zaundad’s au where vander is taken by the enforcers after turning himself in for the explosion.
something about miscommunication and saving violet from turning herself in.
after the fact, vander’s territory is crumbling and benzo is holding water in his hands trying to pick up the pieces. silco hears and quickly catches on that maybe vander had a point in what he was doing. because at least his betrayal of cahooting with grayson was buying them time. and now zaun is dividing itself into shards of shattered pottery. and every thing is going to shit because there’s no one keeping all the ducks in a row.
and silco doesn’t really forgive vander, but after getting a tip about how he’s fighting for his life in stillwater, it makes him get a little crazy and protective. so much so that he actually finds himself considering forgiving the bastard. which ensues a ton of loathing and journal worthy emotions as he plans to save his stupid fucking soulmate that he literally hates with every bone in his body.
but he has violet knocking at his door just when he’s about to make the decision to either leave the hound to the wolves, or take vander’s place himself. and she’s so much wiser than her years, and she’s so blunt and courageous, that it reminds him of the way vander would protect them in the mines and during protests. using his brute strength and tuff demeanor to steer away danger. how he would shield them and barter their way through problems.
here was this young girl trying to act ten times her size and fill the same hole the silco himself had been trying so hard to fill. she was so angry that vander had chosen her over everything, and THAT made silco stop for a while. it made him almost jealous.
because vander has chosen everything over him. vander had chosen to act on his violence and guilt and he’d chosen felicia and piltover and the kids over silco.
so, anyway, just silco being pulled in two opposite directions as he tries to save vander from deteriorating in prison for protecting his daughter.
au were silco finds out vi is still alive. much earlier than in canon. and then having vulnerable feelings ensue) sorry silco. :(
here’s a teeny dabble on it while i think about how to go about it:
Silco didn’t make it a habit to travel Topside. He preferred the damp shadows of Zaun. And besides, a step in Piltover meant an immediate risk to his entire means. Which had been proven easily enough when he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Although he covered his bases, and he wasn’t dense, incidents occurred. In addition to the fact that he was unfortunately, still very human, and the bridge of the nation’s boarder made his head swim and his eye ache terribly. He’d ignore the pang of hurt that continued to hit him in the chest until the day he died. Possibly even longer.
Stillwater was probably the closest thing a convicted Piltie would get to living in Zaun. Enforcers at every corner, barely enough food, and enough back-talk to fill the Pilt River. It made him miss work in the mines. Where the labor was absolute shit, but the people kept you coming back. He’d leave with enough pain in his body to knock out an elephant, but with Vander’s arm keeping him warm and Felica’s sass reminding him to laugh. Back when it had all been worth it, without a doubt. Blisters and bedrock.
It was no matter to him either way now, Marcus would correct his people’s error. If he knew what was good for him and his naive child. Silco knew himself, and his people knew him almost good enough. There was a tight deadline ticking away the second the puny rookie with black hair had strapped his wrists. In the mean time, Stillwater was tolerable. Besides the florescent lights that burned his damaged eye.
A flash of magenta made him halt in front of the guard behind him. His shackles clanged as he took a step back.
She almost looked like her mother. Almost. Jinx was a closer resemblance. Violet held a wrath that seemed to seep from her bones, her eyes hardened with so much determination and attentiveness that it made him weary.
What truly made him stumble, was the way she held herself. The slightest slouch, making herself look smaller than she was. Her fists were wrapped by stained scraps of white fabric. They were clenched, making the linen taut around her swollen knuckles. And, by the way a few of the men around her slithered away, she had earned a level of rightful hierarchy inside.
Worst of all, Silco snapped his jaw shut, was the fact that she was so much like him. Like Vander. He didn’t need to venture towards her to know. He knew it by the way she stewed by herself while everyone else gathered in pairs and groups. How her lips twisted upon noticing him. Even the flicker of hope that crossed like a bullet.
A hopelessly lonely soul. Two peas in a pod.
Vander had been alone, before any one of their group had drawn together. He had been alone, and he had stewed. He lived by his brute strength and bravery, and Vi was following all the same footsteps. Like a child in thick snowbanks.
He almost pitied her. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it was more of a mourning. Of what their lives could have consisted of. If everything hadn’t gone sideways.
The moment was broken when a rounded baton poked him sharply in his spine, “Move.” He glowered. But, he did adhere to the rookie’s insolence. Vi was spinning her food tray around in circles on the table, eyes dark with murderous intent.
The blue of her eyes made him miss Connol, who had always managed to keep their chaos barred. Unfortunately, Vi didn’t seem to even vaguely carry such a patience from her biological father.
She really was Vander’s girl. Fitting.
He felt eyes on the back of head even after he was locked away behind four stone walls and an iron door. She had stuck to him like an oil residue, and he felt dreadful at the realization.
He reflected on the discovery of her life. Knowing he wouldn’t allow himself once his current mess was in the process of being cleaned up, there would be too much to be done after such a discovery. With Violet alive, there were bridges left unburned. And he would have to figure a way to either bury the hatchet, or find a match to strike.
If he could handle disposing of the one person he’d loved and trusted the most, he could deal with just another byproduct. He stared at one of the little glints of light through the cracks of the door.
But, as he was all by his lonesome in a frigid box, his mind wandered to Vander. And, against his will, he mourned some more.