Chapter Text
I can never seem to escape
All the laughing
All the pain
If you were me
What would you do?
Nothing probably you’d just throw it away
Faget ~ Korn
Chapter 1
“Jinx,” Viktors voice is weak, cracking as he speaks, as he stumbles into the small arcade, leaning heavily onto his cane, still trembling with the force he must maintain to keep himself up. He doens’t get a response, not right away, at least, and he feels like collapsing right here, falling to the floor in a heap, just waiting here until he dies. But he sees two, bright magenta eyes staring his way from the dark of the joists above him. “It’s Viktor.” He adds, she’s hesitant to speak with anyone, she is a fugitive on the loose, after all.
“Jeez, you don’t look too hot.” Jinx laughs as she hops down onto the floor beside him, looking him up and down at the cane that looks like it’ll collapse under the force he puts onto it. He looks paler than before, even though she thought that was impossible, and the bags weighing down his eyes are heavier, darker.
“I need help…I cant live like this, not for long, and nothing is changing.” He rambles, an urgency in his voice she’s never heard before. It makes sense, their plan, the whole thing is taking far to long to execute.
They teamed up years ago, when Viktor came down here for the first time in a while after her attack on the lab. He needed that kind of energy, someone who shared his spite for the whole world, for Piltover specifically. He needed someone malicious, someone void of morals, someone willing to do whatever it takes to finally get the attention they deserve. And Jinx needed someone on this inside. Her and Silcos planned attacks were strong, almost every single one was successful, but they weren’t making as big of an impact as they had hoped. Piltover hadn’t crumbled, they hadn’t agreed to the terms that had been preposed for a peace, a ceasefire.
Viktor could get into Jayces head, that was the plan. Everyone there adored Hextech, they saw Jayce as a savior, Viktor as, maybe a support of that, but they saw him better than they say Jinx: a terrorist. He was close with a councilor, very close, as she had come to know through hushed conversations they shared. He could manipulate the people there, or maybe he could convince Jayce to join their side, to fight for Zaun like they wanted. The people would follow him, it was simple, they all new it. The Man of Progress, Piltover's Golden Boy, he -was everything they could’ve ever wanted. Smart, persuasive, strong, and oh, so hot. He was perfect eye candy for them to stare at if any of the cases the council covered were public, he was perfect to paste on cups and shirts and banners because all eyes are drawn to him.
“You need to get rid of them, Viktor, the other councilors. If Jayce is the only one left, you’ll have power. You can manipulate him however you please, Viktor, you know he would never hurt you, if you tell him to end the war with Zaun, he’ll end it.” Jinx insists, slowly walking deeper into the shadows, beckoning him over. He follows with a slow, staggered pace.
“I can’t Jinx, I can’t use him like that. Maybe I could gently sway him into a decision, but I’m not using him as a-a pawn in this game, he doesn’t deserve that, not after all that he’s done for me.” Viktors words slide past his lips before he can think about them, and they force a flush to his cheeks, he doesn’t talk about it much, he doesn’t have someone to talk about his love life with but her, and she’s all the way down in the Undercity, so it rarely happens.
Jinx slides a finger down her throat, gagging and sputtering as Viktor gets all sappy. “Ew, I don’t need to hear about all that.” She grumbles, though he can hear the smile in her words, the playful teasing peeking through her speech, the sharpness to her tone that he’s been hearing for years. The best part about coming down here is seeing her. They aren’t blood related, but they’re siblings, they grew up in the same house, were fathered by the same man, brought up on the same morals, the same idea that Piltover needed to burn for all of the things they had down, for how they forsake Zaun.
“Just…You have to understand me, I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be fair.” Viktors voice cracks, it crumbles under the mere thought, the simple suggestion of using Jayce, of hurting him in any way possible.
“Since when did you care about fair?” The question twists his guts into knots. Viktor didn’t for years, but going to Piltover for university has taught him, not everyone is bad. Jayce definitely isn't, he’s amazing, he’s the kindest, most honest person that Viktor has ever met, he’s never felt someone who touches him that gentle, that cradles him like he’s fragile porcelain, the most important thing to be found in the world.
He was never treated fairly, treated nicely, so why should he have extended such emotions and niceties to others? But now that Jayce is with him, now that hes met someone who handles him like he’s just another person, it’s hard to be so indifferent, to be so hateful, to have so much spite towards the other. It’s never been easy, to try and decipher what relationships he should treat gently, which ones he should try and eliminate. He was never good with emotions, with talking, and it only makes everything worse. Even with someone like Jinx, someone he shares every secret with, the person he confides in, he can’t seem to get his words out right. He stutters over every syllable, and stammers through his sentences. He says the wrong words that mean the wrong things and all of a sudden he’s conveying a completely different emotion than he’s intending to. His tone is wrong, he sounds sarcastic, or hurt, or angry, and he isn’t.
“I-I don’t know, but I care now.” And he’s doing it again, he can hear it in his own voice, how he sounds stern, angry, peeved. He tries to correct himself, but everytime it makes things worse. “I’m not mad. I just-I don’t know, I said it wrong.” Viktor stammers out, looking to see if she still looks hurt. A little, but if anything, she looks confused, concerned for his sporadic state of mind, and the ache clearly evident in his frame. “I have to go, I can talk with Jayce about the rest of the councilors. I’ll stop by tomorrow.” Viktor says, just trying to get away, he might not go back to the lab, not right away. Maybe he’ll make a pit-stop, check on Singed, see how he’s doing, maybe he’ll be able to see Rio.
“You look like you need a new cane.” Jinx says, right as he’s about to walk out. And she is right, he needs more support now, more than his current one can offer. He’ll probably have to swap back to a crutch at this rate. “I can have it finished by tonight.” She says with a straight lipped smile. She always used to make him his canes when they were younger. A few years after Silco found them, he had to have a crutch, his brace was broken and it would be weeks before the next one was made for him. So Jinx worked to make him one, well, Silco made it, found all of the materials, and crafted it with the help of some of his men, and Jinx scribbled colorful pictures all around it. But this time she can’t do that, she can't sign it with her signature colors.
“Fine. Just…Is there somewhere I can sit?” He grumbles, shuffling his way over to a battered, worn-in couch that’s been there for years. Even after sitting, everything inside of him aches, every bone protests movement, and his muscles are tugged taut around them. He does need a new cane, or, really a crutch, needs something to soothe the pain that just stays with him. Before it would drift away with sleep, Jayces nimble hands could, at least temporarily, melt away the pain, if he took his meds, he would forget, but now? It’s constant, excruciating, nothing seems to bring any relief to him, and it is getting tiring. He can’t stand anymore, he barely made it all the way down here without collapsing.
⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤
It’s hours before a crutch is presented to him. It’s messy, obviously, it was made in the undercity, but, thankfully, it’s void of any scribbles and bright colors, and it’s still the house Talis colors, so it’ll be easily disguised as something built in Piltover. They don’t talk anymore. He gets a soft smile, and than he’s on his way, heading down the crowded streets and alleyways until he gets to the trolleys that go to Piltover. Theres a line, a long one for every single carriage, and he’s not sure that he’ll even make it. There’s to many people, the streets are crowded, and he can’t hear his own thoughts over the commotion of the crowd. People slam into his shoulders, panicked strangers searching for their children, people sprinting towards the ticket booths.
He’s already been struggling to stand as it is, and with all of this going around, the loud buzzing of the carriages beeping, and people yelling, and feet shuffling, he’s not sure he’ll even stay standing for a few seconds more.
But he makes it, standing at one end of the bridge, his eyes heavy, every extremity feeling thousands of pounds heavier. But as he looks down at Piltover, he sees large separates, many, many, armed enforcers cutting him off from the lab, from the university. Still he staggers on through the crowd, but when he tries to continue forward, the *stock*(IS THAT RIGHT??) of a rifle slamming into his chest. He staggers backwards, groaning in pain as the breath is forced from his lungs, and he struggles for seconds to take in a breath.
“What-What is this? Let me get back to the lab, I need to, Jayce is waiting for me.” Viktor stammers after moments of fighting for a breath.
“We’ll send a call to the council.” The enforcer says simply, voice muffled by the mask.”Sit over there for now.” Another comes to his side, grabbing him with a very ungentle (FIND A BETTER WORD) hold and tugging him to a small, thin bench, a few others stationed nearby. Why is he being treated like a criminal, him and all these others who only want to cross the bridge. Somone in the council must’ve gotten a majority vote to do this, to stop all from the Undercity from coming up. Why would anyone want this?
⛤ㅆ🌀ㅆ⛤
“You ordered this?” Viktor asks shakily as Jayce stands before him, looking ruffled, like he slipped quickly into his coat and shoes and hurried out the door without managing to fix his hair.
“We needed to do something, Vik, these people, they want us dead, they’re dangerous.” He says, and the way that he looks over at the Zaunties, the parents holding sobbing babies, the children, the frightened individuals. He looks at them like they’re all criminals, murdered trying to breach the line between them and Piltover and go on a killing spree of all of the people.
"I’m from the Undercity, do you think I’m dangerous?” Viktor spits, venom pooling in the back of his throat, spraying out on the man before him with the flick of his tongue. He can hear himself, that disgusting spite rising inside of him. He thought Jayce was different, he thought he saw Zaunites the same as everyone else, but this is convincing him otherwise.
“No, Viktor, that's not- you’re different, okay? You’re not like them.” He stammers, running a hand over his face and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He looks apologetic, and even though it helps, even though he feels a tiny bit better, it’s not enough. He sounds like everyone in the council, fighting Zaun like everyone who lives down there is convicted of a felony, like they aren’t people with lives and families and feelings. He sounds just like everyone at the university when he first showed up, speaking in hushed whispers about how he didn’t belong, how he shouldn’t have been allowed in the school. He sounds like every other person who doubted him, who shoved him out of Piltover when he tried to cross because he wasn’t a “Valuable enough asset” to be allowed in.
Maybe Jayce isn’t different. He isn’t special, he doesn’t see Viktor as anything but weak, yet somehow a danger, like the fact that he has the blood of the Undercity in his veins makes it so he’s capable of heinous things. He should go back to Jinx, should tell her he’s completely, one-hundred percent okay with manipulating Jayce now, with dragging him into the game.
“I’m sorry, Viktor, you know I didn’t mean it, I’m just under a lot of stress, and pressure, and it slipped out. I didn’t mean it.” Jayce stammers, offering Viktor a hand. He swats it away, and stands by himself, leaning heavily on his newly crafted crutch. He walks slowly, unable to walk fast enough to avoid the hand resting on the small of his back so he just deals with it, for now. Smoke plumes up around them, a ringing flooding his ears as something behind them crashes, a bottle shattering and spitting up flames. Jayces grip tightens, and he tugs him along, making him trip over his own feet.
By the time theyre back in the lab, Jayce is shaking, pacing around and around he lab table, rabling on and on about all of his worries that Viktor couldn't care less about. He wants to be alone. He wants to step back to his room, hide beneath his covers and cry into his arms because the one person he thought was different ended up being just like all the others.
“I don’t know what to do, we can’t attack Zaun, if we do it’ll only stress the relationship…But we can’t do nothing, Viktor, they want us dead, so many of them!” Jayces worries are arbitrary to Viktor. He doesn’t care what happens to Piltover, and right now, he feels like he doesn’t care what happens to Jayce either. “I-I need help with this, please.”
“I don’t know, Jayce, I am not the damn councilor! It’s your whole job, isn’t it, to figure these things out?” Viktor says, hands balled up tightly into fists, resting on his desk as he reserves the demand to throw something across the room, to watch it shatter. His breathing is heavy, ragged, and uneven, but he can’t calm it. He has been angry, so, unconditionally angry, and not a moment in his life has he been able to voice said emotions. He had to be polite, he had to be kind, because people barely accepted him, he couldn’t be unwanted and irritating. He learned to present himself gently, to make his life sound like a sob story he came out the other side of better. But he didn’t grow with his life. The only thing that matured, that grew was his unadulterated aversion for everyone that even dared to shame him, to shame others who were “lesser”. The spite that boiled in his veins never stopped flowing through his body, despite how harmless he made himself seem.
“Get out of the lab…You’re a counselor, not a scientist.” He growls, and immediately, regret bubbles in his gut as Jayces face drops, his eyes growing wide, wet with tears, his brows furrowing in hurt, in pain. After the regret comes a soft buzzing feeling. Satisfaction. Jayce, the Golden Boy, the picture perfect example of a man finally experiencing what Viktor has been going through his entire life, since the moment he landed in Piltover.
“You don’t mean that, Viktor.” Jayce trails off, his hands trembling as he reaches out for Viktor, hesitant to even touch him. He decides against it, stepping closer slowly, trying to close the distance between them, thinking that maybe proximity will ease the palpable tension in the air.
“I said get out!” Viktor insists, his chest heaving with every breath as his anger crescendos, exploding in a climax of screaming words and a seething voice. He hears fleeting footsteps, the door swinging shut without another word from Jayce. Finally, peace. Solitude.
Once the room is finally cleared, and it’s only him, he can stagger over to the couch nestled in the corner, relaxing into the leather with the dark blue blanket draped over him. He’s pretty sure it’s Jayce’s, he remembers him bringing it here on a rather cold morning, saying he was worried Viktor would freeze with his already bad circulation. It smells like him too, that scent of a thickly wooded meadow, of dewey grass and flowers, sweat and scorched, singed metals. He can’t stop his hands from raising it to his nose as he breathes the scent in, relishing the smell as it floods through him. He’s angry at Jayce, extremely, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him. He longs for his hands, his touch, his words. He longs for his love.
As he lies there, the anger slowly begins to dissipate, melting into a sadness that’s all consuming, flooding his mind with the thoughts of them years ago, when things were going well, when he wasn’t dying, when he still had compassion. He thinks of how just the other night Jayce was holding him, petting over his hair and telling him, chanting that it would be okay, everything would be alright, as he lay in a hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes blank, breathing shallowly. It was just a few nights ago he thought he was going to die in Jayces arms, and he was content with that.
He can feel the tears at the back of his throat, making every inhale of breath labourus, making his vision blurry as water floods, shoving at his eyes, trying to bully their way past valiant defenses. When he first came here, all he wanted was someone to lean on, someone who supported him who loved him for what he was, what he could be, and he really, truly thought that was Jayce. But now he’s turned on his people, calling them villains, monsters, murderers, when Viktor knows, deep down, so, so many of them are just people. Desperate people, individuals and families that have been on the brink of death, starvation, and infection for who knows how long. Viktor knows that everyone down there just wants a chance for their sister, or brother, or father, or mother to live gently, to thrive, they want more than just survival, they want experiences, they want ease .
Piltover can offer that, it has been able to for years, but only to a select few, only to those who can pay, only to those who don’t reek of sweat and blood and dirt. They can offer a wonderful live to those that they deem worthy, which is only a very, very select few, those who are clean, wealthy, presentable.
Seeing Jayce look at those people with such disgust in his eyes changed how he sees him, makes him think that he isn’t different, he isn’t special, he isn’t loving like he promised he would be all those nights ago.
Everyone changes, every single person is different, they leave him, they run the other direction. Jayce has left him forsaken, his mother forfeit when he was only eight, and his father refused to use gentle hands, refusing to cradle him. Those he used to call friends, the young boys he would converse with talked about him behind his back, would toss his toys in the river and watch as he failed to keep up. They would shove him into the mud, kick his favorite stuffed toy around until its fur was matted with dirt, and keep him down on the ground, would pin his arms and legs back, as if they could even be used in a type of defense. He was too weak, too fragile to fight back, so he just took it. He would just lie there, and let them hit him, over, and over, no matter how bad it hurt. And then he would run, wash himself in the dirty, murky water, let it mix with the salt of his tears and stain its way into his shirt.
He would hide, tucked beneath thin blankets with a scraggly pillow held to his lips, as if it’ll muffle his cries. It never did, not well enough, because his father would hear, asleep in the bed beside him, and Viktor would wake to grumbling yells, and slurred, angry words.
He spent his life running, no matter how slow it was, he would head out in the morning, and then run from those who hurt him. And then when he would get home, the only way to escape the wrath of angry, calloused hands would be to run again, hide in the shallow of a cave, cradling himself through the cold of the night. Sometimes people would drop him blankets and food, adults wouldn’t be able to hold back tears as they passed a boy, alone, shivering and starving and broken. Sometimes he wouldn't get anything, he would just lie with his head on a pillow of rock, the thinnest of blankets hiding him from the cold.
Everyone turned on him, everyone who pretended to care, everyone who should’ve cared did not, they chose themselves over him, chose their acceleration in a job, in schooling, in life. Jayce chose the council, he chose it over late nights in the lab, and exploring the Hex-Tech. He chose himself. Just like every single other person has with him.
His smell is trapped in this stupid blanket, and trapped all around this room, burned into every piece of furniture he touched. It might as well have replaced Viktors own scent with how much he insists on touching him. A hand on his back, another on his shoulder, one sometimes finger-combing knots from his hair without him even having to ask.
He touched him like he loved him, like he wanted to keep loving him for years on, for lifetimes, for millennia. Maybe Viktor is just bad at identifying emotions, at telling how other people really feel, but Jayce loved him. He’s sure of it, he loved him back, maybe he still does, but there was something there, something that he knew stretched beyond the concept of friendship, past the intimacy of kinship. There was something more, and he wanted to explore it, so, so badly, he wanted to see just how much he could be loved, and he thought he would get to experience that through Jayce. He was sure of it for years.