Chapter Text
The cost of freedom was a heavy one.
Vander watched the two children curled up together, sleeping surprisingly peacefully. He lit his pipe with shaking fingers, unable to think of anything but the toll. Felicia, dead and still, her body riddled with bullets. Silco, screaming in agony as an explosion tore away half his face. Violet’s look of utter devastation as she realized she was now an orphan.
But it was over. Peace talks started this morning, and the Piltovian Council would vote on how much of the city they would give them. They had gained their independence; their dream was finally realized. If only Felicia were here to see it.
Vander inhaled the smoke, closing his eyes. It was a heavy toll, but worth the cost. Now came the hard part.
Silco was sitting up in the hospital bed, surrounded by a small crowd, and already issuing multiple commands.
“We will get access to the river. Tell those Bilgewater ship rats that they will get their trade routes. And bring some muscle with you. Try to contact the Noxian diplomats. Did our spies in Piltover procure a map of our sovereignty yet? Then get them to do it! The hell is the point of informants if they can’t do anything useful?”
Vander walked over to Silco with a sigh.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Resting is for the dead, and we have enough of those,” Silco said bluntly. “We need every warm body we have.”
“We need you healthy,” Vander replied, before turning to the others. “Could you give us some time alone?”
“You’d better not be here to give me a lecture,” Silco said once they left.
Vander looked him over carefully. Most of the left side of his face, including his eye, was completely bandaged, as was his left arm.
“What did the doctors say?” Vander asked.
“I won’t be seeing out of my left eye or hearing much out of that ear either. And there will be quite a bit of scarring. But I’ll survive. I’m leaving the hospital in a week.”
“Did the doctors say that last bit?”
“They want me to stay here so they can minimize the scarring. I was never one for aesthetics. The city needs both of us. And so do the girls.”
“Well,” Vander said. “I’ve never been able to talk you out of anything.”
“No, you haven’t. How are the girls?”
“Vi’s taking it hard. I don’t think Powder really understands what happened. She’s too young.”
“They’re all too young,” Silco said. “Fen didn’t survive her wounds either.”
“I know,” Vander said softly.
Fen was his cousin and one of the few blood-related family members Vander had left. He had held out hope she might have survived her injuries, but she died only a few hours after Piltover surrendered. At the very least she got to go with the knowledge that they had won and that her son could grow up in a world without fear of an Enforcer’s gun.
“Maybe it will help the girls to have a brother,” Silco said.
“Grief cuts deep,” Vander said. “Especially when you are young. It’s a kind of pain that doesn’t fade easy.”
“We won,” Silco said firmly, his single green eye narrowing. “The dead are dead. We can mourn when we have time.”
Vander didn’t say anything to that, so Silco went on.
“We must create diplomatic ties with other nations. Noxus, Bilgewater, Ionia, they will all be swarming like rats on a carcass, trying to regain some power. We need something more than the mines and factories; the channel, perhaps, or some other untapped resource. We don’t have the laws Piltover has; that alone could make us a powerful hub for trades that could otherwise be illegal.”
Vander listened to him vaguely. This didn’t surprise him really, that Silco was unable to accept his grief and pain, instead turning to his work. It did worry him, though. He looked exhausted, and Vander wondered if he had slept since he regained consciousness. Vander cared about their dream, their city, but family came first.
“Silco,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of things. I’ll ask the doctors to give you something so you can sleep.”
“You’re going to drug me,” Silco said flatly.
“You need to sleep.”
“That seems a disproportionate response.”
“Yes, well, you’re not giving me much of a choice. I’ll tell the girls you said hi.”
“Fine,” Silco said, resting his bandaged head against the pillow. “But you better bring them next time. I’d like to see them.”
“I will,” Vander promised as he got up. “Rest up.”
He told the doctors to give Silco something for his sleep and then left the hospital. There was a sense of jubilation in the air. Buildings were covered in graffiti of him and Silco, painted in the kind of admiration usually saved for gods. The colors of the underground, green and gold, seemed to spill out onto the once colorless streets in the form of paint and streamers. He could see people drinking and laughing, even dancing. Many called out to him with thanks and smiles.
He felt removed from all this revelry, the joys of victory now tainted with grief. The cracks were there if you took a second look. Not all the drinking was in celebration. Many held their mugs and bottles in shaking hands, trying to soothe their pain with alcohol. Even the happy people were often bandaged or bruised, their smiles almost forced. There seemed to be more children wandering alone as well, begging or stealing or just looking lost. Newly orphaned, no doubt. He tried not to think how Vi or Powder could have been one of those empty-eyed children if he and Silco hadn’t survived.
He reached the Last Drop. Here the party was in full swing, and it took Vander a while to move through the crowd. Every surviving rebel seemed to be here, and they all wanted to thank him or shake his hand. He finally managed to reach the back of the bar. As he closed the door, the sounds of celebration faded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Now to check on the girls.
To his surprise, Vi had found his training room. The girl was unleashing blow after blow on the punching bag with the raw fury grief brought. Vander could tell she was envisioning an Enforcer with every strike. Powder sat nearby, watching her sister’s anger with the same frightened confusion she had on the bridge.
Vi stopped suddenly, having realized he was back. She was breathing hard, and Vander could see the tear tracks on her face.
“Want to try hitting something that can hit back?” Vander offered.
Without hesitation she launched herself at him. He blocked the blow easily. Her anger made him wonder if she hated him as well for getting her mother killed over something as foolish as freedom. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that.
She was good, especially for her age. But her anger, which gave her power and strength, also made her sloppy. Vander blocked most of her attacks but still let her land a few hits before striking back. She stumbled, but to his surprise didn’t fall. Instead she struck again, and before he could move to block, she’d hit his nose hard enough for something to crack.
Vi stopped, her eyes wide at the blood pouring down Vander's face.
“I’m sorry!”
Vander let out a deep belly laugh. He didn’t think he’d be able to laugh again after losing Felicia.
“Don’t apologize, that was a good hit!” Vander said, ruffling Vi’s hair. “I’m proud. Why don’t we get started on dinner?”
They decided on a breakfast for dinner. Vi cut the potatoes while Vander helped Powder with the pancakes.
“I visited Silco; he wants you two to see him tomorrow.”
“Vi said his face was all fucked up now,” Powder said.
“Powder!” Vi hissed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Vander said. “He doesn’t want to wait around for the scars to heal, so he might look a little different. He also won’t be able to see or hear as well as he used to. But it’s still the same old Silco. He’s going to start living with us once he gets out of the hospital, so he’ll help me take care of you.“
“We don’t need to be taken care of,” Vi said, slicing the potatoes a bit too viciously. “We’re fine on our own. I’m used to taking care of Powder, and I can cook and clean and wash our clothes.”
“I want to take care of you,” Vander said firmly. “You’re both good kids. But your help around the place would definitely be appreciated.”
“I can clean and cook too!” Powder said. “Look, I’m cooking right now.”
She attempted to crack an egg into the pancake mix, which ended with the egg going pretty much everywhere but the bowl. Vander chuckled as he grabbed a dishcloth to clean her off with.
“You’re both very useful. How would you feel about having a brother?”
“A brother?” Vi echoed.
Vander nodded.
“I know another child who also lost his mother. I was going to have him stay with us as well. His name is Claggor.”
“I want a brother!” Powder said delightedly, clapping her hands together.
“A lot of people died, huh?” Vi said quietly.
Vander looked at her carefully.
“Yes, they did.”
“Mom died,” Powder said bluntly.
There wasn’t any pain or sadness in her voice. She didn’t really seem to understand what they were talking about, but she wanted to be a part of the conversation.
“Hey, Powder,” Vander said. “We’re out of vanilla. Can you go ask Benzo at the bar for some?”
“Yup!” She said, jumping down from the chair and running off.
“Always eager to help,” Vander said quietly.
“We wouldn’t have been on that bridge if it wasn’t for her,” Vi said, looking at the knife in her hand. “She got upset and tried to run to get Mom. It’s like she knew something was wrong.”
“I’m sorry for what happened, Vi. I know that doesn’t mean much.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“We both know that isn’t completely true,” Vander said.
“It is,” Vi said. “Mom and Dad made their own choices. And they won, right? We won.”
“Yes,” Vander said. “We won.”
“Let’s just have breakfast-dinner.”
“Vi,” Vander said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You have to be strong for Powder. I understand that. But you need to let yourself grieve. It can be dangerous to keep all the pain locked up inside.”
She swallowed, clearly trying not to cry.
“I can’t do that. If I think too hard about seeing them all…empty like that,” she shuddered. “It’s just too much. I can’t breathe, and everything hurts. I’m just so angry. Not just at the people who killed them either. I’m angry at them.”
Vander nodded.
“Of course you are.”
“Really?” She said, looking up at Vander with tear-filled eyes. “This doesn’t make me a bad daughter?”
“No, sweetheart, it doesn’t,” Vander promised.
The tears finally began to spill as he pulled her into a hug. She let out deep, painful sobs, the kind of noises no child should ever be making.
“Why did they leave me? Why did they leave me? They shouldn’t have left me. Why did they leave?”
Vander held her, answerless to her pain.