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There was water splashing all over him, like the tides in the sea and the wind in the winter air. There was water invading his ears, his mouth, nose, and eyes. Or more accurately, his eye. There was water everywhere. Everything burned, inside and out.
“Forgive me, Silco. Forgive me.”
Everything hurt, again, inside and out. That voice was what hurt him the most. To have someone who he once thought of as a brother, reaching out to strangle him, to choke him to death.
Death. The very thing they had promised to face together, has come to collect only him. People say death comes slowly, shadowing over you like the fog in Zaun’s sky at dawn. But no, death came violating. Crashing through his body, his mind, his soul. Death came painfully, like water he took in instead of air. Finally, death got to him.
* * *
He opened his eyes once again, which was unexpected even for himself. He had thought to have lost an eye, but his sight was the same as before. Before everything that had happened. He wasn’t even sure if it was all real and not a dream, or a nightmare, to be exact. Was he breathing? Was his heart beating? Was this his mind thinking?
He sprang up from the bed he just noticed as he did. The wooden floorboard hit his feet, cold and hard. And then he collapsed, knees giving in. He must have been in bed for quite a long time. Hearing the sudden thud, footsteps came closer from outside the door. The door burst open, by the man he would recognize even when he couldn’t with everything else.
“Silc, you’re awake!” The man cried out, rushing over to get Silco up from the floor. Hands covered in calluses brushed his sensitive skin, holding his waist and arms. As the man put Silco back on the bed and sat by him, the strong but familiar scent of tobacco pierced his nostrils. It was Vander.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Vander whispered apologetically. Silco tried to say something back but only rasps came from his throat. The bigger man hurriedly filled a cup from the bedside table and handed it over. Silco accepted with both his hands and eagerly drank it all down. Funny, the water that led him to death was bringing him back to life.
“Thank God you’re back.”
Silco let out a feigned laugh. Vander’s brows furrowed.
“We both know neither of us believe in God, or gods, in that matter.” Silco’s face stiffened, looking at his once-called brother straight in the eyes. Vander turned his head away. And by the glimpse in his eyes, the pain trapped in it, Silco knew something was wrong. Something was clearly wrong, even besides all this shit that has happened.
“What is it? Tell me,” He spoke, grabbing Vander by his bicep.
“Nothing. ‘Should go back to sleep, you must be tired.”
“‘Nothing?' You can’t even stand to look at me. Tell me now, what is it?” Silco persisted. Hesitation flashed across Vander’s face. Held by his own thoughts, Vander couldn’t see Silco gulp hard, trying to keep down something that might have been fear, anger, or even despair. He seemed to be looking for words.
“That night, in the river…” Vander started out. Silco closed his eyes, drifting back to the scraps of his memory. “You had a cut under your left eye,” he went on, “which got infected by the river’s toxins.” Remembering the pain, Silco opened his eyes again. So that’s what it was, he thought. They were all real.
“Let me see it.” He looked back at Vander, not a hint of hesitation in his voice but utter determination.
“The doctor said it’ll probably spread over time.” The man got up, the mattress creaking as the weight lifted off the bed. He went deliberately out of the room, taking a glance at Silco, then came back with a small mirror in his hand. “At the moment, we can only slow down the progress of it.” He handed it to him.
Silco flipped the mirror, facing himself inside the silver glass. And for a moment he didn’t—or couldn’t—move a muscle. He stared and stared at the familiar stranger looking back at him. His left eye was orange, surrounded by a black sclera. The rage burning inside him was now visible as the ring of flames in his eye. His eyes broke contact as Silco’s gaze shifted onto Vander.
“I understand what you must be feeling, I… I’m sorry. I know words won’t change anything, but I am.”
“How can you say that you ‘understand’ me when you’re the one who left me with this scar in the first place?” Silco scoffed, then stood up once again, trying not to stumble this time. He knew without looking that Vander was watching him, twitching with anxiety. In spite, he sped up, legs wobbling step by step. He went out of the room, took one look at the house that was once their home, and left without further ado.
* * *
“This is what I’ve been working with, for now.” Said the bony man, handing Silco an injector and a couple of bottles filled with pinkish serum. “It’ll do the job.” The undercity’s doctor raised his thin eyebrow. “Need me to do it for you?”
“No,” Silco replied. He turned his weakened body and walked outside.
After a few tens of minutes in the street, his head started to ache. It was one of the subsequences Singed had told him about. Migraines. Caused by the anisometropia that arose from the incident. He clenched his jaw, trying not to give in to the pounding pain. He held his injector, fumbling with it to get it in the right position. Cold metal pressed around his chem-burnt eye. He managed to get the shot in his eye but flinched at the appalling sensation.
“Fuck,” He muttered. Pressing the damaged eye with his hand, he staggered a few steps forward before collapsing on the glistening pavement.
* * *
“Silco?” He blinked his blurry eyes. There was that voice again. It seemed he couldn’t escape from within Vander’s reach. He opened his eyes, sight clear this time, sitting upright and then leaning on the bed’s headboard.
“Why am I here?” His voice came out low. Vander, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, carefully brushed Silco’s hands with his own. He thought of pulling his hands away but only had the strength to stay nonchalant.
“You don’t remember,” Vander replied with his usual accent, evidently disheartened. What was he talking about? What didn’t Silco remember? Then he continued, “You came to me last night, to The Last Drop.”
Oh.
“I found you on the doorsteps, calling my name—calling me.”
“I was unconscious,” Silco disputed. But even he didn’t have the answer to why it had to be Vander, of all people. Well, probably because he was all Silco had left to lean on since Felicia was now gone.
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I am… aware.”
Silco gritted his teeth. “Then why did you take me in? To mock me? To make fun of the monster I’ve become, to tell me that this is who I always was on the inside?” He barked, driven by the rage flaming inside.
“You and I both know that’s not the case.”
“So just tell me. Why?”
Vander let out a deep sigh before visibly struggling to scrap words into something that’ll sound like a proper sentence. Silco’s glare deepened.
“Because, Silco, I love you.”
Silence.
“I still love you, I know, it won’t make sense to you, but I know .” His voice almost sounded desperate. But Silco didn’t blink an eye. “And the kids, they need you.”
And that was when Silco finally seemed to be affected by Vander’s words. He hesitated at first, but managed to ask, “What kids?”
“Our kids.” Silco flinched. There was a confused expression on Vander's face that only disappeared after a few moments. “I, I meant their kids. Violet and Powder.”
But Silco needed more explanation than that. Vander knew. He could recognize the look in his eyes.
“It made sense. We… were their godfathers, we’re the ones who brought that mess up, so, I cleaned up after my shit.”
There was another long, heavy silence between the two men. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity to the both of them, Silco finally met Vander’s gaze. He let out a deep sigh, sounding mildly annoyed but also exhausted. “Said you’d be a good parent.”
“Silco…”
“This doesn’t mean nothing had ever happened.”
“I know.”
“I’m just here to do my duty.”
“Right.”
“To act my part.” He quietly added, “As family.”
This was it, Vander’s last chance, to make everything right again. To fix every crevice between themselves. It would be a long journey, that he knew. There wasn’t any assurance that it would even lead somewhere, but there was the road, just steps ahead of him. He sought the opportunity, was given it, and…
“As family.”
He took it.