Chapter Text
They’d met through Vander, with Silco bringing Felicia into the mix. At first, Benzo wasn’t keen on Silco. He was a screw up more often than not, a smart-mouth, and slippery as a ferret. Then Silco got better and better, able to give enforcers the run around and stand his ground in a fight.
Benzo, grudgingly, accepted it. They grew closer, never as close as Felica was to Silco or Vander, or close as either of them were to Vander, but it was close enough. Silco often had his arm resting on Benzo’s shoulder, and Benzo ruffled his hair when he got mouthy.
“Hey!” Silco frantically tried to fix the mess. “Stop going for my hair!”
“Stop bein’ a lippy bastard,” Benzo replied, earning himself a glare.
“Stop antagonising each other,” Vander shouted from the bar, washing a glass with a rag that had seen better days. “I swear, you’re always gunning for each other.”
“You squabble like children.”
“That’s funny comin’ from you, Felicia.” The woman in question didn’t appear phased by Benzo’s call-out in the slightest.
“Alright everyone, settle. Evening rush is starting any second.”
They grumbled a bit but moved together for the last bits and pieces of preparation.
A full bar was a good thing, and Silco enjoyed the surrounding chatter, less so the wandering hands. Some people didn’t watch their tongues when the alcohol ran thick and Silco had had to punch more than one person most weeks.
Felicia was all but sitting on Connol’s lap, Vander handing them both drinks on the house. Benzo was missing, but most likely just in the bathroom or checking on his new ward. Silco cast his eyes over the bar anyway. Benzo was standing with his back to him, another bar patron towering over him despite Benzo’s greater height and size. Slipping from his seat, Silco weaved toward them, keeping low and his ear out.
“—hard is it to just get it right! You cost me good business!” The shorter man was almost yelling, his hand clutching Benzo’s lapel.
“I’m sorry, I didn’ realise I hadn’ fixed it properly.”
“You’re a buffoon, a moron! You’re a fucking useless—”
Silco didn’t wait to hear more, he melted away, snatching a jug of miscoloured water from the bar, and prowled around behind the unruly customer.
The man remained completely oblivious, still ranting and shaking Benzo’s collar. Benzo, however, had caught sight of Silco. His eyes went wide. Silco grinned and upended the jug all down the back of the customer’s suit. It looked like an off brand Piltie one, definitely expensive, and Zaun’s water was not like Piltover’s water. It was dirty, discoloured, and it stained.
“Oh!” Silco immediately turned up the dramatics. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you at all, but I see you’ve met my brother.” His smile turned sharp and cold for the last word, wrapping an arm up around Benzo’s shoulder, keeping eye contact the whole time. He pointedly ignored the surprised look Benzo shot him and kept up his stare down.
“You dirty little—” the man took half a step forward, one hand taking a handful of Silco’s collar, the other raising up in a fist. Dirty little thing. Silco’s heard that before, many times. The men in the mines would look as he walked by and leer, he’d pretend not to notice, pretend his heart didn’t pound and his fists weren’t balled up. The fist came down and Silco flinched.
Instead of impact, Benzo moved away, there was a thud followed by a yelp. Silco opened his eyes.
The man was sprawled on his back, clutching his face as blood poured hot and thick from his nose. Benzo shook out his hand, a few stray red droplets arcing away.
“Nice,” Silco patted Benzo on the back. “He finally get on your nerves?” Benzo gave him a strange look Silco couldn’t quite decipher, then threw back his head and laughed.
“Ah, you bet! Nasty bugger. Whoever said the customer is always right?”
“Someone who’s never worked in customer service,” Silco said dryly. “Come on, Vander and Felicia are this way. Connol, too.”
“Don’ forget Connol!”
“He’s new! It’s alright to forget him a little!” They pushed and snarked their way back to the bar, where Benzo immediately snitched on him to Connol.
***
Vander’s arms were covered in scratches, a slashing knife would across one forearm. Vander was caving in on himself. Felicia and Connol, dead. Silco…Benzo didn’t know what happened to Silco. The thought that Silco had done something vile and evil enough to push Vander, Vander who loved that man more than breathing, into trying to kill him…it was awful.
He felt cheated. All those years of Silco’s blasé smiles and it was hiding something ugly, something dark, something that could make a good man like Vander snap. The first few days were the worst. Vander all but comatose, Benzo was caring for three kids, and then two more showed up, two boys. They’d lost their guardians on the bridge too. Or not, in Mylo’s case. He’d just turned up. Hand in hand with Claggor.
By the time two weeks had almost passed, Vander seemed to get a grip on himself again, and Benzo allowed himself a few breaths of relief. Children were gifts, but they were loud gifts, and they almost always made a mess.
He had enough of a handful with the one! Ekko seemed determined to get into all his toolboxes and pilfer whatever he fancied.
Benzo pushed Silco from his mind. He was dead, no matter if he was breathing.
***
When people asked about Silco at the bar, Benzo watched Vander flinch before ignoring the question with a thin smile.
The bar was closed early, the sign hung on in the door window. Benzo chewed his cheek and pushed in anyway, Vander had given him a spare key in the early days when he was grieving locked in his room. The floor was swept and mopped, the chairs all put away on top of the tables, and behind the bar sat Vander. His head was on the surface, his hand gripping a bottle.
“…deserved it…” Benzo approached quietly, straining to hear the mumbled jargon. “…rry. He deserved it. Deser…mmn….”
“Vander,” he tentatively placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Can’t sleep ‘ere, you got a bed for a reason, mate.”
“I…Benzo?” Vander raised his head blearily, blinking gummy eyes. “Whaddya doing here?”
“You gave me a key, mate,” he took a beefy arm and pulled. “Come on, le’s get you to bed.” Slowly, Benzo led Vander to his room, settled him in, and left as quietly as possible.
He turned up at the bar in the morning to help Vander with the opening shift.
He deserved it.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. What evil had Silco done to deserve it? Benzo ground his teeth. He’d never believed Silco capable, clearly he was wrong.
“Where’s Silco? There’s talk Vander…is it true?” The customer leant over the bar, he didn’t mean any harm, but the question dug at the wound of Silco’s absence. The crime he must have committed.
“He deserved it,” Benzo snapped, answering before the morose Vander could open his mouth. The customer cringed, gave them both a nod, and scurried away. He watched until the door closed, moving to help the next customer, suddenly becoming aware of Vander’s eyes boring into him.
“Benzo—” Vander began, his voice thick.
“It’s ok, mate. You did what you had to,” he clapped a hand on his arm, “I’m proud o’ you for doin’ what’s right, even if it hurts.” A hundred expressions flashed across Vander’s face, but he didn’t see which one it settled on.
A customer knocked on the bar.
“You’s got whiskey?”
“Whiskey, coming up!” Benzo turned for the spirits.
Vander was quiet the whole shift.
***
It was warmer than usual the day Vander decided to destroy Benzo’s image of him.
“Vander! Been a while,” he shimmied out from behind his desk, beaming. “Fancy a drink? I don’ got the fancy stuff your bar has, but I do have some wonderful—Janna’s tits! You look awful.” Vander raised an eyebrow.
“Thanks,” he took Ekko’s seat, a tiny little thing that had his knees almost to his chest. The big man frowned and shuffled himself about until he realised it just wasn’t working.
Benzo cleared his throat and gestured to the adults’ chair by the opposite wall. With a snort, Vander got up and set himself down on that instead.
“Tough time?”
“Didn’t sleep last night,” He could see that. Vander’s eyes were under shadowed and bloodshot. “I realised…I…I hadn’t actually told you what happened…that night.” Benzo leant against his desk.
“It’s been a year,” Benzo said. “I’ve filled in the gaps.” That wasn’t the right thing to say, because Vander’s face twists in a mix of shame and anguish.
“No, no. You don’t understand,” he’s looking down at his knees, at his hands spread atop them. “I did something terrible.”
“Okay,” said Benzo, because this was Vander, and Vander was never terrible. He could be frightening, yes, but he was never terrible. “It’s okay.”
“No,” Vander shook his head with a sad smile, “It’s not.”
It wasn’t.
Benzo listened. He listened as Vander told the story, of Silco throwing a Molotov cocktail, of Felicia and Connol dying because of it, he listened with a growing sense of dread as Vander spun a tale of meeting Silco down by the Pilt. Of arguing, of the anger, of needing someone to blame.
Benzo felt sick. Benzo didn’t stop listening.
Not when Vander put Silco under the water, not when he held him there, not when Silco took the knife, not when Silco fled, not until Vander sat with his shoulder’s hunched and tears in his eyes and a story run dry.
Benzo reached under his desk for the whiskey, didn’t bother with a glass, and downed three mouthfuls.
“Benzo—”
“Mn,” he shook his head, took another gulp. “Just a minute, please.”
He put the bottle down, half empty, and gestured for Vander to begin.
“Okay,” Vander took in a shuddering breath. “I just…I needed to tell you because I realised you didn’t know. Well, now you know.” Benzo felt his eye twitch.
“Vander,” he took Ekko’s little chair, throwing his legs out in front of him. “I need you to know…you’re my best mate, I love ya, but I also need you to know that this has fuckin’ shaken me. To the damn core, Vander.” Benzo crumpled forward, head in his hands. “All this time I thought—"Vander would never, not for anything but outright, vicious evil’. Now…now I feel I hardly know you at all.” There was a noise like a stifled sob and it clawed at the strings of Benzo’s heart. “I love you, my friend, you know that. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
Vander didn’t bother stifling the next sob, or the next.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wish I’d never—I miss—I hate this!”
“Yeah, well,” Benzo pushed himself upright, twisting out the cramp in his lower back. “What’re we gonna do about it? We gotta find the bugger.” Vander just looks more miserable, somehow.
“I wrote him a letter,” and it truly sound pitiful, with his nose stuffed up and his throat thick with tears. “I left it for him in our old hideout.”
Suddenly Benzo was abruptly reminded that Silco was the brains of the two.
“Vander,” and he said it so gently, trying valiantly to keep his frustration at bay. “Would you go anywhere tha’ held a strong link to your attempted killer?” Benzo may well have shot him, judging by the expression on Vander’s face. “Look,” he said, “I’ll get the letter and give it to him, how ‘bout that? He’s not in the Lanes, that’s certain, so he’s probably down in the murkier parts.”
“I can—”
“Absolutely not,” Benzo lets a little of his anger through, because he trusted Vander, trusted him to be good and not to try to kill one of their friends over an awful accident. “His last impression of you was bad, okay? I’m our best bet at bringin’ him home.”
The last word seals it. The fight visibly drains from the other man like water from a tub.
“Okay,” and his voice was so quiet, the breath of an old dog who’d fought a war too many. “Bring him home.”
***
Finding the letter was easy. Finding Silco? That was harder, but in the Undercity, if you ask enough people, give out enough punches or coins, you’ll always find what you’re looking for.
As Benzo stared up at the neon sign of the brothel, the little seed of guilt that had been sown following Vander’s confession began to germinate. He pushed through the doors, ignoring the various…individuals who immediately turned their attention on him.
The owner pointed him down the hall, and at the end was a room, and in the room was probably Silco. The chances of Benzo being stabbed were not low.
He opened the door gingerly, eyes darting.
“Well, do come in then, we’re family, after all.” The voice that spits that word like venom can’t be anyone else. Benzo closed the door behind him and forced his gaze to meet his sort-of brother’s.
“Silco.”
“Dog-following bastard.” Nice to know Silco still had all his teeth. Silco was thin, more than before, in one of his ordinary outfits (thank Janna), his hair shorter and swaying just above his shoulders. His face was the real difference.
One eye is milky, scars slicing through the marred, discoloured skin. There’s a sharpness that wasn’t there before in his remaining eye, and the fury to be found there.
“It’s bin a long time,” Benzo strides in before he can second guess himself, sitting down hard on the end of the bed. “But I’m guessin’ you don’ wanna talk ‘bout all that.”
Silco raised an eyebrow (his only eyebrow, he only has one), relaxing back against the headboard.
“What’s this about, then? Does our Dear Dog Darling know you’re here?” Janna he was bitter, though Benzo couldn’t blame him.
“Dear Dog does, in fact,” he ploughed on when Silco stiffened, jaw tensing. “He told me what happened, the river. I didn’ know, Silco, gave him a bit of a bollockin’ for it. He said he wrote a letter, so I’ve gone got that, brought it here. Vander wanted to do it, but I thought…” Benzo winced, “Well, I figured it best you see me instead.” He reached into his inside pocket of his coat, aware of Silco’s eyes homing in on his every move. The paper was a bit crinkled, though the dust was gone.
He held it out toward Silco, ignoring the pang in his chest when the other man seemed to scour his face for any hint of deception. Silco took it quick, like he didn’t think it was a trap, but he wasn’t certain.
Benzo waited awkwardly as Silco read, drumming his fingers on his thighs.
“Is he serious?” Silco’s rasp brought him back. Silco had the letter in one hand, his existing eyebrow so high it was almost at his hairline, the other hand palm-up to the side in a ‘what?’ gesture.
“Oh,” Benzo grimaced, “is it bad?” Wordlessly, Silco tossed him the letter. He took a moment to accept that Silco possibly wouldn’t be open to closeness or any semblance of the sort for a while, and then began to read.
“Tell me what you think,” Silco said, hooking his elbows on the headboard and kicking one leg over the other.
Benzo’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
“Wh—I—what is this?!” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Seriously?” Benzo groaned and regretted bringing the damn thing in the first place. “Ah, I’m sorry, I forgot how awful ‘e was at aplogisin’. Sorry for bringin’ it.”
“No,” Silco waved him away, “It was good, possibly the only amusing entertainment I’ve had for nearly a year.”
Benzo is abruptly aware of where they are.
“Silco,” he started, wincing as Silco’s eye narrowed. “Look,” he gathered his courage, “come home.”
“Ha!”
“Please, Silco. You could stay at mine,” Benzo ignored the slight begging tone seeping into his words. “I swear on my life, Sil, I won’ let what happened, happen again. I swear it.” Silco looked away.
The fact Benzo had come looking for him was one thing, the fact Vander knew about it was another. Oh, Silco really wanted to believe it. To believe Benzo came looking for the sole purpose of being a ‘happy family’ again, to believe Vander wanted him back.
“You swear?” Silco hated the quiet way his voice came out, the pathetic, vulnerable quality. Benzo’s face lit up with a dangerous hope.
“I swear it, I promise you, Silco. I won’ let it happen again, I swear.” He sounded truthful. Vander had sounded truthful in the days before it happened.
Silco looked away.
But he was weak. He loved and lost, and now came the chance to have it back.
“I won’t share Vander’s bed,” he snapped, “I’m not his lover, not his friend, not his.”
“No,” Benzo agrees, “he knows he lost that right.”
“Mm,” he hummed, “and if I chose to leave?” Benzo’s face fell.
“You can, I won’ stop you, won’ let anyone stop you, but I’d miss you. I missed you this past year, and tha’s even when I thought you’d done somethin’ awful.”
“So, you believed I could, but Vander couldn’t?!” And wasn’t that the root of the problem? The bones of the hurt. Benzo didn’t avoid his eyes—eye.
“I’m sorry, Silco.”
“Yeah,” he was just so tired. “Yeah.”
“I felt terrible when he told—”
“I’ll come home.” He could already smell Benzo’s workshop, could see the ramshackle furniture they’d built together before everything fell apart.
He was going home.