Chapter Text
No doubt Vander’s worrying over what to do with him. The old Silco wouldn’t even let him make up his mind before moving first, taking the choice from him and saving himself first, but his priorities have shifted. He can’t just worry about keeping himself alive now, and his mind is too occupied with his son’s recovery to plot ahead and strike first.
River hasn’t grown much in his first year of life. That’s hardly rare, most Undercity children grow up small from malnutrition, but River barely grew at all. Stolen specialist formula barely put any weight on him when he was too small and weak to drink much. Eventually, stringing up bags of nutrients and medicines run into him through tubes was the only way to sustain him. It confined him to a cot, and from there, he only got worse and worse until he passed away in Silco’s hands.
His pup’s heart had stopped that day. Though now he looks at Silco with pale gray eyes and coos at him, before he was fed Shimmer, he was dead for at least a few seconds.
Silco has known a great deal of pain, but none of it can compare to his dying babe ripped from his arms. While Viktor and Singed tried desperately to revive him, Silco spiralled.
He doesn’t remember taking the gun while they were distracted, or the long walk from the surface cave down to the Lanes. The familiar sign displaying the name over the Last Drop’s door was unreadable to his teary eyes.
Seeing him again had broken Silco out of that trance, and brought all of the fury and grief to the front of his mind. Whether or not he’d planned to shoot him in his senseless stupor didn’t matter, he had a gun, and he knew when Vander recognized him that he needed to act.
Maybe he just wanted familiarity. How else, in a blackout state, could he navigate his way back to the home they had once shared without even trying?
Tonight, he moves with purpose. Silco only listens to the old doctor’s badgering now that his son’s condition is somewhat stable. Viktor tries but is young and naive. His mentor's practices that warranted banishment from Piltover’s academy are what saved River, and the only thing that will help him continue to grow.
He tells him that something has to be done before Vander acts against them, and Silco agrees. He imagines Vander only left them alone that night out of shock. Both at Silco’s reappearance and learning he has a son.
He’d barely even touched Silco. He didn’t even yell. He was… gentle, in a way he’d never been before. He could be when he tried, but there was always something hard and rough about him. Silco used to like that, it made him a fierce, passionate fighter, and even better in bed.
He’s kept tabs on the Alpha and all of his dealings since he’s been away. Hard not to given who he is. He’s made an even bigger name for himself since the protest on the bridge. Through secondhand whispers, Silco’s heard the people treat him as a leader. No surprise there, he’s always been a bit of a community darling. Probably half the reason they’d even gotten the chance to purchase the bar was because Vander had charmed the old woman who was selling it.
With his new, more official role, has come a series of community meets, held in the Last Drop every couple of weeks. Silco needs to see for himself what happens, and more importantly, if there’s any mention of himself.
It pains him to be away from River’s bedside, but he is not the grief-driven madman that stormed down here with blind intent just a few nights ago. Tonight, Silco knows his purpose. What happens to him is of less importance than the messages he is to deliver. It helps to know that if he doesn’t return, his son will be taken care of.
The meeting’s already started by the time he slips through the doors. In fact, it seems to be winding down. Nobody pays him any mind as he slips through the doors and hovers near them, keeping his back to the wall, though he doubts most will recognize him lest they purposefully look closer.
It’s a grand affair, with what must be half of the Lanes crammed into the pub. Far from the small gatherings which had consisted only of a few like minded friends back in the day. It doesn’t last nearly as long, wrapping up just as the clock on the back wall ticks over to eight o’clock. A few people linger to share words of concern, some of whom he recognizes. He listens in, and hears most sharing concern for their businesses under some proposed plan to collect money to help the rest of the Lanes.
Vander entertains them for a time. He hadn’t spoken much from what Silco had seen, letting others take the floor to air their grievances, and only really cutting in to announce the night was over and subtly shifting them all from the bar.
The Omega waits, intent on waiting out the stragglers, to speak to Vander alone. He knows he must look conspicuous, lingering by the door, but he’s hardly the only one left waiting. So, he takes a seat in the booth nearest the door and waits.
As the stragglers filter out one by one, he gets a few curious looks, but so long as he keeps his head down he knows he won’t be bothered. Still, a part of him fears being discovered and ridiculed.
Adults can be cruel, but he realizes when a small voice pipes up next to him, that he should have been more mindful for less obviously threatening opposition.
“Hi.” A head of sky blue hair graces his eyes when he turns. The girl standing beside his booth is barely taller than the table. She’s grown since Silco’s last seen her, almost two years ago. On the same day he’d found her mother’s body.
“Hello,” he replies unsurely. Funnily enough, Silco always found that he’d liked Powder more than her older sister, probably because she couldn’t speak much. Now, she obviously could, and he finds himself weary of what to say. For a parent himself, he now realizes he’s had so little experience with children before River came along.
Powder just watches him for a time, with big silvery blue eyes, before shyly taking her small arms from behind her back. Silco’s eyes widen to see she’s holding a pistol.
“You left this behind,” she says simply, and innocently sets it on the corner of the table. It’s almost too big for her little hands.
Through his shock, Silco reaches out and places his hand on it to slowly pull it out of her reach. With one hand, he pulls the slide back and confirms there’s not a single bullet in the chamber. She wouldn’t have shot him anyway, though Silco’s unsure if it was loaded when he’d taken it from the lab. It could very well have been empty when he’d brought it down.
“Thank you, child.” Powder doesn’t smile, neither does he, but she keeps looking at him. He can tell she’s curious, wanting to know what he would do next.
She’d been down here the other day, then. Yes, he remembered now. Fleeting sounds of children crying, and Felicia’s eldest standing in a doorway, with her hot pink hair standing out in the shadows of the cellar. Silco was aware his mate had taken them in, as he never doubted he would, for even a second.
Knowing he cared for them, and they seemed to be happy and safe, is probably the only thing that’s made him feel safe and brave enough to come down here for a second time to face him. It lets him believe that maybe there’s a chance Vander can still be good, and even if he can’t be good to Silco, the Omega will give almost anything just to see that side of him again.
His and Powder’s staring contest stops when a small scuffle starts near the bar, with Vander shoving the last stragglers from his meeting towards the doors. They bitch and whine as he playfully tells them off, a hint of seriousness in his tone and movement that in the end, gets them to comply.
Silco watches him shut and lock the doors. Only one lock. There used to be three, two deadbolts at the top and bottom, as well as the key. Silco watches wraptly as he approaches, but Vander’s gaze is set on Powder who he reaches for, setting a large hand on the pups back and nudging her away from the table.
“Pow, go and get your jammies on. I’ll be down in a bit with dinner.” His voice is so gentle. There’s still firmness there, and in his face, but a different kind than he has when dealing with patrons or even friends. It’s a kind of gentleness Silco has only ever seen him express with Vi and Powder. Maybe he’s only struck by it now because he knows this isn’t just a facade for a visit, but a role he’s taking on everyday to look after them.
Powder nods and starts towards the door to the cellar, but turns and calls “Bye,” to Silco, waving at him before she disappears down the stairs and leaves him alone with Vander.
She’s offputting and endearing all in one, and when her presence fades, Silco realizes he found comfort in it. She was his protection, knowing Vander wouldn’t do anything to damage her, including hurting somebody else. But now she’s gone, and there’s truly nothing to stop Vander from pinning him down and choking the life of him if he so wishes.
Slowly, Silco looks away from the stairs, keeping his body rigid as he meets Vander’s gaze.
For a time, all either of them do is stare, and Silco feels crushed. Like someone has reached into his chest and is squeezing each breath from his lungs.
It’s Vander who breaks the gaze, letting out a light sigh. Though he hasn't shown even a hint of aggression, Silco shrinks away when he turns, watching his hands carefully as he passes him by.
Once he's behind the bar and fiddling with some clinking glasses, Silco rises from the booth and slowly follows.
He hasn't even been told to leave. The most Vander had given him was a pitying look. Silco hopes that means he's open to talking.
Silco doesn't even know what he wants beyond conversation. All he knows is that he needs it, some kind of progress, or even just an execution. An end to all of this, one way or another.
“You know,” he says, catching the way Vander pauses from cleaning out a glass. Silco hadn’t seen anybody drinking when he came in, so he knows it’s just an excuse to pay his attention to something else.
He doesn’t really know what to say. So, he says the first thing that comes to mind, something that had played on his mind as he watched from the back of the room as others bemoaned the sorry state of the Lanes.
“I never thought anyone could top the bullshit you used to spew on these nights.”
To his relief, Vander gives an amused huff, shaking his head as his eyes return to the glass he’s clear out. He turns to pick one bottle from the many that line the back wall and pulls the cork out with his teeth.
“You should hear Benzo, he's got some funny ideas on how to drum up business,” he replies, filling the cleaned glass up close to the brim.
“I didn’t see him,” Silco responds, and regrets it almost instantly, as he watches the amused charm disappear from around the Alpha. He turns away for a moment, mouth pressed into a firm line beneath the short thick hair covering his jaw.
“We had a disagreement. You know how he gets.”
Silco doesn’t probe. He doesn’t have to to know it was over him. He can recall Benzo coming close and spitting harsh words in his face, but not precisely what those words were. His mind filled in the blank with ease, having witnessed many a tirade from the Beta.
“Indeed. For such good friends, you fight like wild dogs sometimes,” Silco responds, only a little unsure. He’s never thought bad of it when they never fought with the intent of hurting each other. They were passionate and headstrong idiots, the both of them. It wasn’t real violence anyways, just scuffles and occasional punches.
Vander could get quite heated, and he was a force to be reckoned with in a fight, but Silco never thought he’d get violent over a disagreement. He supposes what happened between them was more than just a simple disagreement, though. People were dead from it.
The Alpha doesn’t answer, instead taking a small sip from his glass, as he looks back at him. His head bows a little, directing Silco’s eye to the empty stool on the front side of the bar, right in front of him.
“Drink?” Vander offers.
Silco hesitates. Could just be being close to Vander that makes him weary, but he’s not so sure. He knows this isn’t a friendly invitation for an innocent chat. When he sits, the words shared are going to be ugly and painful, but it’s what he needs to hear. He won’t run or hide from Vander any longer.
“I suppose I’ll need it. The good stuff, then.” For the first time in too long, he crosses the floor of the bar, hearing the familiar creaks of certain floorboards beneath him.
He doesn’t need to say it for Vander to know what he means. The most expensive liquor, sitting on a top shelf like a prize, stays untouched. Instead, Vander splashes some rum and fills most of his glass with the cheap, shitty whisky Silco’s drank for as long as he’s known him.
He pulls the stool out, but just as he hopes up and settles on it, Vander moves to hold the offered glass against his chest, almost protectively.
“First.” His gray eyes flit down Silco, who sits tense under his gaze. “You going to hold me up again?”
Ah, a fair assumption. He sets the pistol on the bar, slow to not alarm him, but sees in Vander’s eyes that he expects more. Silco sighs through his nose, before reaching around to wrap a hand around the handle of his knife, tucked safely in the scabbard at the back of his belt.
“With this? Hardly.” He holds it up in offering. When Vander sees it in the light, his face falls, and Silco relishes a little in his recognition of his own knife. The one Silco had snuck from his hip and slashed him with to get out from beneath the water.
Silco’s right in thinking he won’t try to take it back. He lets it rest on the bar, right next to the useless pistol, to see the guilt that pales Vander’s face. He’s rewarded with his drink, nearly slammed down and spilled over his fingers. Vander turns to snatch his own from further away and drinks nearly the whole glass. Silco’s always been the slower drinker between them.
“I’ll admit, I came down here fully prepared to be tossed out on my arse.” It’s the last of his lighthearted jabs, but Vander doesn’t even crack a smile.
“You owned this place too. Still do, on paper. You can come and go as you please,” he answers simply.
Silco smiles, knowing it’s only a polite invite, not a real one. They both know that he’d be dragged through the streets if discovered by anybody but Vander.
“Why the early close? It’s only just turned eight.”
These meetings used to stretch on into the early hours of the morning, sometimes lasting through the night. Looking back, their chatter and drinking far outweighed any good ideas shared, but Silco still held those nights dear. Giving a free drink to everyone in attendance tonight would be unthinkable, but for the life of him Silco can’t figure out why he’d close completely instead of returning to the bar’s normal service.
Vander had always kept things cheap. Owning a bar was less about pride and success for him, not that Silco had bought into it expecting to get rich, but the Alpha especially valued how it brought people together. Silco supposes he shouldn’t be surprised at him pissing away coins, in this instance.
He watches Vander knock back the last of his drink and turn the glass over his hand, studying it with a tense brow. “It’s tough, handling them and the bar at the same time,” he finally says, seemingly making up his mind and pouring himself a second serving.
Silco glances to his right, towards the doorway with stairs beyond that lead to the cellar. He was forced down there but hardly got a good look at it. He wonders how it’s changed to accommodate the girls, if there’s toys or proper beds for them. There are some toys in the hideout, picked up by himself and Viktor over time, but they sit on Silco’s cot unused.
“Closing at peak hours will just cheat you and them out of money.” Part of him understands. He’s not even the one providing most of his son’s care, he has so much help, and it still feels like an impossible task most days. It’s probably different with two older, healthy kids, but he can only try to sympathize.
He doesn’t push the topic, or say anything, really. He stops watching his drink and actually takes a sip, wincing a bit as a familiar burn fills his throat. It’s been too long since he’s had a drink.
Silence spreads and Silco’s happy to have it reign for a while, until Vander places his glass down, emptied again, less aggressive this time. “Out with it, then.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest, and Silco meets his disapproving gaze.
Damn, as he was just beginning to feel as though he’s spilling his woes to a humble bartender. There’s no escaping their reality, it seems.
“Depends on what you want to know,” he quietly answers, and takes another sip of the stinging, serene concoction in his glass.
“Everything.” Vander’s heated, but he’s hiding it well. He’s got to know how easy it could be to scare Silco off. He wants to hear him out before that. “Where you’ve been, for a start. Up with them this whole time?”
“I knew Singed in passing, but I only met Viktor after -”
Silco pauses, watching Vander, but he doesn’t move. He’s a statue, giving no reaction than narrowing his eyes, more alarmed than the anger he’s contained until now. Silco hadn’t meant to bring up what he’d done so soon, but it had simply slipped out.
“After that night,” the Omega finishes, keeping his voice steady, but looking away uncertainly. Vander’s attempt on his life and the injuries it had left him with have simply become a fact of Silco’s life. He’s not used to censoring himself for others’ sake, and part of him gets angry at that. He shouldn’t have to dance around what happened to him, Vander deserves to hear it said allowed. He deserves to feel horrible over what he did.
“Your eye.” His exposed eye flits up to glance at Vander, and immediately turns down to stare at his drink when he sees the regret etched into the other’s bearded face.
Though his cars are covered, bandaged as though they are recent, Silco instinctually turns so Vander can’t see that side of him.
“River toxins. It's eating down to the bone. It will probably kill me one day.” He can hear how clinical he sounds. He’s never talked about it as a woeful death sentence, just a matter of fact, as straightforward as the neutral, detached doctor is.
In a small way, Silco’s actually comforted by it, from the certainty it brings. It’s no guarantee he won’t be taken out by an accident or illness, but it’s an assurance that one day he will meet his end.
“Not the worst way to go, I suppose,” he mumbles. It’s likely to infect his brain and make him delirious in his final months, weakening his body to die of some more common illness. Rarely does the infection itself kill, especially with medication, the kind Piltover doesn’t deem necessary to provide them with.
“Does it hurt?” Vander’s question surprises him, but he can see the guilt in his eyes. He wants to apologise but he’s clearly biting his lip. He’s right to, if he apologises again Silco can’t guarantee he won’t slap him.
The question makes him clench his jaw, reminding him of his first few months of recovery, the terrible spreading pain that ate away at him and had him shedding layers of dead skin.
“I take something for the pain.”
Another cure from the hands of the doctor he owed everything to. He’d only revealed it to Silco after River was born, sharing he thought it would jeopardize the unborn’s development. It contains a small amount of his miracle cure, the same shimmering essence that had revived both Silco and River when they were dying. Singed’s medicine numbs his scars better than any other cream or drug could, but still there is a low, throbbing pain, seeping down through his skin, sometimes stabbing at bone or muscle. It gets worse as the medicine’s effect wears off.
Vander doesn’t look all that comforted, and Silco’s relieved when he doesn’t press further. He can’t tell him about Singed’s cure for death, not just because the old Beta would kill him, but because he knows Vander will only see fault in it. It’s not ready to be shared with the world, but one day it will be, and he’s certain it will be their salvation.
“What about the pup? The little one,” Vander clarifies, as though Viktor could be mistaken for a pup at this point. Silco’s eyes narrow a bit and he can’t help but glare at the other for not using his son’s name.
“His name is River,” he reminds him, and Vander bristles, averting his eyes.
“River,” he mutters, testing the name on his tongue. His mouth sits in a small but tense frown, before he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell, Sil, did you really -”
“Yes, I did!” he snaps, sensitive to the topic of his son. Smartly, Vander shuts his mouth, caught off guard by Silco’s tone.
The Omega pauses, taking a deep breath to calm himself, before resuming only a little heatedly. “Is it grim? Yes, a grim reminder of what we survived. It is a good name, a strong name, people will respect it.”
They’ll respect him, and the city he comes from. Never before has Silco been motivated to see his home free and healed. Before, he was driven in part by care for his friends and fellows, but a good deal of it was his own pride.
Now, he’d gladly suffer under the boot of an Enforcer if it means his son can grow up happy and safe, but it doesn’t. River is never going to be equal to them, he will always be treated as shit on the heel of Piltover, and no amount of Silco’s suffering will fix that. So, he’ll put his suffering towards change, to unseat the tyrants and tear down the system that deems his son a lesser person.
Vander doesn’t understand, or at least he didn’t back then. He’d called Silco mad for thinking they had the power to do that, insisting they had to work with the people who were destroying their home, swiping up what little resources they had and killing their friends in droves. He can’t say for certain if looking after Felicia’s daughters has changed his mind, but looking at him now, all he sees is a man content to roll over and let the suffering continue because he is scared of rocking the boat.
He watches him expectedly, but Vander doesn’t speak, perhaps shamed into silence.
“What you both survived?” The repeating of his words pisses Silco off until he realizes Vander doesn’t know if River is his. Perhaps that’s why he’s danced around using his name, or not yet launched into rigorous questioning about him.
Vander looks back at him with eyes that very nearly trick Silco into forgiving him. “So… That night, you were..?”
For a moment, all Silco can do is stare, too stunned to even speak.
How can this idiot think the pup is someone else’s? Why does he think Silco would trust him enough to sit down beside him, defenseless and distraught, if the child he showed wasn’t his?
He feels at war with himself, half distraught that his mate would think he would move on so quickly, and the other enraged half screaming that he bloody should have.
“I didn’t know until after,” he tells quietly, still stewing with shock, but Vander hears him and makes a pained noise with his next breath.
Silco watches him sway on his feet, take two steps back before resting his hands against the top of the bar, practically falling onto it. He hides his face into his hands as he curses, over and over again.
Holding his tongue, Silco’s silence is far more grace than he deserves, but it hurts to see him so distraught. He’s had a son for almost a year and had no idea. It’s his own fault, of course. He’d nearly killed them both that night, and ever since, Silco was shaken at the mere thought of seeing him again.
“I’m sorry,” the Alpha whispered, and it feels like both the first and millionth time he’s heard it. There’s a new weight behind it now, with the knowledge he’d affected another’s life, his own son.
“Would you have still killed me if you’d known?” Silco’s never been able to settle on an answer, and the flash of panic followed by misery in Vander’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t know either.
He isn’t sure which is worse: Vander sparing him only because of the innocent child in his womb, or ending their life before it even began just so he could kill Silco.
“Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” That’s the only thing Vander is sure of, his regret. Silco wonders if what-if’s have played in his mind over and over since that night. He gets them sometimes, when his mind isn’t occupied with his son or the work he undergoes.
Finally, Vander looks at him. Tears cling to his lashes and his eyes remain glassy, but there’s no other signs of his sobbing. He looks decided, determined even.
“M’not that man anymore, Sil. You aren’t either. I can see it.”
And Silco’s certain that he believes that. He’s sure the old Vander meant it when he promised to always take care of Silco. But something happened to make him break that promise, and he’s all too aware that it could happen again.
“Can you? Or are you just seeing what you want to see?” Silco retorts, not bitter, but disappointed by his observation. He feels like a changed man, but in ways he knows the Alpha could never appreciate. The same ways that once justified killing Silco in his mind.
He goes silent at Silco’s words, lowering his eyes again. Shame radiates off of him as he stews in silence. The Omega takes a long sip of his glass, not stopping until Vander speaks again.
“... What’s he like?”
Grateful for the change in conversation, he sets his glass down and sighs. “Like all other babies, pliant and entirely useless.”
Vander smiles a bit at that. “Aside from that. He’d be -”
“Eleven months and sixteen days old,” Silco finishes. It’s near impossible for him to let go of dates since living with the fear of every day being his son’s last.
River was nothing like other babies. He used to smile and giggle for Silco, a sweet but breathless sound, that only got quieter as he grew and his condition worsened. He stopped smiling when he was attached to a respirator that forced air into his little weak lungs.
Discussing River should be happy. His life brings Silco a greater joy than he ever imagined he’d feel, and his pain brings him an indescribable misery.
“He’s never been out of that box. Not for more than a few minutes,” the Omega admits quietly. He practically says it into the glass, but sees the way Vander’s form shifts in his corner vision.
“The toxins affected him too. He was born too early. I knew for months that he…” Unable to get the words out, Silco’s free hand clenches, shaking. His eye stays stuck on a discolored spot in the wood below.“He wasn’t long for this world. And then, he took a turn for the worst.”
“Last week. That’s why you came here.”
He nods. For something so recent, what was his reality just a week ago, the fear and dread and premature grief is unthinkable to him now. Silco remembers how it felt, but it’s almost like it’s been torn to him, like cancerous rot being pulled from his lungs.
“He’s been breathing on his own since yesterday. It’s the first time in months,” he continues. It’s more for himself than for Vander.
Now that River is doing well, considering the struggle his short life has been thus far, he chooses to say it every chance he can. As though announcing it will somehow magically prolong his pup’s miraculous recovery and growth.
Vander’s nodding, but looking deep in thought. There’s no accusation in his eyes or voice, but Silco can’t help but feel on edge.
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, hopefully he’ll be alright.” His voice cracks a little before he stops, too afraid to keep speaking. Silco eyes him, trying to make out what he’s thinking, but Vander’s so smothered in layers of grief and guilt that it’s practically pouring off of him like the sweat of his rut.
“You thought I would have gotten rid of it after you tried to drown me.” It’s an innocent observation, nothing more, but the clench he sees in the side of Vander’s jaw tells him he’s right.
If it were anybody but him recovering from a near drowning at the hands of their mate, that’s the advice Silco would give. But he couldn’t apply it to himself. He’d wondered about it, of course, nearly every day for the first few months, but never once had it felt like the right decision.
Silco takes another drink, nearly finishing the glass with a need for distraction from a sudden wave of emotions that has his chest feeling tight. “You probably think that I would get rid of them out of spite, or hate them in your place, or spare them from this horrible, sickly life. I didn’t -”
He grabs at his hair, sighing, but the greased and knotted mess he feels through only serves to stress him out more.
Silco knew he wanted River from the moment he discovered his existence, but not a day went by without him wondering if giving him life was a good idea. Once his son was born and his condition gradually worsened, any reasoning Silco had come up with had disappeared from his mind.
Once he feels to the end of his hair, the Omega brings his hand up, rests his arm on the bar to lean forward and cover his face. He can’t stop now, words he doesn’t even think anymore, but have plagued him from the pit which he’s pushed them down into so he could go on living with himself.
“I didn’t know he would be so sick. I-I knew he could have been but -” But it didn’t matter, not next to what Silco wanted. Just like the riot on the bridge. The risks and consequences were just afterthoughts, far away figments he could put out of mind to focus on what he wanted.
His thoughts are interrupted by a hand covering his own, squeezing his fingers, and Silco shoots up in his seat at the sudden touch.
“Stop. You don’t have to justify anything,” Vander tells him, a little condescending. He releases Silco’s hand after a moment and he pulls it back, shaking only partly out of fear.
“You can say that, you’ve never seen your child dying. All those choices laid out before you… I pray that you never do.”
His love had blinded him until River was born with a pain he had no way of blocking or dulling. Just like his want to revolt and show he would not stay pliant and abused any longer had gotten people killed. At least on that day, he was fighting for more than just himself, even if the root of his action was his pride. But what good did River’s birth bring for anybody but himself?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
He looks at Vander, who's hanging his head in shame again, like a dog who knows he’s done something bad. It almost makes him smile.
He’s got a lot to apologize for, but not this. In fact, some twisted part of Silco, the same part that still longs for him, feels guilt for not telling the Alpha. Nothing Vander can do can ever kill that little kindling of love that he just can’t let go of.
To have a child, or take one on as your own… It’s a sacrifice, but it’s also the most selfish thing in the world. Maybe all love is the same in that way. Like this little piece of him that clings to what he loves, uncaring of all of the pain it’s going to cause to him or others.
Vander meets his gaze to ask sheepishly, “Where is he now?” The tinge of fear in his voice is unmistakable. He’s eager too, but afraid of showing it, and it makes a long empty part of Silco feel warm again. He wants to know about River, he’s just nervous and he can hardly be blamed.
“Viktor’s looking after him.” Viktor loves him, undeniably so. Maybe even more than Silco does. He loves River because he’s come from him, he nearly died delivering him, he is his child through and through. But there’s no blood linking him and Viktor.
Just like Vander and the girls, he chooses to love him out of the goodness of his heart, or maybe a need he feels to cherish and nourish something smaller and weaker than himself. As hard as Silco tries to understand, he can’t help but hate him for it, just a little bit. He tries not to ponder because at the end of the day, he is the only support that River has other than Silco, and he’s willing to give up everything for his son.
“He’ll take him and leave the city if I don’t return. If… If you aim to finish what you started.”
Silco holds his breath as he finishes his drink, on the off chance that Vander chooses now is the right time to attack him. Instead, the Alpha opens bottles to make another for him.
“I meant what I said. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Silco watches the shot of rum disappear in the light, almost orange nectar before bringing the glass to his mouth and holding it there, watching the Alpha over the golden rim of the glass. “I regret it more than anything, Sil. What I did to you. I always have, every single day.”
He can say that all he wants but Silco will never believe it. As much as he wants to, it’s impossible. He wants to, and even though he sees Vander’s sincerity and knows the Alpha believes what he’s saying, Silco can’t do it.
He casts his eyes down, abc to the lines in the wood of the barstool, and can’t help but smile at the uselessness of all this. “You know, a part of me wants to believe you, but the rest… Well, it wants to throw this in your face.”
He tilts the glass forward, but instead of flinching or even cursing at him, Vander just opens his arms and raises his head, offering himself up. “Go for it. Actually -”
But Silco’s already flicking his hand, tossing the glasses contents all over his front. Brandy soaks his beard and shirt, and a few droplets run down and loudly hit the floor.
“Was gonna offer you do it with water instead. Gonna be all sticky now,” he mutters, licking a drop that strays near his mouth, before grabbing a dry rag to wipe himself down.
“You’ll live.”
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get offered a third drink, but Silco feels set for the night. That one act will probably give him more pleasure than any drink could going forward, for the rest of his life.
His smile stays until Vander poses another question.
“So are you gonna tell me what you’re really doing? Up there, with them.”
If he knows the truth, not of what Silco does because he does nothing these days, but what he plans to do and believes him, then he’ll go back on his words and choke the life out of him. It kills the joy that had temporarily taken hold of him.
“The same as you,” Silco answers simply. “Whatever I can for the people.”
“And what does that look like exactly?” Vander wets the rag in the sink and rings it out before rubbing his face down again, to clean rather than just dry off.
Silco just shrugs. “I’m not sure yet.”
All he knows for certain is that he won’t be so flippant this time, not with a son to protect and look after. He can’t go hurling molotovs at Enforcer’s just to make a point.
“Can’t you do it down here?” Vander asks, and it breaks Silco’s heart a little to know in some small way, he’s still wanted.
“No. Not… Not anymore.”
He’s older, wiser, but his mind hasn’t changed. He went about it poorly last time and it got people killed, but Piltover will never let them be anything but dull rocks to squeeze blood and money from. Not without a bit of their own blood being shed. Silco fears if he shares even one word of how he thinks, this will turn into that night on the river all over again.
A look of hurt covers his face, eyebrows furrowing over gray, desperate and pleading eyes. “Silco…”
Vander doesn’t reach for him but still draws close, and it drives Silco away, pushing himself away from the bar and down from his chair.
“It’s not just you, Vander. Everyone in the Lanes wants my head, and for good reason.”
And it’s only then that Silco realizes he hasn’t spoken of the bridge to Vander. Not while fully aware, at least. He can see on the Alpha’s face how taken aback he is, as though Silco admitting to his wrongdoings is a rarity.
Instead of following him from out behind the bar, or questioning him further, Vander lowers his gaze and speaks surprisingly gently.
“I don’t think that day was ever going to end well. I… I should’ve listened, so we could have found a better way together.”
Now it’s Silco’s turn to be shocked. He believed Vander was sorry, but to take back the reason that led to him to kill Silco, it wasn’t a relief. It was bloody frustrating, and Silco isn’t allowed to be angry either, cause he’d spent months following that night believing he wasn’t at fault for the massacre on the bridge. He can’t fault Vander for taking time to reach the same conclusion.
Still, he stews in silent anger, hands balled into fists at his side. What was the point of all this then? Why did he have to keep River away? Why did Vander have to kill him? Why couldn’t they think first, either of them, or even speak before resorting to violence?
His anger fades quickly and is replaced by a growing emptiness, like a whirl pool has opened inside him and is quickly dragging him down into crushing depths. Tears fill his eyes as he recounts the past year, the unsalvagable state of him and Vander and this city, and the fucking pointlessness of it all.
“Do you think we still can?” he whispers. It’s a pipedream, but once upon a time so was this bar, or any measure of action from their community against the parasites above them. But there’s no coming back from this, what they’ve become.
Vander disagrees. There’s a new light in his eyes as he looks to Silco, seemingly stuck for a moment, before hurriedly stepping out from behind the bar and approaching him.
“Maybe, if… If you think so too.”
He wants to. He bloody wants to, more than he’s wanted anything, he wants to agree and make up and kiss Vander as though the past two years haven’t happened. He can’t, it’s a pipedream, but it makes Silco smile nonetheless.
“Not here. Not how we used to. It won’t work.”
His words kills the light in Vander’s eyes, and in turn that crushes Silco’s heart, just a little more. Tears fall, wetting the bandages over his scars.
They can’t go back to what they were, but Silco can’t let go. He’d already thought he had, or maybe he’d just been telling himself that to make Vander’s absence easier to bare, but now that he is here, so close, so easy to touch, the thought of parting from him again makes him want to claw out of his own skin.
“Vander,” Silco mumbles. “River, he’s… I need to know… Do you want him?”
The Alpha blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
It’s a sincere question on Silco’s end, but maybe it hadn’t even occurred to Vander that he has a choice, an opportunity to walk away.
“He deserves to be loved,” Silco tells him. Really, River deserves all of the love in the world. Silco knows he’s biased, but he’s certain there’s never been such a wonderful, perfect pup as his son is.
He deserves a chance to know his father, so long as Vander treats him right, and the girls who are essentially family through him. River deserves to be safe and warm and well fed, and to have a proper place to lay his head down to sleep once he’s older.
Shame floods him and he bows his head as Silco quietly admits it; “He… He deserves more than what I can give.”
If Vander can keep being a good man, who does good for his people, then he deserves a chance to know his son too. What he’s done to Silco doesn’t matter so long as he doesn’t turn that violence onto others, especially not their child.
But Silco won’t force him. In fact, maybe it’s better if Vander refuses. They can part forever, ties fully severed, and Silco can grieve what they had, tear the marked skin from his neck and move on for forever.
For a second, he’s convinced that’s the road he’ll be forced down, seeing panic flash across Vander’s face before he averts his eyes and searches the room. “I… I don’t know if I -” he starts, but Silco cuts him off.
“Just say no. Say it and I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to hear from us again.” His voice loses its sharp edge quickly, and he’s barely able to keep the tears out of his voice. He doesn’t know what he wants more, acceptance or rejection.
Either will do, he just needs an answer so that he can finally leave this horrible place of limbo and move towards something, but Vander won’t give it to him.
“You can’t!” He grabs him by the arms. Silco’s joints lock as his whole body freezes, staring down at the large hands wrapped around his forearms, the same pair that had smashed his face in and held him beneath the grimy water’s surface.
And just like that, he’s released, arms left hanging in the air, shaking without being held in place. Vander looks just as shocked, like he isn’t the one who did it, but quickly realizes his fuck up.
He raises his hands, slowly and open, as Silco blindly steps backwards in what he hopes is the door’s direction. He can barely think, he can’t even breathe, like there’s water filling his lungs.
“I’m sorry Sil, I-I’m sorry.” Silco barely hears his words when the memory of his vicious snarls and threats and insults ring in his ears. What catches his eye, and helps distract him from the memories of that night, is the sight of him not moving. He must be halfway to the door, but Vander hasn’t moved an inch.
“It’s just… It’s a lot to take in, is all.” He lowers his hands, seemingly chewing his words for a moment. He stares at the floor like he wants to cross over to him, but he stays in place to speak. “But I do want him. I want you both.”
He’s known, in some small way, from the moment he stepped up to the bar. The fact Vander had let him walk away from here once already. Whatever daft reasoning he had to kill him, it wasn’t enough to fully kill what they’d had.
At first it thrills Silco, until it sends him into deeper anguish. Gods, they’re such idiots aren’t they? It’s laughable. He can’t laugh even if he finds it funny. The closest he can do is sob.
“Sil, can I come over?” The softness of Vander’s voice makes the hair on his neck stand up, and it’s far closer to the small, serene happiness it used to make him feel than the bone-chilling fear he’s grown to know and loathe intimately.
“Don’t!” He snaps when he hears the creak of a floorboard, and glances up to see the Alpha obediently taking a step back, nodding acceptingly. Silco can’t keep looking at him, shaking his head and turning his back on him. “Just… please. Just don’t.”
He makes for the door, half expecting to be grabbed again or tackled to the floor, but instead Vander just speaks.
“We can find a way. For him and for this city. We can do it together.”
Silco pauses when he reaches the doors, hands hovering above the familiar locks for a moment, before he goes ahead and undoes the first one. There’s no rush of feat or creaking wood, no attack coming from behind. Silco looks over his shoulder, and instead of the visage of a raging, bloodthirsty Alpha that’s haunted his dreams for a year and half, he sees Vander, looking older than he truly is, face drawn with desperation and guilt. Still, he stays, even as Silco pulls out the two deadbolt locks.
“Perhaps,” the Omega breathes, and pushes his hand against the heavy door, a good bit of his weight needed to push it open. Immediately, the hot and stinging night air hits his eyes and nose, erasing the cozy and painfully familiar scent of the bar.
Before he steps back into the rest of the world, he looks back at his mate, still stuck in place with a patience Silco’s never seen of him. He offers a pained smile.
“But not how we were, Vander. We’re not those men anymore.”