then says hoarsely, “…next time?”
(…fuck, why did he say that?
The sex was too good—it was always too good, that’s why he was always so stupid around Vander—
But no more.)
“You haven’t impressed me yet,” Silco says, grabbing the edge of Vander’s terrible shirt to wipe himself off before tucking himself back into his pants and buttoning himself up. “You want to learn more about Shimmer? Come work with me again.”
“I can’t do that until I know what you’re planning,” Vander says steadily and calmly in that ruined voice of his, as if he didn’t still have Silco’s cum trickling down his cheeks, as if he wasn’t still as hard as stone in those pants.
(As if nothing he did could ultimately move Vander—)
“Then you can try to figure it out yourself,” Silco snaps, sticking his knife back in its sheath, turning on his heel, and storming out of the bar.
(This entire thing was a terrible mistake.
But no—it’s fine. He won’t waver—nothing Vander did or said changes anything.
It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t convince Vander to work with him towards their dream again—he can corner him again later, when Shimmer is more stable.
And with how far into apathy Vander has sunk, it’s not like he’ll be trying to pry into Silco’s affairs, so everything is still going according to plan.
Even if he thinks he can still smell Vander on him—that terrible blend that Vander loves to smoke so much still lingering around him—and the look of ectasty on Vander’s face when sucking his cock—and the sheer wild pleasure that had been denied him so many years—
Gray take it all, it’s all in the past, and it won’t happen again.)