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Vander entered the bar quietly, the familiar scent of spilled liquor and dust clinging to the air. It was silent. It was the sort of silence that spoke louder than words, a silence that only came when the place was empty, when there were no patrons to fill the air with noise. There were no sounds of children laughing. No calls of his name to solve a petty fight or soothe a nightmare. There was just the crushing silence found only in the aftermath of tragedy. The kind that lingered long after the tears had dried and the screams had faded into memory.
The Last Drop had never felt so hollow before.
His heavy boots echoed against the worn wooden floor as he moved deeper into the space. He glanced around, instinctively checking the shadows, though he wasn’t sure why. His eyes fell on a lone figure sitting at the far end of the bar. A silhouette, their back turned, with a slouched posture that was all too familiar. Fingers tapped against the bar in a slow, deliberate rhythm to a tune Vander knew by heart. His breath caught in his chest, but he suppressed the reaction, forcing himself to speak.
"We’re closed," Vander called out as he took a step toward the bar, his voice hoarse, like the words had been caught in his throat for years.
He pretended the figure wasn’t who he thought it was. It couldn’t be. It was just a straggler, a drunk who had wandered in after hours. He could shoo them off and then go check on Benzo and the kids. And Benzo - what a saint he’d been, stepping up to watch them after... what had happened.
The figure didn’t move. Just continued tapping to a song neither of them could hear, the only sound in the deserted bar.
Vander frowned and took a step closer. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to face this, but he couldn’t just leave. Not now.
"I said, we’re closed," Vander repeated, his voice sharper this time, his fingers curling into fists.
The tapping stopped. A pause. Then a voice, soft but unmistakable, cut through the silence.
"I heard about Violet."
Vander froze. That voice - it was like a blade, cutting through the thick wall that time and regrets that had built up between them. His fists unclenched, only to clench again as he grappled with the torrent of emotions surging forward. He didn’t have to see the face to know. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in so long, but would never forget.
Silco.
Vander’s heart lurched, and his throat tightened as old wounds he thought he’d buried deep reopened in an instant. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he stood there, a strange stillness settling between them. The silence stretched on, but Silco didn’t turn around and Vander didn't step closer. Vander remained frozen in place, staring at the back of his old adversary - an adversary who, in this moment, somehow seemed so much like the man he'd once called a friend. Brother.
"Why..." Vander's voice was thick, words clogging in his throat, and he had to clear it before attempting to speak again. "Why are you here, Silco? What do you want?"
He didn't have the energy to fight, anymore. He was just... tired. In every sense of the word, emotionally, physically, spiritually, he was exhausted.
Silco turned slightly, just enough for the dim light to catch his face. The disfigured eye glowed faintly, a haunting reminder of their past, while the other held something unspoken. He reached into his coat, movements slow and deliberate, and withdrew a small, crumpled piece of paper.
Vander stared at it, his brow furrowing. Then his breath hitched.
It was a letter. His letter.
"You…" Vander whispered, his voice barely audible. “You found it? After all this time?"
"I…" Silco’s hand trembled slightly as he traced the edges of the parchment, his fingers gliding over the curves of Vander’s long-faded handwriting. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than Vander had ever heard it. "How long ago?"
"What?"
"How long ago did you write it?"
Vander’s shoulders sagged. "The week after... after the river."
Silco’s fingers curled into a fist, the letter crumpling between them. His knuckles were white against the worn paper.
"All this time..." Silco breathed, his voice trembling with something between anger and sorrow. "all this time, we could've been... If I had found it back then-"
"Silco, we were both... angry back then. Not thinking straight. You probably would have ripped up that letter before you even read a single word. We both made mistakes, after... after the bridge."
Silco laughed, but it was a sound empty of mirth, a ghost of its former self. "You know... she would hate what we've become. What we've done."
He didn't say who she was, and Vander didn't have to ask.
"...aye," Vander sighed, and moved forward to sit beside Silco. It was the closest they'd been in a long time. "She would."
"Do you think she'd forgive me?" Silco's eyes were trained on the bar's counter, his knuckles bone-white as his fingers curled tighter around Vander's letter. "What I've done..."
Vander sighed. "She was Felicia, Silco." His voice was bittersweet as he smiled, a thing filled with more sadness than he could put to words. "She’d forgive you a thousand times over. No matter what."
"She always saw the best in us. Perhaps she even saw things that weren't there." Silco shook his head, "after all I've done. After all I've done to you-"
"And after what I’ve done to you," Vander interrupted, his voice thick. "None of us are innocent in this, Silco. We've both hurt each other. But Vi’s gone. And I... I don’t want to spend what’s left of this life chasing ghosts and breaking our promises. Not anymore."
Silco’s jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he nodded. The tension in his body eased ever so slightly, and for the first time, the weight in Vander's chest felt just a little lighter.
"Why... why did you come here, Silco?" Vander asked, his voice quiet, "why now? It wasn't just the letter, was it?"
Silco didn't speak for a long few moments, his jaw working as he stared at the countertop.
"After I heard what happened to Violet, I... I reread your letter, and your words... they made me realize that, sometimes, home has a heartbeat." Silco paused, took in a breath, and then looked up to meet Vander's gaze. "And I think... I think I've been away from mine for far too long."
The words hung between them, fragile but unshakable.
Vander’s throat tightened, and he reached out, slowly, to rest a heavy hand on the back of Silco’s neck. For a brief moment Silco flinched back, his right eye widening and his breath stuttering - in that moment, Vander knew that Silco could probably hear the sound of rushing waters and taste the poison of the Pilt, that Silco was back in a moment years gone - but then Vander leaned forward and gently pressed his forehead to Silco's - and Silco relaxed, his breath falling from his lips in a way that carried much more than air.
All Vander could hear was their breaths, quiet and peaceful, intertwining and becoming one in a way they hadn't been since before.
"Brothers?" Vander asked softly.
"Brothers," Silco promised, his voice steady.