Chapter Text
As Vander and Silco exit a warehouse, they walk along the docks and ships, tension in the air.
"What were you talking about in there?" Vander asks.
Silco shrugs. "Uh, nothing much. I mean, obviously, a war is coming soon."
"Yeah, obvious," Vander replies.
Silco pauses. "So! As leader of the revolution, which, that’s what you are, and have been."
"Yeah."
"What do you think gives you power? Is it your strength? Is it the fact that you’re our leader?" Silco asks, his tone probing.
Vander considers for a moment. He didn't really like this sudden introspection. "Those who are given power… hold onto it."
"Okay. How?"
"I think respect is the big thing."
Silco nods. "Sure. Respect is big. If respect is the only thing protecting you from… a knife in the back… respect is nothing, right?"
Vander's eyes narrow. "What are you saying, Silco?"
"I’m saying that you don’t have power because you’re our leader, you have power because of me. You have power because of the other members of the revolution, like Marko and Petrok Grime. They give you power by protecting you, protecting our dream. Am I wrong?"
Vander sighs. "You’re not wrong."
"Now, I’m not saying… for you to stop. I’m actually saying the opposite. You stop at nothing because you are our leader. You’re the leader. If you don’t lead us to fight, we simply won’t fight. Hopefully, you know,these people look up to you, right?”
Silco looked to Vander for confirmation, for a sign that his partner understood but instead Vander had furrowed his brow and his face was a mixture of pensive uncertainty.
” When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish. You say run, they run, you say swim, they dive in, you say light a fire, they show up with oil. But whatever happens, it's on you. This is a war. And Piltover will stop at nothing until the last of us are dead and our children are in chains and slaving away in their factories. By refusing to fight, by drawing a line… you are betraying our revolution."
Vander raises himself with a new found determination. "So your plan is that we run into our deaths..."
Silco shakes his head. "No—"
"And then there is no one left to rebuild the rubble?" Vander interrupted, shock and desperation coloring his voice.
"The plan is that tomorrow there won't be a bridge. That we are beyond their reach," Silco insists.
Vander fell silent for a moment, allowing Silco to continue.
"I know you don’t like the push for power. You’re not very vengeful, you know? You don’t hold grudges. You’re very neutral. But you’re kind of the head of everything. Back during the Meeting… You sit, and you look pretty, and you did nothing and that’s it. That's not Leadership. That's not fighting, Right?"
Vander hesitates. "…yeah."
"Right?" Silco pressed.
Vander stopped at the pier, the water beneath them churning wild and fast, swirling waves of purples and greens with nothing clear and pure to the river. "No."
"No?" Silco echoed.
"I don’t understand. We are so far from being beyond their reach.” There is pleading in his voice. ”Even if we blow up the bridges, even if we turn the elevators into death traps and make it so no goddamn Pilty ever sets foot in Zaun again, what do we eat? Where do we get coin?"
"We’ll make our own," Silco replies.
"How? We have no grain. And the river water kills anything it touches, not makes it grow. I want this more than anything, you know. Freedom. From Piltover, from the enforcers. But not if we have to water our soil with the blood of those who died." Vander asks, frustration evident in his voice.
But Silco's eyes glint with determination. "They would be happy to know that even after their death, they still serve our nation."
"Silco, that’s absolutely insane."
"But—"
"No buts. We can’t do that. We aren’t monsters." Vander chokes not on the smog but on the Lack of Empathy coming from his partner.
"Maybe we should become monsters then. Then they will fear us, respect us, and know that Zaun would be their death," Silco argues.
"But we don’t want their death. We want freedom. Equality."
"Maybe you don’t want to. But I certainly do," Silco’s voice cold and unwavering.
"Oh yeah?" Vander shot back. "Who are you willing to lose then? Ezi? Neyina? Buck and Evitti have children at home? What about me? Are you willing to lose me?"
"Yes," Silco responded.
"For power?" Vander felt a rage rise in him. A Rage that until this point had been exclusive to The unfairness of It all. To Piltover. To the Enforcers
"For power? No," Silco said, his tone measured. "But there is always sacrifice in war. You know that. I know that. We can't think of ourselves as exceptions. I love you. I would mourn you."
Later, Vander would hate himself for not responding with "I love you too." Instead, his hands found Silco's neck. Broken trust and anger raging like a storm. Silco’s eyes widened, He felt the pressure as Vander’s grip tightened, his vision blurred with tears of frustration and betrayal. For a moment, they stood at the edge of the pier, the tumultuous river beneath them mirroring the chaos in their hearts. The force of their struggle sent them both tumbling into the river. The icy water swallowed them instantly, it's cold fingers numbing their bodies and slowing their movements. The current was strong, dragging them down into its murky depths.
“There’s peace in water,” Silco would say many many years later "Like it’s holding you, whispering in low tones to let it in. And every problem in the world will fade away." But now, as Vander's fingers dug into his skin, peace was a distant dream. There was no calm, only the relentless surge of rage and survival instincts.
Vander’s frenzy blinded him, but for Silco it was desperation that drove him. With a sudden, brutal motion, Silco reached for the knife he had once gifted Vander—a token of their bond, now a tool of defense. In a swift, desperate move, he plunged it into Vander’s side. Vander gasped, a sound of both pain and disbelief, his grip loosening just enough for Silco to break free.
Silco fought to keep his head above water, his lungs burning with the need for air. Every stroke was a battle, his muscles screaming in protest.
Vander was still beside him, the wound from Silco's knife bleeding into the water, a dark cloud mingling with the swirling colors of the polluted river. Silco could see the pain in Vander’s eyes, a mirror of his own suffering. He wanted to shout, to apologize, to rage at the unfairness of it all, but the river stole his words, filling his mouth with bitter water.
As they struggled, Silco felt a new pain—a sharp, searing agony near his eye where the river’s toxins found his open wound. It was as if the water itself was attacking him, the pollution burning like acid in his flesh. His vision blurred, spots dancing before his eyes as the pain intensified. He tried to swim, to fight the current, but his strength was waning, the wound sapping his energy with every passing second.
Vander reached out, their fingers brushing for a moment in the turbulent water. It was a fleeting touch, a reminder of what they once were to each other. But the river was relentless, dragging them apart even as they tried to hold on.
Silco’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations—pain, regret, anger, and an overwhelming sense of loss. The poison from the river was spreading through his body, his movements growing weaker, more sluggish. He could feel the darkness closing in, the cold embrace of the water pulling him deeper.
With one last, desperate effort, Silco kicked towards the surface, breaking through just long enough to gasp for air before the current pulled him under again. He could see Vander struggling too, his face a mask of agony and determination. Benzo was there Trying to pull Vander out. But the river was merciless, and Silco knew that Benzo would not come to help him too.
Silco’s last thought was of Vander—not as his enemy, but as his brother. The pain of betrayal was a sharp ache in his heart, mingling with the physical agony of his poisoned wound. And then there was nothing but the cold, and the silence of the river, and the fading light above.
Vander knew Silco had survived. The Lanes were filled with rumors, whispers that floated on the wind and clung to the shadows. Silco had become a ghost haunting Vander, every street and every shadow a reminder of a past now marred by longing and regret. He could hardly walk a block without something triggering a memory.
There was the time they had broken the roof of Babette's brothel, a wild night of laughter and chaos that had led to a day and night of hard labor, as they fixed the damage they'd caused. The memory was vivid—Silco’s grumbling as he hammered nails, Vander’s teasing comments that had kept them both smiling despite the exhaustion. Then there was the time they had built a stall for Jericho with Mokki, determined to keep their friend in the Lanes. Jericho’s gratitude had been immense, and for a while, the Lanes had felt like they could achieve anything together.
Him and Silco—they had built the Lanes. Now, those same streets felt empty, haunted by the ghost of what once was.
As Vander strolled through the streets, he would feel a presence that made his heart ache with a mix of hope and sorrow. He could only think that it was Silco, watching him from the shadows, still connected in some inexplicable way. His eyes would dart around, searching desperately for his shadow, for a glimpse of his former friend. Always too late. Always gone by the time he turned.
These nights were the hardest. Vander would sit in the last drop, a drink in hand, staring into the amber liquid as if it held the answers to his torment. The noise of the patrons around him faded into a dull roar, his mind consumed by thoughts of Silco. He would replay their last moments together over and over, each time wishing he had said "I love you too," wishing he had done something, anything, to prevent the rift between them.
In the quiet of his room, he would lie awake, the weight of his regrets pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He thought of all the plans they had made, all the dreams they had shared. They had wanted to change the world, to make it a better place for their people. And now, all of that seemed so distant, so unattainable.
The people of the Lanes still looked to Vander as their leader, but he felt like a shell of the man he used to be. His smiles were forced, his laughter hollow. He moved through his days like a puppet on strings, doing what needed to be done but feeling disconnected from it all. The camaraderie he once felt with Silco was gone, replaced by an emptiness that nothing could fill.
He would go back to the places they used to go together, as if being there could somehow bring Silco back. He would sit on the broken roof of Babette’s brothel, staring out at the city and remembering the way they had laughed as they fixed it. He would visit Jericho’s stall, Watch Benzo stock the Lost and Found. Checking in with Grandma Sazi as she took whatever was left to Cook for the Street rats, the children that would come to her house.
Yet, despite the pain, Vander held onto a sliver of hope. Hope that one day, Silco would step out of the shadows, and they could rebuild not just the Lanes, but the bond they once shared. Until then, Vander would continue to search, continue to hope, and continue to walk the streets of the Lanes, haunted by the ghost of his friend and the dreams they once dared to dream together.
One evening, as the sun set and cast long shadows across the Lanes, Vander found himself standing on the pier where it had all gone wrong. The water beneath was calmer now, the pollution still swirling but less violently than on that fateful day. He stared into the depths, lost in thought, when he felt that familiar gaze again. He turned slowly, his heart pounding, but once more, there was nothing there.
“Silco,” he whispered into the twilight, his voice barely more than a breath. “If you’re out there… I’m sorry. For everything.”
The midday sun shone harshly on the grimy streets of the Undercity, casting stark shadows that did little to soften the brutality of the scene. A child lay lifeless on the cobblestones, kicked to death and then shot for good measure. The news spread like wildfire, and soon a crowd gathered, their faces etched with grief, rage, and a simmering sense of helplessness. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that precedes a storm.
In the center of the crowd stood Felicia, Vi and Powder’s mother. She climbed onto a makeshift stage, her eyes scanning the faces of her fellow zaunites. Clearing her throat, she began to speak, her voice strong and clear.
“That murdered child could have been mine,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but gaining strength as she continued. “It could have been yours. I grew up knowing I was less than them, that my place was down here, in the shadows of Piltover. But I refuse to accept that for my children. I want more for them. I want them to have a chance at happiness, a life without the constant struggle against Piltover’s boot. I want them to have a goddamn future.”
Her words resonated with the crowd, a collective murmur of agreement rippling through them. The sense of shared suffering and shared dreams united them, their individual griefs coalescing as their eyes turned to Vander, their leader. He had been standing at the edge of the crowd, his broad shoulders hunched. Taking a deep breath, his heavy boots echoing on the cobblestones as he climbed up the stage and sat legs dangling from the edge. Felicia placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, before she jumped off the stage. She knew how hard it was for him to speak without Silco.
“My friends, my people,” Vander began, his deep voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “Piltover seems to have forgotten that we are people too. They look down on us, treat us like dirt, and think they can do whatever they want without consequence. It’s time we remind them who we are. They will fight us at every turn, try to crush us with every step we take. So gather everything we’ve got—our strength, our courage, our unity. Tonight, we drag them back into the hell they are so desperate to forget.”
A cheer. the sound a raw, powerful expression of their collective rage and determination. The energy was electric, a storm of emotion that promised action. Vander’s words had lit a fire in their hearts, and they were ready to act. Preparations began immediately. People scattered to gather supplies, weapons, and anything else that could be of use. Felicia moved through the crowd, offering words of encouragement and solidarity, while Vander coordinated with other leaders, laying out their plan of attack.
Vander stood at the forefront. He glanced at Elsie, who nodded, her eyes filled with the same determination that burned within him. This was their moment, their chance to reclaim their dignity and demand the respect they deserved.
"We can't be exceptions, Vander. Sacrifices must be made," Silco's voice seemed to whisper inside of him, blending with the murmur of the crowd. Vander shook his head, pushing away the ghostly words. “When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish. You say run, they run, you say swim, they dive in, you say light a fire, they show up with oil. But whatever happens, it's on you. This is a war.”
As the final preparations were made, Vander took a moment to look at the faces around him. He saw fear, yes, but also courage and a fierce desire for change. These were his people, and he would lead them into the fight with everything he had.
“Remember,” he called out, his voice cutting through the night air, “we do this for our children, for our future. Stay strong, stay together, and we will make them see us.”
the people of the Undercity moved out, a tide of humanity surging towards the glittering heights of Piltover.
As they advanced, Vander felt a grim satisfaction. The battle ahead would be brutal, but it was a battle worth fighting. For the child who had been murdered, for every soul in the Undercity who had ever been made to feel less. This was their stand, their fight for a future that belonged to them.
The march began in the dead of night, a river of determined souls flowing across the bridge that separated the Undercity from Piltover. They plowed through the initial line of enforcers who had stood guard at the toll, their resistance faltering under the sheer force of the mob. The enforcers, unprepared for such a fierce onslaught, were quickly overwhelmed.
But as they reached the final stretch, the situation changed. Row upon row of enforcers stood before them, armed and shielded, ready to fire. Behind this line, even more enforcers were hastily constructing a barricade, fortifying their position. The crowd came to a standstill, a tense standoff. There they stood and it could have been but a moment that passed, or an hour, or even more than that. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension and fear making every second feel like an eternity.
Vander stood, his mind racing. He wished Silco were beside him, his cunning mind and unwavering resolve a source of strength in such dire times. With Silco, he might have been able to bear the weight of this moment. But Silco was gone, and Vander was left to carry the burden alone.
The silence was shattered by a single gunshot, the sharp crack echoing across the bridge. A scream followed, piercing through the night and igniting a chain reaction. Chaos erupted as more shots rang out, the crowd breaking apart in panic. The enforcers seized the opportunity, breaking formation to beat down those who were still within reach.
Rage surged through Vander as he fought back, his gauntlets striking down any enforcer he could get his hands on. the sounds of violence—shouts, screams, the clash of metal against flesh was all he could hear. As the fire of battle rose and bodies piled up around him, Vander found himself standing alone on the blood-stained bridge.
the chaotic sounds of battle fading into an eerie silence. Amidst the wreckage, two small figures caught his eye—two children who had come running after their mother. Their mother, who had stood beside him on the stage, her voice a beacon of hope and defiance. Now, she lay atop a pile of the fallen, her body lifeless among the remaining dead.
He turned around to face them.
Their faces were streaked with tears, their eyes wide with fear. He knelt down, gathering them into his arms, offering what little comfort he could. Vander's heart clenched at the sight, the weight of guilt and sorrow pressing down on him like a physical force.
With a heavy heart and even heavier steps, Vander carried the girls back to their now-empty home. The journey was slow, each step a painful reminder of the lives lost and the dreams shattered. He could feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that threatened to crush his spirit.
As they entered the house, the silence was deafening. Vander gently set Vi and Powder down, their small hands still clutching at his clothes. He looked around the room, once filled with warmth and love, now a hollow shell echoing with the ghosts of what could have been.
He sank into a chair, his soul heavy with grief. The fire of rage that had fueled him on the bridge had burned out, leaving behind only the cold ashes of regret. The image of Felicia, lying among the dead, haunted him. Her words, filled with hope and determination, echoed in his mind.
“That murdered child could have been mine,” she had said. “It could have been yours. I want more for my children. A chance at happiness, a future.”
The irony was bitter and cruel. Now, Felicia's dream seemed further away than ever. But Vander knew he could not afford to give in to despair. For Vi and Powder, for all the children of the Undercity, he had to keep fighting.
The dream of a better future for the children of the Undercity still burned within him. But tonight, he allowed himself to mourn.
As the first light of dawn began to creep into the room, Vander dared to acknowlegde what he had already known all this Time. He couldn't do it alone. For the Undercity. For his people. For the future. He had to find Silco.
Vander took a deep breath and opened the door to start what he feared might be a wild goose chase. To his surprise, two more children stood in front of his door, clutching a small note. They looked exhausted, their eyes filled with fear and confusion.
It was a simple note:
"Hello, Vander. Let's talk. Come to the place we met last. -S"
Vander ushered the children inside, his heart heavy with concern. They looked like they could collapse at any moment. He knelt down to their level, his voice gentle but firm.
"Violet," he said, "you're in charge. Make sure you all stay in the bar and that no one comes in. If anything goes wrong, take everyone and run to the shop across the street. It's called the Lost and Found. Benzo is nice; he will take care of you. There's still someone important missing, and I have to bring him home."
Vi's eyes brimmed with tears. "You're coming home, right?"
"Of course," Vander replied, giving her a reassuring hug. "I'll be right back, I promise."
With one last embrace, Vander left the bar and locked the front door as he made his way to the docks, rehearsing his words over and over. "Please, don't let me be too late. Please, let him still be there."
As he approached the docks, the faint light of the sunrise began to break through the darkness, casting a golden hue over the water. Silco stood a bit further away, his figure silhouetted against the growing light, looking out towards the sunrise that managed to peek through a crack in the cityscape.
Vander's heart pounded in his chest as he approached. The years of tension and unspoken words weighed, but this conversation was long overdue.
"Silco," Vander called out softly, his voice carrying across the quiet morning air.
Silco turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Vander. The two men stood facing each other, the gulf between them filled with years of pain, betrayal, and unfulfilled dreams.
"You came," Silco said, his voice devoid of the cold bitterness Vander had expected.
"I had to," Vander replied, taking a step closer. "The Undercity needs us both. I need you."
Silco's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of the bond they once shared. "We were never meant to be on opposite sides, Vander."
Vander nodded, his eyes locked onto Silco's. "I know. I'm sorry, words cannot express how sorry i am"
The silence stretched between them, so many unspoken emotions. Vander wanted nothing more than to Reach out. To take the face of the man in Front of him and trace all the lines and the scars that he wasn't there to witness. Finally, Silco broke the gaze, looking back out towards the water.
"Don't. I’m not sure if I have not forgiven you. Already. I'm not sure if the pain will ever fade away. So much has happened," Silco said, his voice tinged with sadness. "What are you thinking? Where do you want to go from here?"
Vander stepped closer. Something in him desperate to close the gap. "I never knew which way to go. Not without you helping me find the right way."
"So you have no idea whatsoever?" Silco replied.
"Nope," Vander responded with a weary smile.
Silco’s eyes darkened with curiosity. "What happened out there?"
"We took everything we had, and it wasn't enough. I know we could have kept fighting, and maybe we could have pushed through. But Feli left her children behind, and I'd rather we lick our wounds, even for a moment," Weight of it all made Vander sigh.
"It won't be enough," Silco warned.
"I realize that now," Vander admitted.
Silco’s gaze hardened. He knew, he was contradicting himself. "I don't forgive you—not yet at least. All the unanswered messages, the ostracizing from the Lanes—that... I can't."
"What do you mean, messages? I didn’t get any messages, and you were always welcome in the Lanes. I don’t understand," Vander said, bewildered.
"Then why is Benzo—" Silco started, but then a cheeky smile spread across his face. Vander's heart ached with longing at the familiar expression.
"You know that Benzo has a crush on you, right?" Silco said with glee, having solved the puzzle before Vander.
"So? What, he interfered so we wouldn't meet again?" Vander asked cautiously.
"Exactly," Silco confirmed. "Which opens up a question, the same one that started this meeting in the first place. What do you want to do, Vander?"
Vander paused, his gaze wandering from Silco to the river to the sun and back to Silco. "What I want is to have you back at the Drop, back next to me. I want to spend the rest of my life atoning for how I’ve wronged you and fighting right beside you. If you would still have me. I'm not ready to sacrifice everything and everyone. I’m not willing to sacrifice you. Janna knows how much of a hypocrite I’m being, but I’m not willing to sacrifice you. So please, if there is a way, let’s find it together."
His last words came out as an unsure whisper. "If you would still have me, that is."
Silco responded by taking Vander's hands, his grip firm and reassuring. They turned and walked away from the pier, making their way back to the Last Drop. The journey felt like the beginning of a new chapter, the past still lingering but no longer an insurmountable barrier.
The next morning, the Last Drop was quiet. The children, all four of them, had hidden themselves from the ongoings of the bar. Still Vander and Silco sat at a corner table, their conversation from the night before still fresh in their minds. They were strategizing when the door opened, and Sheriff Grayson stepped inside. She had come alone, her expression serious and her demeanor cautious.
Vander stood up, his broad shoulders squared as he faced the sheriff. "Sheriff Grayson," he greeted, his voice steady but guarded. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Grayson took a deep breath, her gaze moving between Vander and Silco. "I'm here to propose a deal," she began. "Last night's events can't be repeated. Too many lives are at risk, both topside and down here."
Vander nodded slowly. "What do you have in mind?"
Grayson glanced at Silco, then back at Vander. "The people of the Undercity are angry, and rightfully so. Piltover's policies and enforcement have been harsh. But we need to find a way to coexist, at least for now."
Silco's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"I propose a truce," Grayson said. "You keep the trenchers calm, prevent any further uprisings, and in return, I'll do everything in my power to keep as many enforcers off your streets as I can. "
The room was silent. Vander exchanged a glance with Silco, who gave a subtle nod.
"You expect us to trust you?" Vander asked, his voice tinged with doubt. His throat felt hoarse from speaking.
Grayson met his gaze steadily. "Trust has to start somewhere. I can't promise miracles, but I can promise that I'll do my best to keep my word. We need to start building bridges, not burning them."
What a Dig. Vander took a deep breath, considering her words. "Alright. We accept your terms, but know this—if you betray us, if you go back on your word, there will be consequences."
"Understood. And the same goes for you. If the peace is broken from your side, we'll be forced to respond."
With the terms set, Vander extended his hand. Grayson took it, the handshake a tentative first step towards a fragile peace. The atmosphere was charged.
As Grayson prepared to leave, Vander spoke again. "We have a chance here, a small one, but a chance nonetheless. Let's make the most of it."
Silco placed a hand on Vander's shoulder, a silent show of support. They faced the uncertain path ahead, determined to find a way forward for their people, no matter the cost.
After the sheriff left, the tension in the room remained thick. Vander turned to Silco, his brow furrowed in thought.
"This isn't like you," Vander said, his voice low and thoughtful.
Silco leaned back, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. "Well, you were right. We need to lick our wounds, dear hound of the Undercity. We can't afford further confrontation. We need more people, better defenses, medicine, better planning. We know now that a mob won't cut it, and an army of gangsters isn't the most reliable—at least not alone."
Vander nodded slowly, the truth of Silco's words sinking in. "So, what's the plan then?"
"The doctor who patched me up is insane and creepy, not gonna lie. But his research looks to be promising. We will see how it goes" Silco's eyes gleamed with a cold determination. "We rebuilt, smarter this time. We fortify our alliances, ensure we have the supplies and support we need. No more reckless uprisings. We play the long game, strike when we're truly ready."
Vander let out a heavy sigh, the weight of their task pressing down on him. "It's going to be a long road."
Silco's expression softened slightly, a rare glimpse of the man Vander once knew. "But it's a road we can walk together. We've been through worse, Vander. We can get through this too. And we can't afford to fail this time. These children are counting on us."
The words hung in the air, a fragile promise of hope amidst the darkness. They both knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long while, they had a common goal. The fight for the Undercity was far from over, but with a renewed sense of purpose and unity, Vander and Silco were ready to face whatever came next.