The Shape of Restraint - Zaundads AU
What if the kids never made it to the cannery and nobody dies?
Or
Silco sets a trap for Vander after reading his letter, and Vander predictably walks right into it. Alone. Tensions flare and Vander gets a little too close for comfort.
(Content warnings: blood, stabbing, graphic injury, kidnapping, fire, unhealthy dynamics, may continue this and write it as a fucked up dynamic where vander is serving penance for the drowning and silco establishes that through some sort of bdsm fuckery idk.)
Silco doesn’t realise what's happened until he feels a warm wetness ooze over his fingers. Vander's eyes are still on him, eyebrows twisted from rage to shock.
It was reflex more than intent, Vander's proximity making caution snap tight in his spine and causing a swift reaction.
Vander grunts, the sound knocked out of him as his body begins to realise it's been wounded. Suddenly all that weight collapses forward. The taller man slumps, momentum carrying him straight into Silco’s chest.
Silco barely manages to keep them both upright. His boots skid on the oily floor, tired muscles screaming as he braces, arms reactively locked around Vander’s torso.
This is the closest they’ve been in years. Too close. Vander’s breath ghosts warm against his neck,ragged and wet, and Silco freezes.
For a heartbeat, he can’t move. For another five he feels like he is under water again.
He doesn’t know why he hesitates. Why he doesn’t shove the man away. This man who cut him open. This man who held him under until the world went dark. It should be easy to push him off the galley and into the flames below.
Instead, Silco forces his body to obey him. Slowly,carefully, he lowers them both to the ground as his strength gives out.
Vander’s grip loosens, fingers clutching weakly at Silco’s shoulders before slipping free. The Hound of the Underground lies heavy in his lap, eyes glassy, unfocused as his consciousness slips.
Silco stares down at him. Its almost funny, for all of his bravado and fists he's just a dog bleeding out in his master's lap. Dark glistening blood seeps through Silco's fingers, coating them in crimson. The blade is serrated, still embedded in the flesh of Vander's stomach having torn through skin and presumably muscle. A small urge takes over him. To twist it. Feel the flesh tear and rip into it with shameless abandon. He can't seem to move however.
When Silco manages to breathe, all he can smell is the metallic tang of blood mixed with Vander’s sweat. It’s familiar somehow, infuriatingly so. A memory surfaces of being held in that smell, cocooned in blankets against the biting winter cold, legs tangled together.
He can hear the blood rush inside his head, feel his pulse hammering in his chest. The Hound looks pathetic, one of his hands resting on Silco's thigh, fingers splayed as if reaching upwards for him.
Silco has a choice to make.
With shaking hands, he reaches into his waist coat and pulls free a small vial of Shimmer, miraculously unharmed in its metal case. It's clearer than the street-grade drug, the purple tinge faintly luminous. A new prototype, created by The Doctor for his bad eye. Untested, other than on it's intended patient, and even that only minimal doses with multiple warnings.
Silco ignores all of that.
He pries Vander’s mouth open, feeling the faintest breath being pushed out, thumb pressing against clenched teeth, and tips the vial past his lips.
He roughly tilts Vander’s head until his throat works reflexively around the liquid. The Hound sputters, but swallows, a line of shimmer ghosting trails down the side of his mouth.
Silco watches, observing for any change. Impatient, he pulls out his injector. His shaking hands steady enough to reach over to where the blade is wedged into flesh and jabs it in, pushing down on the thumb button until all the remaining doses have dissappeared into bloody skin. Once done he retracts it, tossing it onto the floor as he looks at the wound.
Heaving, he follows every detail. Traces the cuts with his fingers as he tries to slow his breathing.
Again, a sharp voice in his head commands him to push his fingers into it, feel the warm flesh before it turns cold. Enjoy pushing the knife ahead, to dissect Vander like an animal and take a look at all of his insides.
Impulsively Silco grabs the handle of the blade and pulls, fiercely enough to cause the serrations to rip through more skin. The purple residue engulfs the newer wounds, patterns of liquid mixing with fresh blood. The blade settles on the floor with a clatter as Silco loses grip, his hands reaching to feel the pulse on Vander's neck.
Suddenly life grasps the body. The Hound coughs violently, fingertips grazing Silco's leg.
Someone is calling Silco's name. Sevika, he registers unconsciously as his hands push Vander's away.
Silco's watches Vander's terrified eyes as he gets to his feet. He sets a boot upon the top of Vander's chest, soft enough to not hurt his wound, hard enough to make a point. He twists the heel further and inches his foot upwards to the man's neck and presses until he can see the veins popping.
Pale blue eyes meet Silco's, almost pleading.
A ghost of a smile settles onto the edge of Silco’s mouth as he takes a final look at his pet. He issues his orders evenly, and his men make quick work of tying limbs in thick rope until the Hound is completely restrained. Once satisfied, Silco turns away without another glance at Vander, walking off with Sevika at his right, already deep in plans for the next chembaron meetings.