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I.
Jayce never liked the cold. Ever since that fateful trip, the first sign of a blizzard, of snow, of a mere drop in temperature, he and Mom would abandon all responsibilities and stay home where it was warm and safe. Mom would have him excused from school, as he would help her make sancocho and hot cocoa, an odd combo of flavor but nine-year-old Jayce had insisted and a tradition it had become. They would huddle up together before the fire, sipping on their hot soup and drinks, bundled up under Grandmother’s blanket and traded stories, from the latest town gossip to the most fantastical tales they could make up. He loved their silly little tradition, it always made him less afraid of the cold raging on outside.
When he first moved out of the Talis Home, Ximena insisted he take Grandmother’s blanket with him to the new place, a piece of home she said. A lot of back and forth was had before he finally relented, but not before commissioning her another blanket nearly identical for her to keep. It wasn’t the same as her Mother’s, of course, but she still appreciated it, and it lived on her couch now where she often spent her evenings with a book. Jayce liked to think it was a piece of him she was keeping in return.
II.
The blanket became a constant fixture in his life, a comfort item in a sense. It spent some of its time on the bed, sometimes in his workspace where he would get cold and tired while hunching over papers and prototypes. Rarely, but occasionally, it would get folded up and put in the closet when he had company over. He wasn’t fond of the idea of rolling around in bed with someone on his Grandmother’s handmade blanket.
He would bring it home for Mom to wash every few weeks, just because the soap she used somehow preserved that scent that always reminded him of home. Or maybe it was the soap itself that reminded him of home.
III.
After he got that snazzy new position within the Academy, where he would spend arguably more time than he would his own apartment, the blanket found itself a new residence in the lab. Long days and all-nighters spent tinkering with inventions and conducting experiments with Viktor, the place had become his second home.
The downside of bringing it to such a public place meant more people would have access to it. Jayce wasn’t possessive of the object, no, just… protective.
When Prof. Heimerdinger would sit upon the folded blanket on the couch for a bit of a height boost, Jayce would wince but refrain from saying anything. He couldn’t blame the Yordle, the thing looked awfully cushy and comfortable. When Sky would trip over the fabric in her haste to get to class, Jayce would bite his tongue so as not to alarm anyone over something so trivial. When Mel would come by sometimes and remove the cover from his shoulders and set it aside, he tried not to take it to heart. She simply wished to speak to him professionally, without him bundled up like an iceman.
The only person he didn’t have any qualms with handling the blanket was Viktor. He would often purposefully drape the thing over the man when he was shivering, too prideful to admit he was discomforted. When Viktor would be passed out on the couch after an arduous day, Jayce would tuck him in, enjoying the way he burrowed into the warmth like a cat.
Once, they got snowed in and Jayce was desperately trying to keep his panic under wraps. Their other colleagues at the Academy were none the wiser, trying to convince them to a slumber party of sorts in the main hall, but Viktor noticed. He always noticed.
“I need Jayce here in the lab with me. My leg, you know, gets bad in this weather.” Viktor took one for the team. Jayce knew how much he disliked talking about his leg with these people he said would never tolerate, let alone understand him. He sent his partner an appreciative look as their colleagues wished them well and took off, whispering to each other under their breaths.
“Thank you, V. I wasn’t in the mood to mingle, but I don’t want to seem rude and…”
“It’s okay, Jayce. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
He knew it was merely sentimental, but he could have sworn Viktor’s smile chased the cold within him away.
Jayce had never shared the blanket with anyone besides his Mom, yet as Viktor drew him under the warm cover, he had never felt more at ease, like he had always belonged there within his partner’s arms. Jayce’s heart was still beating a bruise into his ribcage as the snowy wind clattered and bashed against the windows, but when Viktor dozed off warm and contented all around him, he knew he'd be alright.
IV.
Somewhere along the way, the blanket had stopped smelling like Mom’s soap and had begun smelling like Viktor, star anise and warm cinnamon. He stopped bringing it home for her to wash because he didn’t want her to wash that scent away. He was thankful of that decision now as he buried his nose into the cloth and cried, hand clutching upon his cane until nails scraped painfully against the metal. The shallow hum of the machinery keeping Viktor alive, keeping him in stasis, made his head ring and he wished to hide away in the cocoon he’d made for himself.
Why did it have to be Viktor? He was right there beside him, so why did it spare him and take…
His body was burning up, from the restlessness, the anxiety. Yet, he only wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, desperately clawing at whatever essence was left of his fading partner.
V.
Viktor was alive. Jayce couldn’t believe his eyes as he gazed upon his partner’s reformed body in amazement. He wasn’t the same but he was alive.
His tired limbs, his aching heart were soothed as he held Viktor in his arms, solid and real and not just a limp body. He was selfish and he was greedy, he understood. But Viktor was alive and that was all he could afford to care about.
He suddenly realized he had been holding on for too long and broke away, flustered but not regretful as he dashed away to find his partner some cover. “You must be cold.”
Flesh had been turned into buzzing metal beneath his fingertips, and Jayce acknowledged he should have been appalled or shocked over the new development, yet he could only feel joy when he heard Viktor’s familiar voice again. “Cold. No, I don’t think so.”
Still, he draped the blanket over his hunched shoulders, pulling it tight and willing some comfort into him, just as it had done for Jayce these past few weeks of uncertainty.
When Viktor reminded him of the promise he had made, Jayce couldn’t help but wince. He indeed had broken his friend’s trust but wasn’t he right to do so when it saved his life?
“I was supposed to die.” The words sliced like a blade through his flesh and it pained more than the wounds already crisscrossing his body.
“Our paths have diverged long ago. It was affection that held us together.” Viktor said dismissively, as if that wasn’t the core reason why Jayce had to betray his vow, why he went against every advice given by his Mother and his mentors.
“What are you saying, Viktor?” His heart ached and he yearned to reach out, to twine his fingers into the blanket and anchor himself, anchor Viktor to him, to keep him from walking away. After everything they had been through, was he really walking away?
“I’m saying… goodbye, Jayce. Good luck with your city, but I cannot be a part of it anymore.”
The sound of his metallic limbs trudging across the marble floor echoed through the lab and Jayce’s extended hand lowered, vacant of his partner’s returning grip. The last flutter of his Grandmother’s blanket disappeared behind the closing door and suddenly, it was final.
Viktor was alive, but Viktor was gone.
***
I.
Everything was more vibrant and alive, yet in the same instant, more dulled and muted than he had ever experienced. Iridescent ripples of magic were suspended in the air like dust molecules and they swayed when his hand pushed through. It was beautiful, and it was alien. His new body was also alien to himself. Alien fingers trailing upon alien flesh. And there was a sensation, yes, but it wasn’t what he had grown to know as feeling. Merely inputs and outputs, the intellect to discern what it represented, but not… feeling.
Jayce’s blanket, what had once been a source of comfort for the man during cold days, now laid upon his shoulders and he could feel none of its warmth, its texture. His bare feet walked across the earth and he could feel no dirt, no jagged edge beneath the soles. Mere inputs and outputs.
There was a force within himself, pushing him down a path deep within Zaun’s diseased and neglected corners. He hadn’t an idea where to go, or what to do after waking up from death, except he couldn’t bear to look at what Jayce had done with their Hextech dream, so he ran as far as he could from it all, a single desire to help the people burned within his undead chest.
These folks, whom even Zaun itself had exploited and abused, were on their knees before him as he replenished their health and their minds, and he did not feel pride or mighty. Just a sense of duty, of belonging. If he must be wretched back from the death where he should have stayed, at least he could do some good deeds with it.
II.
Material possessions must be shed within the commune's confines. One must learn to share with everyone else, to live in harmony, to not hold ownership over any property, any belongings. That was the teachings everyone had agreed upon together.
However, they were more lenient when it came to their leader. Viktor recognized his own hypocrisy, but he reasoned these were the only things left from when he was human, and he wished to keep them close to remind himself of his humanity. His people understood without qualms.
Except the newcomers. They still had much to learn and to adapt to, having their lives changed so rapidly. He couldn't exactly blame them. So when he couldn't find his cane and his blanket after a night's rest, he tried to quell the anxiety rising in his chest. Surely, no one here would purposefully steal from him. It must be a misunderstanding.
He asked around, tried to refrain from going into his people's heads and seeing for himself who took them, but with each moment he was without his belongings, the more vulnerable and out of depth he felt. He walked the plains of their camp, up and down, left and right, asking, looking, keeping his composure and trying to deny the real reason why he was so wracked with fear of losing these objects.
Then he stumbled upon their newcomers’ quarters, and Viktor had to constrain his own anger at the sight of a group of children playing with his cane, decorating it with baubles and paint, while his blanket was being washed, dunked in soap and scrubbed into a rock by Salo and a few others.
With great effort, Viktor swallowed the first reactive words that jumped to the tip of his tongue. The children swarmed him, showing him their work and at the sight of their innocent joy, he couldn't bear being angry any longer. Paint could be washed away. Baubles could be taken off. It was fine.
His blanket, however…
“Herald!” Salo greeted with a grin, waving him over, seemingly unaware of his troubled mood.
“We were hoping to help clean your things before you woke, but the little ones got out of control. Apologies.”
He shook his head. The little ones could be forgiven, but what they were doing to Jayce's—, to his blanket, could not be reversed.
“Why have you done this? I haven't asked you to do this.” Viktor tried to keep his voice down and his tone mellow, not wanting to portray how upset he truly was. Because he understood this was a mistake. They simply wanted to help.
He knelt and took the wet cloth back, wringing it dry and tried to keep the tremble of his hands hidden.
“I'm… sorry, Herald. I just thought we should help. You are always so busy and we noticed your garment hasn't been cleaned in a while and—” Salo prattled on and he raised a hand, nodding solemnly as he gathered his things.
“I appreciate the gesture, Salo. I do.” He patted the head of one of the children clinging to him and smiled at them, trying to ease their worried minds, “I know you were only trying to help, but please leave the maintenance of my possessions to myself. And please don't come into my tent without me knowing again.”
There was a cacophony of apologies that trailed after him as he left and he was quick to accept them all, to forgive and move on. He wished not to dwell on this any further. Maybe he needed more work assigned to the newcomers, so their idle hands would have something to do.
He hurried back to his tent, a wet bundle in his arms as he tried to hold himself together, at least until he could be alone again.
When his tent door was drawn and he was by himself, he collapsed and brought the blanket to his nose. Desperately, he searched for the scent of a blacksmith’s forge again, the deep musk of sweat and mahogany aftershave still lingering within the strands of the fabric after all this time. But alas, all he could smell was watery soap.
It should not matter. He should have left all this sentimentality behind when he had left him behind. But when the last traces of him were washed away for good, Viktor begrudgingly allowed himself a moment of grief.
III.
The gear rolled around his fingers, metal upon metal, as he absentmindedly listened to his community’s latest quandary. The Noxus Army was at their gate, waiting for an opening, and though Viktor should be more worried, all that occupied his mind was this gear, and his long lost partner who just came back from the dead.
Salo’s blood still clung to the membranes of his mind and Sky advised him to be more worried. He should be fearful, should set up precautions to protect himself and his people from Jayce and his unpredictability. Viktor only refuted her concerns.
Jayce would not hurt him. The man might be unstable and dangerous right now, but not to him. He was sure of it.
He wasn’t certain about a lot of things in the world, but that was a constant he knew he could rely on. Jayce might hurt his feelings with his words or his ignorance, but he could never raise a hand towards him, no matter how disturbed he may appear.
So Viktor waited.
He sent out instructions for his people to guide Jayce to him. He bided his time and waited for his partner to return, to finally share with him the work he had done, the good he had wrought. To convince him to help, to enact their dreams together. It still wasn’t too late.
He almost smiled at the visage of his dear friend, it had been far too long. But before he could descend, before he could even think, his undead heart tightented when Jayce didn’t utter a word. Didn’t wait for him to explain. Didn’t let him get a single word out before he raised his hammer with gritted teeth and so much agony upon his weathered features. And for the first time since Viktor woke up from death, he felt something.
Pain, pain of betrayal and pain of confusion ripped through his chest and he fell. His weak hand lost its grip on the gear while the other clutched upon the blanket, a piece of Jayce he was still unable to let go.
With each heaving breath, his eyes begged to fall close, but he fought through. He needed to see why. He needed to understand.
How could Jayce do this? Jayce would never do this. His Jayce could never do this.
He didn’t understand.
He couldn’t understand…
IV.
He tried to reason with him. He tried convincing him to see the truth, see the good they could do. But his partner was too influenced by an unseen force. Something even stronger than their bond.
So Viktor severed the tie completely.
He gave his old mentor the go ahead and soon after, he was reborn, a monstrous creation that resembled neither man nor machine. Something beyond.
The Noxus Army wasn’t his first choice of allies, but they were a path towards what he needed to do. Just a little bit more ugliness to achieve eternal peace and homogeneity for all. A minor sacrifice to make, all things considered.
He looked down at his new body and found it lacking. No bad leg, no lungs to struggle for air, yet he still felt a need to have something in his grip, to aid him in his gait, for nothing but familiarity alone.
He dug through the rubble, and his hand wrapped around his cane, what had once helped him walk was now a symbol of power, of completion to his new form. And just because he couldn’t help it, he also took in the tattered pieces of blue cloth nearby, destroyed in the chaos but still resiliently remained. He felt a certain kinship to the object.
Without overthinking it, he draped it over his renewed body and marched onward to war.
V.
Jayce was so miniscule compared to him. A single mote in a galaxy of stars. Yet, he still seemed to burn brighter than most.
As he poured his heart out, as he confessed and tried his hardest to make Viktor see himself the way he saw him, a sudden, almost violent, sense of apprehension hit him.
As Jayce showed him what he had seen in his time lost within the Arcane, the need for air came rushing back to him with a choked gasp. He had peered upon his own visage, old and weathered, a look of deep remorse and adoration when he gazed down at his own Jayce, immobile and lifeless, surrounded by the only patch of greenery in a planet of grey.
The blanket still hung upon the other Viktor’s person, discolored by time and worn by age, but still the very one.
Hesitantly, penitently, he came to the realization of what he had done. Of what he was about to do.
It still wasn’t too late.
Jayce, his Jayce, still human and true, clasped his hand with a promise, one he would not break this time. “We finish this together.”
Viktor wouldn’t lie to himself and say death didn’t scare him, but with his partner beside him again, he found he could go through it once more.
It wasn’t too late to fix this.
+1.
The sun was shining upon his face and he swallowed down the lurch of nausea. This wasn’t what he expected death to be, but when a solid body collided with him and he was pulled into a pair of meaty arms, he realized he might not be as dead as he had expected.
“Jayce?”
“Viktor…” His partner uttered, so breathless and disbelieving, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was real.
“We’re okay.” There was a delirious tint to Jayce’s laugh as he ran his warm hands over Viktor’s skin, and he suddenly noticed he had skin again.
“We’re okay,” he echoed, running his fingers along his partner’s flesh, refamiliarizing himself with touch and feel once more after months of muted nothingness.
Then his hand bunched into the blue blanket draped across his lap and he chuckled, bringing it to his nose, inhaling deeply and shivering at the scents entering his nostrils again. How he’d missed this.
“What does it smell like?” Jayce asked, an adoring smile playing at the corner of his lips. The warm breeze whizzed past them, tousling his long, shaggy hair, and Viktor reached up to smooth it down, carding his human and tactile fingers into his beard, scratching at his scalp.
“It smells like you.” He smiled back, pressing his head against his partner’s, feeling true breaths returning to his lungs. “It smells like home.”