CW for canon-typical violence

This was written as a one-shot originally, as I was struggling to write the long-fic at first - that's why perhaps the tone is a bit different, but it did was always meant to fit there!

"Here we are. As planned- we got our catch."

Ryker gestures theatrically to the entrance, and Vander ducks slightly to pass through the doorframe. The whole building seems about halfway to collapsing, held together by a few concrete walls, streaked with rust, and a lot of decaying repair bits – but it's far away from any busy streets, and no one around would react to screams. The perfect place to bring a prisoner in.

Silco is gagged and tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back, in the middle of the room. Two women are leaning against the construction poles holding the ceiling up above their heads, guns drawn but not pointed, and they both turned to the door at the sound of their footsteps. Vander does a double-take at the guns, because those are not a common sight in the Undercity, and it doesn't quite look like stolen enforcer rifles either, or they had been heavily modified. It makes him reconsider who exactly he's dealing with – from what he could gather, these guys were only some freelancers for another crime lord. The rifles don't quite fit with that narrative. However- it's too late to back up now.

"Look who I've got on my side," Ryker claims, walking further into the room.

Silco doesn't turn his head, doesn't even move. There is blood trickling down from a graze over his eyebrow, on the scarred side. The lack of reaction seems to anger Ryker, because with three strides he's in front of the chair and he doesn't even pause before hitting him right across the face, the slap resonating in the empty room. Vander takes a step forward without even realizing.

"Hey-" and he catches himself, stops before any more words escape. Ryker, Janna be praised, doesn't seem to notice, his attention still focused on his prisoner.

"Come on, don't you wanna say hello?" He kicks his shin and Silco hisses, more in anger than pain – then his gaze shifts and lands on Vander. His face falls. "Yeah," Ryker snickers, clearly pleased with himself, "it's an old friend. I knew you would be happy to see him."

Their eyes are still locked, neither paying attention to the guy's ramblings, and Vander can see the realization making its way through Silco's brain as confusion morphs into pure horror. He has forgotten how expressive his partner's face could be when he didn't try to hide it.

"He sold you," Ryker continues, unhelpfully. "Oh, you know, we would have gotten to you anyway. We had another plan, you see, but that would have involved killing your little psychotic girl and, frankly, I do not want to have anything to do with that level of crazy. After all, she makes for… explosive situations, wouldn't you say?"

The mention of Jinx has finally shaken Silco out of his stupor, his eyes are darting from left to right, panicked, looking for an issue, a solution, anything that doesn't sound like a fucking nightmare. Vander walks closer, pushing Ryker out of the way. The guy begrudgingly backs down, leaving Vander alone to stand over the chair his partner he's tied to.

"You should thank me," he says, more confidently than he feels, "you know. This way your girl-" Jinx, Powder, my girl too- "she might live. Wonder how she'll react when she hears the news, though?"

Silco slowly looks up at him, and Vander tries his best to only focus on his bad eye, because it's way less expressive and he doesn't think he could handle seeing himself like this, reflected in the achingly familiar sea-green. Even so- it's not hard to see the fear- no, no, not fear. Terror. And it breaks his heart to see it. Vander swallows his saliva. This will be over soon. He just has to get through it.

He should probably hit him.

He flexes his hand, rubs at his knuckles, and tries to ignore how nauseous that makes him feel. It wouldn't be the first time he has hit his partner, not at all, but maybe that's exactly why he can't do this now. However, he's acutely aware of the weight of their three gazes, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

It's quick, and it feels so natural it's downright disturbing- the chair screeches against the ground and he can feel Silco's heartbeat spiking up, pulse hammering just under his palm. His fingers curl around the back of his neck – he's not squeezing at all, barely holding in fact, but his thumb over Silco's trachea is enough to choke the sound forming behind the gag. Vander leans forward, crowding his partner's small frame, his free hand gripping the back of the chair so hard the wood creaks – so his next words are for Silco's ears alone:

"I'm not betraying you. Play along."

He pulls away, releasing his grip on Silco's nape, and he catches several emotions flickering over his face, but between the gag and the ember-black eye, he would be damned to name them – except one, because the fear is still ever so present. He never wanted to be the cause of it again.

Well.

"What are you planning to do now, Hound?"

The voice snaps him back to the here and now. One of the henchwomen has taken a step forward, silently offering him her gun. The mere idea of it makes his stomach churn. He looks away, instead doing a quick survey of the situation.

The other woman is still holding tightly onto her own weapon, and their leader is a few feet behind, watching the show with his arms crossed over his chest. All three of them are on alert, and far too scattered throughout the room. Even the element of surprise wouldn't be enough there, not if he isn't ready to gamble any of their lives – and he isn't. This kind of double plot, that's more of Silco's field of expertise, but he can't afford to mess up now. He needs something – anything. A way to stall, or to get them to-

He glances back at Silco, and he would probably hate himself later for the thought that just crossed his mind – if it wasn't exactly what he needed, that's it.

"You know what," he hears himself say. "I would like to finish the job I started."

He turns around, partly to meet Ryker's eyes and mostly so he doesn't have to see Silco's reaction.

"It seems to me like the Pilt is just around the block from here, right?"

The guy laughs – actually, fucking, laughs. Vander can only hope that his face doesn't betray the sudden surge of anger that burns up his chest in response.

"I like that," Ryker says. "A bullet to the head does sound too easy for a bastard like him."

Vander doesn't answer to that, instead bends down and slashes at the binds tying Silco's ankles to the legs of the chair. He grabs him by the arm, forcefully hoisting him to his feet – willing himself deaf to the whimper his partner lets out.

"Come on. Up."

Silco tries to struggle, slip out of his grip, anything – the chair falls in the process, kicked down, but Vander's hold does not relent. (He has never hated his own strength this much.) He pushes him forward, towards the teared-down wall – outside. He's not sure if the sounds he's hearing, it's the rushing of the Pilt, or the blood in his ears-

A sharp elbow hits in the sternum and his breath fails him. There is a moment of fumble before he grabs Silco's arm and yanks him close again, cringing internally at the way his shoulder cracks and Silco gasps. He tightens his grip even though, because out of the corner of his eye he can see the two henchwomen have pointed their guns at his partner, finger on the trigger.

"Calm down," he whispers, ushered, hoping it will pass as a threat to the other's ears. "I don't want to hurt you."

Silco cranes his neck to look at him, mismatched eyes blown wide with fear, and Vander can only pray that his words made it through the fight or flight mode. He doesn't dare say anything else, so he just holds his gaze for a few seconds more, and it will have to be enough to convince Silco that he's not lying, he's not going to hurt him, won't try to kill him – not again, not this time.

They get to the river, and it does not look like the part he has pushed Silco under the first time around, it's larger, the current seems stronger too. There is no suffocating heat, no rain and thunder, and a horrifying coldness has replaced the blazing anger inside. His arm under the vambrace starts to ache.

Silco is resisting again, his feet dragging into the muddy riverbank, and Vander feels his muscles twitching under his hand, as if he was struggling against the urge to free himself. He hopes he won't try anything now, not when they are so close, but at the same time, he has to admit he didn't quite expect Silco to actually play along. He knows his partner; if he truly believed he was going to die, this would not be this easy. Silco's a survivor. He wouldn't be going down without a fight.

Vander doesn't spare the time to think about what this means for the both of them – only glad that he doesn't have to hurt him again.

He stops them both a foot or two from the Pilt. The hilt of his dagger feels small in his hand, like it's not enough – but it would have to be. There is one of the women on his left, barely an arm length away, and the others are close enough too. This is now.

He cuts through the rope binding Silco's hands behind his back and pushes him forward. He hears water splashing, at the same time his knife sinks into the woman's shoulder, narrowly missing her throat. As he hoped – her colleague, instead of using her rifle, darts forward on instinct, as if to catch the injured woman as she stumbles backward, picture-perfect shock all over her features. He doesn't give either of them the time to collect their thoughts – he grabs the second one's weapon by the barrel, yanking her towards him. She loses her balance, and from that it's easy, Vander crosses his hands behind her head and smashes her face onto his knee. There is a sickening crack, and she falls limp.

The first woman lunges forward, swinging a- Vander realizes in a flash, as the blade draws a red line on the outside of his arm, that it's his knife, that she took it out of her own flesh before turning it against him. He can't help but be impressed. And she's a good fighter, clearly- she's quick and sure-footed, even with the muddy ground and her injury, and it does take two punches to bring her down.

Vander whirls around, ready to tackle Ryker at last – and finds himself staring at the barrel of a pistol. There are a few feet away, though, maybe if- it wouldn't-

A gunshot tears through the air, then another- One more- and Vander doesn't feel the dull pressure he has come to recognize as the feeling of getting shot, before the pain comes crashing down. Ryker's eyes dart to the side- Vander doesn't think, then, two strides and he's on the guy, swatting his weapon away at the same time he reaches up with his other hand- stopping right as it's about to grab Ryker's throat, because-

The pistol hits him on the temple, hard – hard enough to make his vision falter.

"I see the dog has gone feral," Ryker begins, sneering. "I shoul-"

He's interrupted by his head colliding violently with the wall behind. His eyes go crossed- and that's the moment it seems to really dawn on him, because his weapon falls from his fingers, and he raises his hands, a derisory motion, and-

"Hey, hey, hey, now- I'm sure we could get a deal, m-"

Vander hits him again – and again, and again, until he tastes his blood on his own tongue. He halts his fist just before it makes contact with- what's left of the guy's face. It's unrecognizable. Vander exhales shakily, forcing his grip on the other's collar to loosen. The body slips to the ground into a pitiful heap.

He stares at it for a few seconds longer, catching his breath, before wiping the blood on his face with his sleeve.

It's only when he turns around that he realizes where the gunshots from earlier came from. Silco is still on the ground, one leg folded under him, holding one of the henchwomen's rifle. And it's not quite pointed at Vander, but it's not angled down either. It rises a little more as Vander gets closer. He raises his hands, showing that they are empty – as if they weren't weapons in and of themselves.

"I swear I won't hurt you."

Silco doesn't answer, still watching him warily, but eventually he lowers the rifle. Vander waits until he has discarded it completely to take another step forward and kneel next to him.

He isn't quite sure what to do. He tries to ignore the tightening in his throat as he notes the bruises revealed by the torn-open collar of Silco's shirt, and the blood stains, one or two shades darker than the crimson fabric. There is another mark quickly darkening on the side of his face, but it doesn't seem like he's been either stabbed or shot, much to Vander's relief. Silco flinches when he motions to reach for his face, so he doesn't.

"You can take off the gag," he says instead.

Silco stares at him for what feels like minutes, before slowly reaching up to remove the device. He lets it fall into the mud next to him. It barely makes any noise.

Vander stands back up, then wordlessly offers his hand. Silco ignores it, hesitantly getting back to his feet on his own, biting back a wince as his arm protectively comes to curl around his chest.

"Your ribs?" Vander inquires, slightly worried.

"It's- I think-"

He doesn't get to the end of his sentence, because one of his feet slips over the riverbank and Vander catches him entirely out of reflex. He's about to let him go, apologize for- and next thing he knows, there are thin arms circling his chest and a body pressed against his, taking him completely off-guard. He eventually wraps his own arms around Silco's trembling frame.

"Hey- Hey, it's okay, you're okay… it's over…"

He keeps whispering reassurances – sounding to his own ears like a broken record – until Silco stops shaking and he feels his embrace loosen slightly. He pulls away, trying to get a better glance at the other's face.

"Hey, are you actually okay?"

"I'm… Just some scratches. And maybe a cracked rib. Probably. I'm fine."

Silco takes a shaky breath, wiping with the back of his hand his tear-stained cheek – only on one side, because the ember-black eye doesn't weep –, pausing as he notices the blood. His lips have been split open and the gag smeared red all over his skin. He spits some on the muddy ground, cleans the rest with his handkerchief, regaining his composure – if only one would ignore that his hands are still shaking. Vander doesn't.

"I didn't think they would hurt you beforehand. I'm sorry."

Silco takes the time to carefully fold his reddened handkerchief back into his vest pocket before answering, not looking up to meet Vander's eyes:

"It doesn't matter."

"What if it does to me?" There is a slight pause, then: "You missed a spot. Your face, uh, the blood," he adds awkwardly when Silco returns a puzzled glance.

"Oh."

He extends a cautious hand, watching for any sign of discomfort – Silco's gaze follows his movement, but he doesn't motion to step back, so Vander feels emboldened enough to wipe the red off his pale skin, careful to avoid the bruises. In a moment of weakness, he lets his thumb slide over the scarred cheek- and Silco jerks away. Vander withdraws his hand.

"Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"It's… just scars. It doesn't hurt. Well, not when touched."

Vander really doesn't want to think too hard about what that last part entices. They stand there for a few more seconds, neither of them quite meeting the other's gaze, before Silco turns away.

"I'm going home. You're walking back with me? I gathered you told your girl to wait for you there."

"I- Yes. Sure. I did tell Vi that." (It feels like a very long time ago.) "Should we leave their-" he vaguely gestures to the bodies- "weapons there, though?"

"No. Take them."

Vander doesn't even think to argue. One of the rifles is wet, clammy with silt, but it should work again once it's cleaned. The two, plus the pistol- it's surprisingly light, for things that can bring death so easily.

He looks back at the three corpses, pondering whether to leave them right there, on the riverbank, or to actually dispose of them. Perhaps simply pushing them into the Pilt would do- That's only when he notices that Silco has begun to walk away, so he forces his legs to follow. It wouldn't be the first time the sun sets over Zaun to reveal dead bodies, in the morning, and no one down there would be surprised to walk in on one. Vaguely disgusted, maybe, that's all – it might even be a pleasant surprise for them, if there are any valuables to retrieve from the corpses.

Silco is the one to break the silence again, after a few minutes:

"And can I know why you didn't see fit to inform me of this… plan of yours?"

"Silco…"

"Maybe you were hesitating?" he presses on, ignoring the interruption. "Is that it? Keeping your options open until the very last second. Or did you just enjoy the thrill of scaring me? For old times' sake?"

"No. Not at all. It's… none of that. I didn't have the time to tell you, that's all. Not without risking it getting carried to their ears. If they didn't believe I was on their side, they would have killed you themselves."

"You didn't believe for a second that I would be able to get out on my own, no?"

"Silco, please. Would you have?"

"Maybe." Finally, their gaze meet, before Silco looks away once more. "But… thank you, I guess. I'm glad these assholes did not get anywhere near Jinx."

Vander decides to not press on further. It's already enough th-

"Were you tempted?"

The question takes him off-guard.

"You did try to kill me," Silco goes on, "before… so that does not seem that far-fetched. By the Kindreds, stop looking at me like that."

"I was not." He clears his throat. "Tempted, I mean. If I wanted you dead, Sil, I would not involve anyone else."

"Should I be flattered?"

The silence settles in again, maybe a tiny less heavy than before.

"Also, uh…"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for trusting me," Vander says quickly, before he overthinks this. "I really wasn't sure you would."

Silco pauses for a second, something akin to realization flashing across his face, then he resumes walking as if nothing happened.

"Well, as you said. You were my best shot at getting out of there alive. That's all."