A/N: Happy New Chapter Sunday! Please enjoy!
CW: Panic attack, PTSD response, canon typical violence
Awkward silence hung in the air and Vander's mind raced with equal parts fury, protectiveness, and frenetic overwhelm. He scanned the room and locked eyes with Annie, who was standing off to the side, her tray tucked protectively against her chest. She looked to him for direction. Vander sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
"Sorry 'bout that, folks," he finally said. "Next round is on The Drop."
He winced, internally. That would hurt when it came to reconciling the budget the following month, but he needed to try and restore the bar's normal energy. To comfort his patrons. And to whisk Katya out of the main room. Vander then looked to Silco, an unspoken conversation fluttering between them.
As cautious, cheerful chatter began to fill the air again, Silco ushered Katya to her feet and Vander turned to Beckett.
"Help Annie, would'ja?"
Beckett nodded and made his way behind the bar as Annie approached, prepared to laden her tray with free beverages.
Vander tossed the towel that was slung over his shoulder under the bar, and swept to the door that led to his apartment. He stepped inside and held it open as Silco, Katya, and Enyd passed the threshold. No sooner had he closed the door, did Katya collapse and crumple to the floor, a choked cry pealing out of her throat.
Silco dove after her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back flush to his chest. He scrabbled and kicked across the floor until his back found the wall of the hallway. Grounded, he readjusted his hold on her, arms enveloping her chest and hands reaching up to grip her shoulders, keeping them pressed back against him. His long legs curled around hers and firmly pulled them in.
"Breathe, Katya," he whispered in a low, even tone. "You're safe."
Vander and Enyd stood watchfully above the pair. Despite the awfulness of seeing the young woman in such distress, pride could not help but sweep through Enyd's chest in glossy, warm ribbons. Both she and Vander were familiar with the hold Silco had on her – and chances were, she would've been too if she weren't in a state of terrified shock. It was a technique that miners used on each other to ground and comfort, typically employed after a cave-in, explosion, or avalanche.
Katya's breath came in shallow, watery sips. Her body quaked and rattled under Silco's hold. Her teeth chattered together, as if her skeleton was attempting to shake itself loose from the confines of her body.
"Breathe," Silco said again.
She attempted a deeper gulp, but it quickly morphed into a wailed bark. Hot tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Silco gripped her body tighter.
"Breathe, Katya," he murmured against her temple. "I know you can. Like this –"
Holding her as still as he could, Silco took a long and wide breath through his nose. His chest and belly inflated, causing her body to gently press forward into his arms. He exhaled long and slow, and she returned into the sheltered curl of his body. Her teeth clacked together and her fingers gripped at his shirtsleeves.
"Breathe with me," he offered. "Breathe in," again, Silco drew in a breath through his nose. Katya did the best she could; her breath coming in shaky and uneven through her trembling lips.
"Good. And out."
The breath left Silco's nose in a long, even gust that brushed against the apples of Katya's wet cheeks. She blew a warbly, hitching exhale out through her lips.
"Very good. Let's do it again."
The rounds of breath that followed were shaky, but they improved each time. The inhales became deeper and the exhales slower. Katya's back began to relax into his chest.
Unable to standby any longer, Enyd dropped to her knees and placed her hands on the top of the girl's shoes, pressing them down firmly. She gave her what she hoped was an encouraging look. Hazy, amber eyes ghosted across her face.
"There you are. You're safe," Silco said as her last exhale became more of an exhausted sigh. "Now try through your nose. You can do it."
Together they moved through a few more breaths before Katya's skeleton seemed to go limp under her muscles, and she rested fully into Silco's hold. She closed her eyes and lulled her head against his shoulder, exhausted now that the adrenaline had finished coursing through her.
"Excellent work, dear," Enyd whispered, giving her boots an affectionate squeeze and press. Making to stand, she addressed Vander. "She should have some water. Your kitchen is down the hall, yes?"
Vander nodded and jut his chin toward the innards of his living space. Enyd carefully stepped around her son and the girl cloistered in his arms and began down the hall. She only made it a few feet before a voice called out from behind a closed door she was passing.
"Oi! Vander! That you? Wha's goin' on out there?"
Enyd froze. As did Vander. As did Silco, his body tensing beneath Katya's fatigued weight.
"I heard ya yellin'," came Benzo's voice from behind the door. "An' now some cryin'. Wha's happenin'?"
Enyd turned to face the unassuming door, her eyes wide with disbelief. With agonizing slowness, her gaze traveled away from the door and landed on the two young men watching her apprehensively. Vander's face had gone slack, while her son's – which she knew so well – was pinching in a way that told her his mind was racing to come up with a story.
The sound of a heavy body shifting over a bed snapped Enyd's attention back to the door, and she wrenched it open. As her eyes took in the sight of Benzo on the bed - leg wrapped up in bandages and lifted high on a stack of pillows, his hands pushing into the bed by his hips in an attempt to lift himself up - a tidal wave of emotions ripped through her, threatening to pull her calm, motherly understanding undertow.
Anger. Confusion. Disappointment. Worry. Back to anger . . .
Benzo blanched at the sight of her.
"Oh . . . Er – h-hey, Ms. E," he nervously chuckled, settling his body back into the mattress guiltily.
"What happened to you?" she asked, trying to temper the hot fury coursing through her despite the horrid conclusions her mind was making.
"Enyd," came Vander's diplomatic plea, "jus' hold on a sec. We can explain."
Enyd did not want to ask the next question for fear of the answer, but she stared at his leg and quietly asked, "Were you shot?"
Benzo gawked at her, unsure what to say. His silence only confirmed her hasty suspicion. Anger began to crackle under her skin, like fatback in a frying pan.
"Yes, he was shot," she heard her son answer.
Enyd snapped her eyes back on him, rage constricting her already ravaged throat. He looked back at her, his gaze steady and firm, but defeated.
Another moment of silence passed before Enyd clenched her jaw and spun on her heel, stomping down the hallway.
"Where are you going?" Silco called.
"To get her some water, like I said," came the angry reply. "Do not bother coming up with some story while I'm gone. You will tell me what in the name of Janna is going on when I come back."
Once Enyd disappeared, Vander flexed his hands and turned to his Brother on the floor.
"Wha'do we do?"
Silco sighed, his head shaking minutely. He adjusted his hold on Katya, who was still heavy in his arms.
"We tell her," he finally relented. "Worst she'll do is kick me out – "
"She won' do that, Sil."
The shake of Silco's head became a little bigger. He was not as adept at thinking on his feet when his mother was the audience; the heat of her all-knowing-maternal senses evaporating away all manners of lies to get to the gritty, burnt truth.
He didn't want her to find out like this. He had wanted to wait until . . . until victory was theirs or just about to be theirs. Foolish, perhaps. But that was what he had wanted.
"Katya," he said quietly. Her head shifted against his shoulder and a low whine in the back of her throat indicated she heard him. "Do you think you can stand?"
She nodded and a hiss that may have been a 'yes' wisped between her lips.
"Vander, go get her coat, please," Silco said as he adjusted himself, readying both of them to stand.
Vander returned to The Drop's main room, and Silco carefully lifted Katya onto her unsteady feet.
Shame walloped against her as she felt the damp material of her trousers uncomfortably chafe across her inner thigh, groin, and buttocks. Despite feeling so, so cold, her cheeks flushed with hot embarrassment and her eyes welled up again.
Vander returned blissfully fast with the coat, and Katya hurriedly wrapped herself up, thankful for the fact that its length covered most of the dark stain. She allowed herself to be ushered back into Benzo's room – Silco's arm wound around her shoulders – and placed back on the stool she had occupied earlier.
"You alright, Lass?" Benzo asked, noting her blotched and tear-stained face.
Thankfully, Katya was relieved of answering by Enyd's return. She accepted the glass of water with trembling fingertips and took a tentative sip. The mother knelt at her side and place a reassuring hand on the back of her head. Katya fought not to choke on the wave of emotions that stopped up the water's descent down her throat. Enyd ran her palm down the curve of her skull, and further down her back. Her slender fingers gently waved side-to-side as they traveled.
It was a gesture that struck through Katya with heart-wrenching familiarity. She could remember her papa or mama comforting her with a similar gesture. Her throat squeezed in an emotional hiccup, and she coughed and sputtered into the glass, water spraying back onto her upper lip and dribbling down her chin.
Enyd guided the cup away and rubbed soothing circles into her back, the movement punctuated by occasional soft pats. She murmured encouraging nothings and lifted the glass back to Katya's lips when she was ready. When the cup was drained, Enyd placed it next to the pitcher on Benzo's bedside table. Her eyes then turned to her son, her once tender regard turned stony with disappointment.
He had the decency and determination to keep her gaze.
"Well?" she spat when the silence stretched too long for her liking.
For a flash of a moment, she saw the three of them as boys again. Their ages may have determined them to be men in the eyes of society, but their repugnant and scared silence dripped with foolish and timid youth. She could remember similar looks on their faces when they were rounder with adolescence, awkward and gangly limbs fidgeting nervously when she or Benzo's mother would scold them for pelting pebbles at the back of Enforcer's helmets.
Her heart strained and raged at the thought.
"What were you thinking?" finally came the angry rasp.
"We were thinking we could help the Undercity," Silco answered. His stare was even but his words wavered at the edges.
"Help?!" Enyd cried indignantly. "How would trying to steal from a Piltover freight help the Undercity?"
"To get supplies," Vander said.
"What kind of supplies?"
"Weapons," Silco admitted.
"Wea-" Enyd began to repeat, confusion painting her face before a nameless horror began to squeeze at her heart and terrified understanding bled into the fine lines across her face. "Why?"
"We're rallying the Undercity," he explained. "To fight for our freedom. To gain independence from Piltover."
Enyd's eyes went impossibly wide and her mouth gaped. She looked from one to the other before hanging her head in her trembling hands.
Her boy . . . her perfect . . . foolish, bull-headed boy.
"How long?" she asked from her hands.
"A while."
"Last night was the first time we – we did anything," Vander added.
A sharp, derisive laugh burst from Enyd's throat. "Your first job and one of you got shot."
She looked over to Benzo and the mountainous man bashfully dropped his eyes to his lap.
Glancing over his leg, she reeled her ire in enough to ask, "Are you okay?"
Benzo nodded. "Nurse says I'll live."
He jut his head in Katya's direction, and she braced herself to also be on the receiving end of Silco's mother's wrath. But it didn't come. A question did instead.
"You're a nurse?"
Katya cleared her throat and said in a quiet voice, "Not technically, no. But I'm a medic in the mines."
Enyd's eyes widened again as another puzzle pieced itself together in her mind. She shot a look back to her son, and the way his eyes briefly averted hers confirmed her suspicion. Her mind spun horrifically in the wake of these revelations. Too many thoughts and emotions colliding within her, battering against her mind and heart with all the turbulence of a hurricane. She felt as if there were no ground beneath her feet. That the Undercity was cracking wider and deeper and swallowing her up. She looked to her son, and for a split second didn't recognize him. It hurt and scared her. He seemed so far away, even though she could've reached out her hand and taken ahold of his.
She couldn't believe he would do this. Couldn't believe he'd be so reckless. So short-sighted. So foolhardy. So stupid. So ungrateful.
"What did you say?" Silco asked.
"I said you're all ungrateful," Enyd hissed. Her voice was venom, eyes flicking between her son and his two peers. "Reaching for more when you already have so much – "
"So much?!" Silco roared in disbelief. "How is barely scraping together a living so much? How is having our city cloaked in poisonous smog so much? How is having streets lined with homeless people so much? How is being denied access to trade routes so much? What about the exploitive labor? What about being segregated from Topside even though we're citizens? The lack of schools and institutions? The lack of medical care? We have nothing."
"It is so much more than I, or any other older Trencher ever had – "
"We deserve more!" Silco countered, eyes flashing wildly. "The whole of the Underground deserves more!"
"We can' keep cowin' t'them, Enyd," Vander added. "They're frothin' at the bit, jus' waitin' for Bone t'die so things can go back to business as usual."
Enyd's mouth snapped shut as her throat tightened and her eyes prickled.
After a moment, she said, "This nonsense will break the Underground. It will only make things harder," her eyes fell on Benzo's wounded leg. "Families will be torn apart. People will die."
"People are dying," corrected Silco. His mother looked up at him, anger and disappointment doing its best to hide the fear that was clawing under her skin. "And I do not intend to live another day not fighting for the respect and rights Zaun deserves."
A flicker of confusion flashed over Enyd's face. Then understanding. Then deep resignation.
Slowly, she made to stand. Her body felt hollow and lead-heavy all at once. She brushed the creases from her skirt and looked between the three men – boys – once more.
"I don't wish to talk about this anymore," she said quietly. "Stop this now."
Silco made to open his mouth, but Enyd held up a hand and her eyes flared in a demanding glower.
"Stop. This. Now."
Her hand fell to her side and she took a long, grounding breath in. It caught in her throat and she trapped the following string of coughs in the crook of her elbow. She batted Silco away when he stepped forward to help her.
"No," she wheezed through the last of the coughs, holding a warning finger up. She looked down at Katya, still slouched on the stool. "Take her home."
Katya blinked and shook her head. "No, it's alright. I can get home myself."
"No," Enyd repeated firmly. "Thanks to all of you, the Lanes are not safe." Before she could catch her tongue, she added, "And I can't stand to look at you right now."
Giving her son one last caustic look, she stalked out of the room.
The shamed silence in the room hung heavy, no one knowing what to say.
"Let's get you home," Silco finally spoke, his voice quiet and removed. "We'll go out the back way."
Lifting onto shaky feet, Katya rose and bid Benzo good bye. Vander led the pair to the basement, past the secret storage room where the Children of Zaun met, and out the walk-out she and Sevika had used earlier in the week. She winced against the bite of the air as she stepped outside, the temperature having dropped significantly since she first arrived.
"Take care, Sister," Vander said as she passed him.
Katya opened her mouth to thank him, but her voice got stuck in her throat. Instead, she nodded and tightened her coat around her. Vander's eyes then landed on Silco. They pinched with worry. His muscular arms twitched, as if he had the urge to reach out for his Brother.
But he anchored them to his sides instead, and said, "I'll check with you tomorrow, Sil."
Silco tried to lift the corners of his mouth into a grateful curl, but the best he could manage was a minute nod. Vander returned back into The Drop, and Katya and Silco began the traipse back to her apartment.
The journey through the Lanes and into the derelict streets of the Sump was done in tight silence. Together, they wove in and out of narrow alleyways and clambered down rusted gangways and fire escapes. Wordlessly maneuvering around patrolling Enforcers.
When they arrived at Katya's apartment door, she hesitated only a moment before reaching for her keys. A gnawing thought scratching at her throat as she unlocked the door gave her pause. She glanced over her shoulder at the man behind her. Silco stood a few feet away, hands tucked deep in his trouser pockets, boney shoulders hunched up to his ears, eyes tilted down to the tips of his boots. Katya suspected his posture had little to do with the sudden chill that had settled into the Undercity.
"She's scared," Katya spoke into the silence.
Silco's head snapped to attention, his piercing eyes meeting hers. A nervous tick deepened the shadow of his left cheek and he pressed his tongue against it to stretch and sooth the muscle. Reluctant understanding rumbled in his throat, and his head gave a small, singular nod.
Spectral tendrils of mist formed around Katya's mouth as a thin sigh escaped it. Her hand gripped the doorknob, intending to open it and sequester herself inside, but she felt a strange compulsion to stay.
"She's scared," she repeated. "She loves you and doesn't want to lose you."
Silco's eyes softened and he nodded again. He turned to leave.
"Good night, Katya."
"Good night, Silco."
As quietly as she could, Katya slipped inside the dark apartment. Shrugging off her coat, she glanced through the kitchenette, pleased to see that Viktor had not left his textbook on the table. She crept silently down the hall to his bedroom, wincing with each step. Her damp trousers had chilled throughout the journey home and caused a heated chafed patch on her inner thigh; the fabric of her pants scraping over the stinging skin with each step.
Slowly and silently, she opened Viktor's bedroom door and tip-toed inside. He was deep in slumber, wheezing breath low, steady, and even. Katya's heart skipped a beat and she lowered herself onto her knees. Her throat squeezed and the same hot prickle stung behind her eyes. Her fingertips ached to reach out and take hold of the boy before her, but she couldn't bring herself to risk waking him. Instead, she watched. The steady rise and fall of his body beneath the blanket. The occasional twitch of his feet or hands. The gentle flutter of his eyelids as he dreamed.
Did he dare to dream of a better life? Especially since he had more of a taste of what that life could be like, spending the majority of his time Topside. Did he know he deserved it? Did he know dreams could flourish into possibility? Like a scientific theory made into a universal law by consistent study and observation that affirmed it.
A careful tear ran down Katya's cheek.
She loved him. And she was scared. And mortified at how she almost blew it at The Drop.
She needed the dream of Zaun to be bigger than her fear. She had to believe in its righteousness.
For Viktor.
For her.
She rose to her feet and softly kissed the top of her brother's head before leaving his room. Quietly, she closed herself up in the bathroom and peeled off her urine-stained trousers and underwear. She removed her blouse and vest as well before turning on the shower. With a sigh, she gathered her soiled clothes and stepped under the sad, uneven flow of the spigot.
Katya cleaned herself and her clothes with a small bar of old soap that lived in the corner of the shower. She washed over her chafed skin with tender care, and crossly scrubbed at her trousers. It wasn't long before the warm water ran out, and she hurriedly finished the impromptu laundry. With chattering teeth and shaking hands, she wrung out her hair, pants, and underwear. She wrapped a worn towel around her chilled frame and scurried into the living room, placing her damp clothes in front of the gurgling radiator.
She was distressed by how cold it had gotten since leaving earlier in the evening. Despite it being her own choice, she cursed Benzo for ruining her blanket; she would've covered Viktor with it on nights such as this. She plucked her coat from its peg and shuffled to her bedroom.
Divesting herself of the towel, Katya reached for and pulled on the undershirt Silco had given her, and a pair of underwear whose elastic had hardened and snapped, barely staying on her hips. Finally – fucking finally – Katya laid down in her own bed. She drew her knees tightly into her chest and covered as much of herself with the coat as she could. Her ankles and feet still stuck out from under the hem, but it was the best she could manage.
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her numbing toes and go to sleep.
However, the stillness and absence of tasks proved only to rekindle the fear and shame that had gripped her earlier at The Last Drop. She managed to turn her face into her pillow and muffle the sudden sobs that tore through her. Her exhausted body shook under the coat and her limbs drew closer and tighter to her, looking for some kind of grounding comfort.
She missed her papa.
She missed her mama, even.
She was so scared. Scared of Enforcers. Scared of fucking up and endangering her brother. Scared of the very precarious edge she and he were living on. Scared of Piltover. Scared of herself and her own burgeoning wants. Scared of the realization of her own needs.
She wanted so badly to be held. To be cared for. To have help. To know that it wasn't only her maneuvering through the shadows of the Undercity.
She wanted at least part of the life she was working so hard to manifest for Viktor.
Years and years of settling into and finding identity in the roles of doting daughter, selfless sister, and crafty caretaker warred against the new, and increasingly insistent, sense that she was so much more. That she could need and want; and could need and want outside of who she was to others.
The revelation that she deserved respect, to be cared for, to be held, wracked her in deep, soul-shattering waves. Katya's body heaved and shook under her father's coat. Her pillow became damp with tears and snot under her face as wail after wail ripped through her.
Eventually, her body and mind relented against the emotional onslaught and she tumbled into a heavy and dreamless sleep.
Silco wove aimlessly through the Sump and the Lanes after dropping Katya off at her home. His body thrummed in a strange mix of tingly numb and fiery anger as he walked. His teeth ground and his heart pounded.
He was not surprised that his mother wasn't happy about what he had to say. However, what did take him aback was her strategy for dissuading him.
Ungrateful . . .
As if he should be sated and at peace with how Piltover treated the people of Zaun. As if he should just accept that their negligence and greed cost the Underground lives – including hers. As if living as second-class citizens was more than enough.
And then . . . not wanting to look at him. A rock, jagged and heavy with shame, dropped into his stomach at her words. They had never spoken to each other about his . . . sire. Although, Silco could remember the first time he had spied Rynweaver and his young mind had made the connection.
He had been seven, and working alongside his mother in the mines. She seemed on edge that day and Silco could not understand why. Worried and disgruntled whispers stirred through the tunnels that the mine's owner was visiting, leading a gaggle of Piltie shareholders through his underground empire.
He and Vander sneaked away to see if they could spy the highfalutin crowd, to ogle and point at them as if they were zoo animals; to snigger and make rude jokes to each other about their silly, pompous clothes and overdone coifs.
They spied them between a pair of stalactites, and even though they volleyed degrading and childish remarks between each other, the humor couldn't tamp down the hate gently simmering in Silco's young belly. He hissed a particularly scathing remark about one person's choice of jewelry that sent Vander doubling over in a fit of silent laughter. While his friend recovered, Silco peered back to the group and his eyes landed on a tall, thin man clad in understated, but regal, dark clothing. By the way the others addressed and interacted with him, he appeared to be the owner of the mine.
A deep, unfounded knowing settled into Silco's small body at the sight of him. Maybe it was the texture of his hair, the curl of its tips rebelling against the heavy, shiny pomade slathered through it. It reminded Silco of his own scraggly waves. Or, perhaps, it was in the severe and pronounced cut and hook of his nose. Despite his youth, Silco's nose was already beginning to develop a similar distinct ridge.
Nothing in that moment confirmed it, but Silco knew.
His mother's sharp cry for him and Vander to rejoin her pulled him from his complicated epiphany. Both boys scampered back to her side, each getting a swat on the behind when they were within arm's reach.
He had thought to ask her about it, as a seven-year-old typically does with questions, but when he watched her stiffen as Rynweaver and the group past the mouth of their tunnel, when she adjusted her stance to shield him from their eyes, he knew well enough not to ask.
As he grew older, as his understanding of how the relationship between the Undercity and Piltover worked, Silco learned just how she became to be saddled with him.
Stalking down an alley, he pulled his cigarette tin from his pocket and plucked a pre-rolled one out. He tucked the end between his lips and began to attempt striking a match. He grumbled when it wouldn't catch after the first couple strikes, and stopped to focus on the task. His teeth clenched the cigarette tighter and tighter as the match refused to light. The head of the matchstick snapped off and so did the rest of Silco's cool.
He roared and tossed the book of matches at the dumpster to his side, before gripping the rim of its open mouth and viciously kicking it. Over and over again, switching legs when one got tired, the skin of his knuckles stretched white with his iron grip. The dumpster clanged noisily against his assault and he was distantly aware that he was snarling and cursing up a storm. He didn't care if anyone heard or saw. He was too far gone for opinions.
Suddenly, a hand reached for his shoulder and pulled him away from the bin. Silco growled and flailed at his interrupter.
"Okay, okay. You beat th'dumpster. Ya won," Vander sighed, lifting the smaller man as easily as a ragdoll.
Silco scrabbled briefly against Vander's arm before relenting and harshly shrugging out of his hold. Vander huffed a laugh and ducked down to pick up the matchbook and cigarette. Annoyingly, he stuck it between his lips, lit a match in one strike, and lifted the small flame to the cigarette's end. He took a long drag, the paper and tobacco leaves crackling merrily as the embers ate away at them in a sunset glow. Silco scowled as he blew a plume of smoke into the air above them before handing him the cigarette. He snatched it away and possessively tucked it between his lips.
"What're you doing here?" Silco snapped, taking a sharp breath of tobacco in. The warm smoke slid intoxicatingly against his insides and loosened the angry knots in his mind. "I thought you were handing out free drinks at The Drop."
"Annie n' Becks were doin' alright on their own," Vander answered. "I wanted t'come n' find you. Make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine," was the grumbled reply, smoke being shot out like a dart from between thin lips.
Vander's brows curled up and pinched together. "Sil – "
"It's fine, Vander," Silco hissed, voice strained and serrated.
After a beat, when Vander didn't react or budge, Silco's shoulders drooped. He took a slower, more thoughtful pull from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, bringing his fingertips up to massage his forehead.
"It is what it is. We move forward."
Vander stepped closer, and the arms that had twitched before finally lifted into an embrace. Silco half-heartedly wound his arms around his Brother, lit cigarette gently held between two fingers. He closed his eyes and leaned his head into the firm deltoid as if it were a pillow and Vander gently tightened his hold.
"'M sorry, Sil," he murmured. "She's – "
"Just scared," Silco finished, patting Vander's back and stepping out of the hug. "I know."
He took one last drag from the cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stepping on it. Tar-thick disappointment encased his boots, but he still pressed on.
"C'mon. Let's get back to The Dr – "
As he and Vander turned to continue down the alleyway, three imposing silhouettes greeted them. Enforcers barricaded their path, standing shoulder to shoulder in an intimidating wall of armor and glinting masks. The hair on the back of Silco's neck stood on end, like the hackles of a cornered cat; Vander's chest puffed and his back broadened as he stepped forward.
"Somethin' the matter?" he growled.
"We were not fans of how you spoke to us and the Sheriff," one of the Enforcers said. With their faces covered it was difficult to determine which of the three spoke.
Vander snorted. "I don' remember speakin' t'any of you. D'you, Sil?"
"Not worth the oxygen," Silco remarked snidely. "Even if it weren't so precious down here."
The Enforcers agitatedly shifted on their heavy-soled boots.
"You Sump-rats are all the same," one of the other Enforcers said. "Just dirty, little things forgetting their place."
Vander felt Silco tense beside him and quickly threw a thick arm out to keep him from lurching forward. They couldn't start a physical confrontation.
"So what?" Vander spat. "The Sheriff send you grunts back t'teach us some manners?"
The middle Enforcer took a step forward saying, "No. We're just going to count this towards our volunteer hours at the E.A."
"Three Enforcers against two Zaunites?" Silco mused. "Hardly seems fair."
The two flanking Enforcers followed their peer, batons sizzling at their sides, the pronged tips crackling with blue electricity.
"That's too bad, Sump – "
"I meant for you."
Silco jockeyed to the left, spooking the rookie Enforcers and causing them to leap blindly toward him and Vander. The minute the center Enforcer's hand curled around Vander's collar, the beast that had strained against its leash in the presence of Sheriff LeDaird broke its chains. He gripped the Enforcer's wrist and kneed him in the stomach. The man crumpled with a surprise cry, and Vander lifted and hurled him into the dumpster Silco had battled earlier. The Enforcer made to stand and was immediately knocked back into the bail by the heavy metal lid collapsing on top of him.
The right-side Enforcer launched after Silco, brandishing his baton. In a flash, Silco unsheathed the knife tucked into the inside of his waistband and swooped under the Enforcer's arm. He rammed the hilt of his weapon deep into his assailant's armpit. He grunted in pain and surprise, dropping his baton. It clattered away, sparks arcing and zapping through the air. Grabbing the Enforcer's arm, Silco wove around his back and jerked it harshly, simultaneously kicking him behind the knees. There was a sickening pop from the Enforcer's shoulder and a crack in his shins as he fell to the ground.
The third Enforcer hurdled toward Vander, baton aloft. The tall barman caught their forearm mid-swing and landed a punch in the center of their mask. The metal frame crumpled and the glass shades shattered. A muffled and pained wail mixed with the sound of metallic destruction echoed through the damp alley. Vander yanked their arm up higher and jabbed his fist repeatedly into their abdomen. From behind him, the first Enforcer finally flipped the lid of the dumpster. He threaded his baton around Vander's neck and pulled back, choking him.
Silco thrusted his heel into the middle of his attacker's back, effectively slamming the Enforcer to the ground. He leapt toward the loose baton that had rolled down the alley. As his fingers gripped its handle, a gloved hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. Silco tumbled to the ground, snarling and thrashing. He looked behind him and saw the Enforcer trying to clamber their way up his legs. He managed to yank his leg out of the Enforcers grip and kicked the heel of his boot through the left shade of their mask. They screamed and their grip lessened enough to let Silco focus on gripping the baton. Swinging it around, he brought the electrified tip to the open gouge in the mask and thrust it in. Sizzling flesh accompanied the screams. Silco watched in fascination as the threads of electricity rippled over the metal mask. He pulled the weapon back and swung the thick body of it across the Enforcer's face, sending their mask skittering across the pavement. The Enforcer – a young man – groaned and flopped to the ground, his face blackened and bloodied.
Silco jumped up and drove the flickering end of the baton into the side of the Enforcer choking Vander. They cried out and the distraction was enough for his Brother to wrench free of the strangling hold behind him. Having full control of his body again, Vander put his height and weight to use. Both arms gripped at the Enforcer in front of him, lifting the surprised officer overhead and throwing him into the alley wall. The bricks and mortar cracked and crumbled, raining down on the tossed Enforcer in a dusty flurry.
The Enforcer in the dumpster swung his baton at Silco. The thin man crouched as the weapon whistled over his head. Before he could get away, the Enforcer reached down and took a handful of his hair in a painful grip. Silco waved his knife over his head, stabbing and cutting at the arm that held him. It wasn't enough to keep the Enforcer from bringing the prongs of his baton to the junction of Silco's neck and shoulder. He yelled as hot and sharp stabbing currents of electricity ripped through his frame.
It ended as quickly as it started – though the pain hummed through his body even after the prongs were pulled off his shoulder. Vander had swept in in a roaring fury. He shoved Silco aside and charged the last Enforcer. Gripping either side of the Enforcer's helmet, Vander drove his head through his target's. The Enforcer sagged in his bruising grip, clearly dazed, and Vander lifted him out of the dumpster and threw him against the same wall. His limp body tumbled on top of his peer and another shower of stone and cement dusted over them.
"Sil! Silco! You alright, mate?"
Vander sunk to his knees and hurriedly looked over his Brother. Silco grumbled and growled, propping himself up against the dumpster.
"I'm fine," he mumbled, rolling his neck and shoulders.
"Lemme see."
Vander carefully peeled the collar of his shirt back and inspected the two puncture wounds and the burned flesh around it.
"It's fine, Vander," Silco insisted. "Help me up."
He gripped Vander's forearms and rose onto unsteady feet. An uncomfortable shiver vibrated through his skeleton and his stomach curdled. He grit his teeth and ignored it. Instead, he turned his attention to the beaten and limp Enforcers.
"Let's search them over and stack them against the wall."
Together, they sat the three officers against the bricks. They stripped them of their masks and saw that all three were young cadets. It didn't surprise either of them; it was an unspoken rite of passage, and a favorite pastime, for rookie officers to jump and beat unsuspecting Undercity dwellers. Any concern Vander or Silco had about them reporting an assault was assuaged by the fact that no cadet in their right mind would admit to losing a tussle to a couple Sump-rats.
They also searched their persons for other valuables. Vander emptied their wallets, and took their badges and batons; Silco stripped them of any personal affects. He was most excited about the small packet of cigars and silver lighter he found on one of them. He thought the scuffle may have been worth the trouble as he tucked his finds into his trouser pocket.
"Good night, gentlemen," Silco whispered, his tone sickly sweet. He pat the one he stole the cigars from on the cheek. The Enforcer groaned and a bloody string of drool oozed down to his chest.
"'M sure they'll send someone out t'look for ya," Vander added cheerily.
Satisfied, the two friends stole into the cold night.
They returned to The Last Drop through the back entrance and deposited their findings (save for the cigars and lighter) in the storage room. They could use the batons and Vander would take the badges to Augmentation Alley and have them smelted down into weapons. He put the coin away in The Drop's vault.
"I'm going to head home," Silco said once their boon was stashed away.
Vander was preparing to head back to the bar and finish the night. He looked down at his bruised and swollen knuckles, watching his skin pull and bunch achingly over them as he flexed his fingers.
"Y'can stay here if y'want, Sil."
A long sigh escaped Silco's nose and he shook his head.
"I'll come back if I need to," he replied quietly. "Spare key in its usual spot?"
Vander nodded and ignored the heavy disappointment in his chest.
"Right, well . . . punch Benzo in his leg for me."
Vander couldn't help the small grin that flashed across his face.
The apartment was dark when Silco arrived home, his mother's bedroom door shut. He felt caught between being relieved that she hadn't waited up for him and hurt that she was still too angry to talk with him. To look at him.
He trudged towards the bathroom, dipping his head towards her door to listen for the wheezing whistle of her sleeping breath. He heard it, fought the urge to open the door and peek his head inside, and continued to the toilet.
He noticed the vial of medicine sitting on the rim of the sink. A wave of relief washed over him knowing that she had not behaved rashly and dumped it out. He couldn't stand the thought of asking Katya for more help. Carefully picking the bottle up and holding it to the light, he swished the liquid inside. He didn't know how many doses were left, hopefully several before he would have to bother the medic with it again. He'd rather his interactions with her didn't hinge on him repeatedly asking for help.
He'd rather . . . He didn't know. . . He'd rather just . . . interact with her.
Setting the bottle back down, Silco gently pulled the collar of his shirt down and inspected the welt on his shoulder. It wasn't too bad. Sore, red, and angry, but if he cleaned it and patched it, it should heal without much fuss. He was pleased that it was far enough down the slope of his shoulder that it could be easily hidden under a shirt. His mother needn't add this to her list of worries.
After tending to the wound and brushing his teeth, Silco shut himself up in his room. He stored his knives and whet stone away in their floorboard cubby and changed into patched thermals for sleep.
The pack of cigars and the lighter he had pulled from the Enforcer tumbled out of his trouser pocket as he went to fold them. He swiped them up and paused, gently feeling over the soft give of the book and the satisfying heft of the lighter in his hands.
He'd never smoked a cigar before. He had looked upon the few offerings his favorite tobacco shop had with curiosity when he went to restocked his cheap, loose tobacco leaf and papers. Even the ones in the Undercity were too expensive, but he liked how they smelled and his addicted tongue salivated with interest.
Fetching the smallest of his blades back out from their secret case, Silco settled himself in the sill of his bedroom window, Katya's warning echoing in his ears.
"You may already know this but don't smoke around your mother. It's bad for her condition."
He jostled the window open a sliver and the cold outside wasted no time bleeding the warmth out of his bedroom. Silco ignored it and pulled one of the cigars out of the packet. It was the color of well-lacquered wood and the tightly rolled leaves felt like the pages of an old, dense book. He remembered the tobacco shop proprietor saying that cigar ends needed to be trimmed before lighting. Silco carefully pinched the end between his thumb and small blade, slicing through the soft, dried leaves in a fluttering chunk. The smell that emanated from the cut leaves was pungent and thick. He couldn't think of any other way to describe it but luxurious.
Tentatively grasping the rolled end between his teeth, Silco took up the lighter and ran his thumb over the spark wheel. A small orange flame flashed into existence with a quiet crackle. Nostrils flaring in disgust, awe, and jealousy he brought the licking, searching fire to the raw edges of the cigar. He was vaguely aware that smoking a cigar was different from smoking a cigarette.
Once the blunt end of it glowed ember warm, he delicately drew the rich smoke back into his mouth in small puffs. The warm spice of the smoke coated his mouth and tongue like a rich, fatty meal. Silco lifted his chin and blew the smoke out through the window. It was thick, dense, and white. It hovered and swirled much longer than the fumes his cigarettes produced. Only a couple times did he drag on the cigar too deeply, causing the smoke to scratch in hot pin-pricks down his trachea. He sputtered, clearing his throat, and readjusted his tactic.
Sitting there, bunched up on a rotting window sill, in his worn and patched pajamas, looking out over Zaun, smoking his first cigar, the steady, insistent feeling of injustice lapped at his insides. The truth that the people of Zaun deserved more than Piltover's runoff weighed heavy in his heart like a guiding stone. The cigar between his fingers felt like a right – not a prize, not a trophy, not something he had to beat down sniveling Enforcers for. A right, just like he and his people had to clean air and fresh food. He would fight to get them that.
He promised himself that this would be his first of many, many cigars.
"You shouldn't smoke anyway. It's bad for you, too."
Katya's voice murmured through his head again once half the cigar was gone. He plucked it from his lips and blew the smoke out the window. Silco's eyes roved over the smoldering roll between his fingers before he gently tamped it out on the outside of the building. He pulled the window shut, hid the cigars and lighter, and went to bed.
He dreamt of Zaun, cigar smoke, and a warm, satisfying weight in his arms.
A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please consider leaving a comment on the way out :)