Care and Feeding of Little Sisters (Part Two)
Sickness in Zaun was, generally, Kind of a Big Deal. Doctors were hard to find, medicine was hard to come by, and a small cut or cold could get infected or worsen rapidly.
Vi herself had pneumonia as a kid, nearly died from it. She didn't really remember it; just had flashes, dream-like memories between the fever and the coughing and the restless, nightmare riddled sleep. You had to be careful. You had to be aware.
Still, it was also a rough life, and injuries and sickness did happen. It wasn't always the end of the world, and Vander had once spouted, in all his wisdom, that you weren't a parent (or a big sister, Vi,) until you'd been puked on at least once.
Vi's most vivid (sadly) memory of this was the very first time Powder decided she wanted to stay awake as long as the older kids in the pack. She couldn't even really remember why, or what was going on, or why the hell she'd agreed; but Powder had loaded up on every hidden sweet and sugary treat she had squirreled away.
Vi had always known Powder was a little packrat that way, but never realized how bad it was until her sister was practically vibrating through the roof. Vaguely concerned, mostly amused, she'd watched Powder bounce from one interest to the other, chattering a million miles a minute, and told Mylo (twice) to stop throwing a ball for her to chase. Just because she was a hyperactive puppy- just because it was sort of funny how easily amused she was- did not mean that it was ok.
By the end of the night, Powder had still passed out before the rest of them, and Vi sat, legs curled under her, on the couch; one hand absently threaded through Powder's hair, the other propping up her chin as she listened to Mylo talk, contentedly sleepy and warm and peaceful. Her boys were good, she could hear Vander whistling to himself in the front, and Powder was a happy kitten, a heavy warm weight against her with a little smile on her face.
"Guys." Vander's voice, drifting to them through the left-open door, "head on to bed, huh? Early start tomorrow."
"'K." She stretched, yawned, pushed a hand through her hair. "You heard him, boys." She made a 'shoo' motion with one hand, turning away from where they were picking themselves up to consider how to do this. Eventually, she decided the best way would be just to bridal carry her sister.
"Powpow." She warned, gently, before shifting to lift Powder into her lap. "C'mon, let's go to bed."
"Mmmffff'i." Came the reply, which was maybe supposed to be her name? Vi chuckled as Powder wrapped her arms around her big sister's neck, chin on her shoulder. She started up the steps, out of the room, to head towards their rooms; she was halfway there, just behind Claggor, when Powder made a noise like a whump with a hairball.
"Pow?" She paused, confused and concerned.
"Everything ok?" Claggor turned, halfway, to glance back at them; but Vi only had eyes for Powder, who had made the noise again, her stomach convulsing.
"I- don't- something's wrong with Pow-"
That was as far as she got before her little sister's eyes snapped open and she retched.
It happened in slow-motion, and it happened in a heartbeat, all at the same time. She saw what was about to occur but could do nothing to stop it. Horror filled Mylo's eyes. Claggor jumped backwards.
Powder exploded.
Vomit spilled down Vi's back, over her shoulder, splattered the stairs and ground at her feet, soaked into her pants. Vi, even at fourteen, was tall and broad, and Powder was high enough in the air for it to splatter, covering poor Claggor, the wall, the railing. It got in Vi's hair, on her face, on her arms.
"Oh my God!" Mylo yelped, half-laughing, half horrified, his eyes taking up his entire face. "That's like her entire body weight-"
"Not helping, Mylo!" Vi's voice did not hit an octave that was more suited to Powder. She did not squeak, her voice did not break, and she did not scream when Powder erupted a second time, covering her in fresh puke.
"Where did she get more?-"
"Mylo!! Get Vander!"
The scrawny little rat of a boy raced off to do just that, and Claggor, hands groping vainly, finally spoke.
"Put her down, Vi-"
But Powder tightened her grip as Round Three rang in, sobbing. "No! No, don't wanna, Vi, Vi-"
"Shhh, shhh, I've got you, I'm not letting go-" She was going to puke. She was going to puke and then they'd just be in this Puke Cycle and they'd be trapped down here, forever, vomiting on each other until someone drowned-
"I can't. Besides, it'll just get everywhere else if I move heeeeerrrr oh my God oh my God oh my God-" She took shallow, harsh breaths, screwing her eyes shut. It was fine. It was fine. Just puke. Not that bad. Just Powder. She'd changed her diapers. Pow'd peed in Vi's mouth once when she was still a tiny baby. She'd cleaned up diarrea and food art and worse.
She could handle this.
"What in the hell is going on down here?"
Still, she'd never been so glad to hear Vander's voice.
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Powder's absolutely epic empty wasn't the only time any of them wound up covered in puke, though.
Sometimes, Vi remembered Sevika when she was still Aunt Sevika. She remembered it with bitter anger and resentment but also something soft and sad, too; Sevika, who told her once that she was beautiful even though she wasn't willowy and slim and delicate like the pretty girls she'd seen in Piltover that morning.
Who would, when in a really good mood, sometimes swing Vi up on her shoulders like she was nothing and let her ride around up there, or would carry Powder around under her arm and call her a little monkey.
Vi trained with and under Vander; but Sevika became her main sparring partner very quickly after she learned the basics. She had less of a tendancy to hold back and even less tendancy to take it easy; Vander would supervise, coach, instruct from the sidelines but rarely, if ever, step in. He would wait with sweat towels and drinks and generally, the matches were short and intense.
Today, though, Vi was holding her own against the larger woman (which, of course, had Vander heckling from the peanut gallery about Sevika getting tagged by a fifteen year old.) (Which, of course, had Sevika snorting like an irritated horse and going after the teen harder.)
Sweating, aching, Vi bent over her knees, soaked hair in her face, each breath sending pain through bruised ribs. She hurt, but she had only tapped out once (three times finished the match) and she was determined not to end up on the floor again; she just needed to catch her breath.
"You ok, Pink?" Vander called, lightly, as she moved over to get a drink from the bottle she'd brought with her. "Good?"
"Yeah, 'M good."
"Thatta girl."
She smiled, despite the exhaustion, despite the ache in her bones, despite the way her stomach churned and protested dangerously as she put the drink down, stretched and rolled her neck and shoulders.
He was proud of her, praising her, and as pathetic as it may have sounded, have been- that was all she wanted.
She stepped up for round two, taking her stance, readying herself. Vander gave the 'go', and Sevika came at her like a bull.
The first few minutes of the fight were perfect. Riding high on Vander's praise and determined to impress him, she watched Sevika carefully, stayed defensive ("Good girl. Good. Slow and steady now-"), and moved in when she saw Sevika drop her arm for an opening. (It may have been on purpose, looking back on it, either to give Sevika her own opening or to give Vi a small hint.)
Either way, she went in for it, using her smaller size to her advantage to go for the quick jab. She underestimated (or was tricked), though, and Sevika swiveled at the last second, a fist connecting solidly with Vi's stomach.
Normally, this wouldn't be an issue.
Even as an adult, looking back at this with bitterness and resentment, she knew Sevika was pulling her punches. She was teaching, not trying to hurt.
Still, Sevika's pulled punches were solid, hard enough to bruise, and precise.
The impact caused Vi's already roiling stomach to rebel instantly.
(Later, Vander would say he'd seen what was happening moments before it was too late to stop it. He could do nothing but watch it horror.)
The blow connected. Vi lurched with the impact, winded. Her stomach clenched.
Heat boiled up out of her throat before she was even fully aware of what was happening, and in the next five seconds, Sevika was liberally covered in child vomit from a good three feet away.
So was the floor, Vi herself, and Vander's shoes.
A long moment of silence filled the air as Vi stood, weaving, staring in abject shock and horror at what had just come out of her and the sheer violence with which it had done so. She had not given her body permission to do that, thank you very much.
"...are. You. Fucking. Kidding me?" Sevika's voice was tight, terse, and Vi could hear her breathing in tight, controlled bursts. It was the first sound to return to Vi's ears.
The second was Vander.
Vander, who was cackling uncontrollably.
"This is not funny, you washed up old-"
"Watch your mouth, kid." Vander's laughter didn't stop, even as he warned Sevika down. Vi realized her was holding a sweat towel out to the older woman, who took it with a sharp, terse motion.
"You knew that was going to happen-"
"I saw the trajectory, couldn't stop it." Vander wiped his eyes, still grinning like an idiot. "Maybe I should have waited before
sending her back in?"
"Oh, ya think? God, this is-"
"A kid. Congrats, Auntie Sevika, you're offically a parent."
"She is not my kid, I am not her Aunt, and I am going to ki-"
"Can I...go sit down?" Vi interrupted, weakly. The smell was making her stomach roll again, and she shame-facedly beat away her tears with hard blinks. She was humiliated, and it was Vander who first realized just how upset she was and stopped laughing almost immediatly.
"Oh, c'mon, kiddo, I'll help you get cleaned up." He offered, gently, pulling out another towel to, without even flinching, wipe away the tears and vomit on her face. Even Sevika sighed, and softened, and rolled her eyes.
"Cheap way to win, twerp." Was all she said, but the heat was gone from it as she stomped off herself, arms held far from her body.
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You aren't a parent until you've been puked on at least once.
Vander always made the joke, his tone jovial and good-natured. He liked to tell Vi about the time she'd gotten a nasty little stomach bug and vomited right down the front of his shirt; he would tell anyone who would listen about the day Powder had gotten into a bottle of alcohol and downed the whole damn thing, then vomited into his hair while he was sleeping and she'd crawled into bed with him for comfort.
He always told these stories with a shine in his eye, a wry twist to his lips, and nothing but the deepest and truest of love in his voice. She couldn't know it, but she always sounded just like him, when she would tell Caitlyn these gross, hilarious little stories. There was so much love in her eyes, in her smile, in her tone.
"Wonder if Powder ever puked on Silco." She said, once, absently, twining Caitlyn's hair between her fingers. "Bet that prissy fuck with his prissy clothes had a heart attack on the spot."
(She could not know it, again, but the answer was no.
No, he hadn't.
Because he always jumped clear. Once, he'd cleared the desk in a single bound. It was pretty damned impressive, actually.
But, seeing him hold the sick girl to his chest, crooning something low and soft in the base of his throat and wiping her too-hot forehead with a cloth, there was no one alive that could say he wasn't a real parent.)
