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In all the chaos of the moment, Caitlyn's welcome to Jayce is short, quick; a look of pain that asked so many things that there was no time to talk about, not while Vi bled more and more in that carriage that was stumbling in the rush to get to medical attention as quickly as possible. Jayce could only hold her gaze, those eyes that reminded them of someone else, wanting to say that everything would be fine, but Caitlyn no longer possessed an ounce of impulsive youth to protect from reality.
Caitlyn's face, the young woman who used to smile at him playfully and who did not forgive him for his arrogance, had hardened at the edges, on her cheeks. There was a certain roughness, a certain degree of sharpness in her features that indicated that any trace of his Sprout's innocence had disappeared. And Jayce can understand it better than anyone.
Vi's skin was horribly pale, heavily contrasted by the hair, makeup, and black clothes she was wearing and the blood flower that slowly spread to the floor no matter what pressure Cait put on her wounds. She gave small unconscious moans of pain, even letting out a loud scream when she was transferred to a stretcher to carry her better, with all the delicacy that could be done at Cait's desperate request.
Jayce accompanied her inside the hospital, gently holding her elbows as doctors asked her to stay outside to begin removing Vi's bullets.
"I just got her back." She broke down in a sob, and Jayce made her sit in a chair. "I can't lose her."
Jayce brushed a few strands of her hair from those watery, panicked eyes, and stood up again, despite the pain. "I know, Cait."
He realizes, with a certain disdain for himself, that he no longer has any idea how to comfort. What softness could he have left, genuinely, after what he has just done?
Of who has he just killed, with a direct shot to the bare chest.
It is when the carriage stops in front of the Talis House that Jayce wakes up from his slight stupor, and for a moment does not understand where he is, or how he got there until he opens the door and goes down to the sidewalk, at the moment a woman opens the door and shouts his name, running with her arms outstretched towards him. It is at that moment that a primitive part, buried under the rubble of time and experiences in a broken world, recognizes her as that mother who sheltered him in his nightmares and kissed his cheeks to make him laugh, and Jayce simply breaks.
A heart-rending cry echoes in his chest as his mother lunges to support him before collapsing on the floor, and the coachman, compassionate, steps out of the carriage to help his mother carry his body, so heavy on Jayce himself that he could only squeeze her wrist and let the tears fall and fall.
"What happened to you? My precious son." His mother asked through her own crying. "You're so light."
Jayce can't answer. He can only turn his head to see her. "Mom..."
She lets out another sob, but Jayce loses the ability to react, his consciousness slowly fading as he recognizes the comforting, ever-reliable mother's warmth for which he had begged so much in the dark coldness of a ravine. His mind fogs and the thread of reality slips out of his hands again, and Jayce leaves it easily.
What wakes him up isn't the screech of one of those... things crawling through the crack of the ravine to reach him, nor is it the maddening clattering of drops falling into the lagoon, but a cloth dipped in warm water that was gently slid down his face, as if trying to erase something. When he opens his eyes, for a moment he thinks he is still dreaming, because he is greeted by the warm light of the almost dead sunset and the tender and torn smile of Ximena Talis.
"Hello, my love." She whispers to him, leaning over his body. Fat tears begin to form in her eyes again. "My beautiful sunshine."
"Mom..." Jayce can only say, and he also feels tears in his eyes. "I'm thirsty, Mom."
In the blink of an eye, a glass of cool water sticks to his chapped lips, and Jayce drinks anxiously, to the point of choking on the water, but he can't stop. He begs for another glass, and this time he takes the time to feel the water, clean water, which slides down his parched throat and falls to his chest in the rush. He sat down, on what appeared to be a couch, resting his forehead on his mother's shoulder, a trembling hand resting on his mother's slightly smaller one, who was also trembling, and wrapping her with the other arm, the scent of leather, iron, and what could only be something of his mother's, was like a balm that calms his erratic mind.
"I missed you so much." Jayce says, through the lump in his throat. "I should have listen you. I should have listen you, Mom, but no, I was an idiot and I deserved to have ended up like this. I'm sorry-"
"You don't deserve an ounce of whatever happened to you, my dear." His mother interrupts him with desperate determination, her free arm encircling him and rocking him slightly. "You don't deserve anything bad. Oh, my Jayce, what's happened to you? Who did this to you?"
Jayce can't answer. Nor does he have the right to sue the actions of the Wizard, of that old Viktor. Why? If he started.
If his martyrdom is his fault, that horrible future, the actions of that Viktor and Viktor, his Viktor, whom he had to kill to pay for his sin.
All of his sins.
His mother does not deserve to have as a son such a bad omen, such a devil who was only kept alive to unleash calamity. But Jayce can't help but be thankful, from the bottom of his selfish heart, to be her son, to have her love and embrace that contain and soothe him, no matter his lack of response or reaction.
He falls back into unconsciousness again, secure and almost happy, and wakes up very early in the morning, with his head resting on a cushion, over his mother's lap, whose hands rested on his hair and shoulder. He blinks tiredly, and with effort he sits on the sofa, watching the darkened living room, where so many times as a child he sat down to draw, read or listen to the radio while his mother knitted.
"Jayce?"
He turns around, and tries to give her a smile, but he knows it's more like a rough grin. "Sorry for waking you up. I want to go to the bathroom."
His mother, despite Jayce's insistence, does not go back to sleep, but instead helps him up the stairs, patient despite Jayce's slow and sore step due to the poorly healed leg. Sweat quickly trickles down his face again, even though Jayce literally climbed levitating rocks and steep crags alone, and shame burns his cheeks, feeling like a spoiled child.
"Go to sleep." Jayce says, in front of the bathroom door. "Thank you very much, mom. But I don't want to keep you up at night."
"You kept me up at night for all these months in which you disappeared. This is nothing." It almost seemed like a scolding, if it weren't for the anguished worry in Ximena's eyes. "I'll be right back, son."
His mother disappears into the dimly lit hallway, and Jayce cowardly hides in the bathroom, turning on the light and closing the door, hiding from the unknown darkness of his own home. His mother knocks on the door within minutes, and Jayce quickly pulls up his sweat and dust stiff pants before sitting down on the toilet, as she walks inside, with a chair, crutch, and towels all in tow.
"Mom, what-?"
"No, don't get up. I leave you here the crutch; I'll see if the doctor is still awake, we need to check that leg." His mother spreads the towels on the vanity and puts the chair under the shower before turning to Jayce, rolling up her sleeves. "Raise your arms, honey, that shirt doesn't do you any good. Let's take the opportunity to bathe you."
"Mom," Jayce grabbed her hand. "I can do it alone."
"Jayce, I wiped your ass-"
"Mom," Jayce felt a flash of embarrassment that lightly bathed a sudden wave of tenderness for this poor woman. "Why don't you call the doctor while I'm bathing?"
"What if you fall? What if you slip-?"
"I can, Mom." Jayce assured patiently.
Ximena breathed heavily, looking helplessly at Jayce, but nodded. "I'll go see if the doctor is awake. I'll be- Just scream if you need me."
I've already done it, so many times-
Jayce nodded, a dull ache in his chest. "Yes, Mom."
He waited for the sound of her shoes coming down the stairs before taking off his coat and shirt, which came off with some difficulty from his skin.
He is glad he made his mother leave, because what the fabric reveals is not pleasant to look at.
Dirt, rubbing and poor diet have caused so many skin conditions in him that he seemed to have been hit with a strap all over his body. He has red spots, or directly welts from the rubbing of the shirt on his skin, increased by dirt. After stripping his torso, he takes off the improvised splint and pulls down his pants; the hair has grown wildly on his legs, hiding the red marks that Jayce intensified when he couldn't help but scratching. The scar he knows he has on his back, from the mother of the boy he killed, stings from the stretch when he takes off his boots and finally, his socks and pants.
From the knee down, his body is even more damaged; the wound did not stop secreting the green pus, nor did the patterns, those that the Hexcore imprinted on his body for surviving in its world, stop spreading to above his knee. His feet have blisters, ulcers, and due to the moisture, the soles of their feet are cracked and with small holes that show pink flesh underneath.
It's horrible to watch. But that's what his body is now.
He stretches with some pain and reaches for the crutch, rising with a groan before advancing towards the shower, sitting heavily in the wooden chair. He clenches his teeth tightly as he twists his torso, the skin stretching like old, brittle cloth, and the pain is completely worth it as the nearly hot water drips down his hard hair, his shoulders, down his chest, until it licks the wounds roughly.
He has to breathe hard to calm himself and let the water continue to cleanse his skin; pain will do him good. He takes the sponge and lathers it with trembling hands, and lets out a hiss when he presses on the hot welts, but he perseveres. He cleans himself carefully, seeing how the water carries away the earth, the layers of sweat. Finally, he pours the shampoo into his hair and begins to rub it..
He hates to close his eyes, but he does it nonetheless. If as a child he irrationally hated the darkness, now he detests it with all the reason in the world, from so many times knowing that those beings are hidden in it.
But he gets used to it. And let the water clean him on its own.
He feels it coming down his back, itching at the poorly healed scar and small wounds. The hot water eats away the tension in his shoulders, his calves, his feet that always seemed to be frozen, and makes so many months of hell run away from him.
Peace worries him, but he can't help but get carried away by it, just a bit.
Although he knows well that everything ended too quickly.
Something is missing.
There is more missing from this scheme, and Jayce must foresee them before this timeline becomes that terrifying alternative. This will be his only time to recompose himself; he can't waste any more time.
He takes in breaths of hot air, the hot droplets sliding down his frown, relaxing him. He opens his eyes slightly, being greeted by a dense veil of steam that surrounds him. It's nice, like he's on a cloud.
He wonders if his mother managed to contact the doctor. He wonders if Vi is still stable in the hospital, if Cait is clinging to her hand, next to her.
He wonders if Viktor's body is still where it fell. Or if instead of leaving him there, someone covered him with a blanket, hugged his cold body and kissed his forehead, the one that protected that bright and kind brain that Jayce contaminated. He wonders if anyone else cried for him, if they knew that Jayce, just from invoking the memory, watered his eyes hard and his chest trembled with anguished wheezing.
Jayce tried to control his sobs; Viktor, his Viktor, would have preferred it that way, to prevent his memory from continuing to corrode.
With a couple of deep breaths, Jayce managed to calm down.
He can't waste any more time.
He turned off the shower faucet, and with the crutch, he reached for the towel that rested on a clamp. The steam slowly condensed on the tiles as Jayce dried his hair and carefully ran the towel over his body, before getting up with the crutch and, with some effort, covering his groin with the towel. He advanced carefully not to slip, and ended up in front of the almost full-length mirror, which showed his long hair stuck to his forehead, to the abundant beard from which a few drops dripped, and his face.
Oh, God.
How could his mother recognize him?
He had deep sunken lines between his eyebrows, crow's feet in his eyes, and marked dark circles. His eyes were sunken too, as were his cheeks and chest. His beard was abundant, hiding his features, but leaving his broken lips visible.
He was... ugly. Painful to watch. He looked like a gap in the outline he once was, of the man he was so wrongly proud to have become.
This is how undeserved glories are repaid. Jayce thought, with a strong disregard for his stupidity, for his arrogance that everything would be fine.
His eyes can't help but escape the reflection and look to his side, seeing a corner where the light didn't reach well and where the steam made it difficult to see, and as always, he thought he saw the silhouette of those-
Hold on.
What looked like a thin leg stepped forward. What the hell-
Jayce quickly turns around, wanting to contradict what he saw in the mirror, but his hope was shattered when the steam slowly opened its curtain to leave those creatures in his sight, but before the ruin, before the deterioration to which he was accustomed to seeing them. Made of white porcelain, gold crests and joints, and a face that simulated the slits of eyes.
"Allow us a moment of civility, Jayce." A voice chillingly similar to Viktor's echoed through his skull, freezing his blood. "We must talk."
"M-!" Jayce tried to scream, but the thing rushed forward, covering his mouth with one hand and pressing his body against the wall and mirror, a hard, inhuman arm around his waist, as if to keep Jayce from slipping. And it is that despite the abruptness to grab him, the thing did not treat him harshly, but even seemed to try to simulate kindness, although it lacked all the components to execute it right.
In a panic, Jayce let go of the crutch and tried to break free from the creature's grip on his face. He could only scratch his hand and look angrily at where the eyes of the thing should be.
"Please, Jayce. I don't mean to hurt you." Viktor's voice echoed in his skull again, and Jayce's eyes watered again. "You once welcomed me with open arms into your home. You insisted that i should visit you whenever I want, eat at your table and talk to your mother, or have you forgotten?"
That was before! Jayce wanted to scream, but he could only keep gripping the thing's firm wrist tightly.
Hurried footsteps were heard in the hallway, and Jayce looked out the door, not knowing whether he was relieved to have someone to help him, or terror that Viktor would try something against his mother.
"Jayce?" His mother knocked on the door. "Are you okay, son?"
"I don't want to bother your mother with our discussion." Viktor seemed to whisper to him as he stuck where his puppet's mouth should be in Jayce's ear, his entire cold body sticking to his naked, wet torso. "There's no need to make a fuss."
Gently, the puppet slid his hand down, the tips of those fingers brushing the corner of his mouth, almost seeming purposely to feel his mouth, before Jayce slipped away from his touch as he turned his head.
"I'm fine, mom! I'm getting dressed." Jayce said, trying to control the curl of fear in his voice.
He preferred that Viktor, or rather, what was left of Viktor, hurt only him.
"Okay, dear." His mother said, with an illegible tone.
"Thank you, Jayce." Viktor muttered. "I knew you would understand."
What is this, a mockery? Jayce thought angrily. As if I were able to refuse...
They were silent for a moment, listening as their mother's footsteps reced, which devastated Jayce even more and pushed him into despair.
Viktor's puppet had slipped his knee between Jayce's legs, to prevent him from sliding down, the arm holding his waist still firmly in place, his fingers touching the skin that was just above the towel that protected something from his nakedness. The grip, almost appreciative because of how tight it was to his body, limited him and left him at the mercy of the creature, of the corrupted conscience of the one who was once Viktor, and he could not help but fear for his life if by the whim of the machine, Viktor could not avoid but break his neck.
The steam had slowly cooled, and Jayce couldn't help but let out a shiver from the cold, which intensified as Viktor's puppet slid a hand under his hairy pectoral, where there were a few red, swollen welts in sight.
"I never saw your body so... wounded." The metallic touch was soft, almost to the point of a cold balm for the warmth of the wounded flesh. He sounded deeply compassionate, and even worried. "Oh, Jayce. I can't imagine how much you must be suffering. I... I can help you with it."
Panic flooded Jayce's body again, and he tried to push his arms into the doll's chest, but effortlessly, the thing grabbed his wrists and lifted them over his head, forcing Jayce's body to stick to the wall if he didn't want to dislocate his shoulders. This apparent threat of harm seemed to be unintentional, merely an action so that Viktor could examine him better, as if he had full permission to do whatever he wanted with Jayce's body.
Being stretched out in such a way made his wounds itch, but Jayce could only let himself be done, much to his growing humiliation.
"Get off- get off me!" Jayce growled, trying to keep his voice low, afraid of getting his mom's attention.
"If only you had given me a chance to explain the merits of my work." Viktor said with some disappointment. "Or rather, our work. I could have cured you of all these bodily torments-"
"I don't want your help! All of this – it's your obsession"
"Look who's talking." Viktor's voice almost seemed to joke, although the forced humor made it clear that he did not find Jayce's words laughable. "I cannot comprehend these faults of complete logic. ¿Why... attack me? Why despise our work? Our creation, finally put at the service of its true purpose. In my confusion, I couldn't reconcile myself to this, but now I understand; the Glorious Evolution is destined, it is the only result of our efforts, and the only reality that will help humans to get out of their evil, their limitations. Of these pains, which I know make you suffer."
"Jayce," the puppet approached again, its porcelain chest touching the dark curls of Jayce's chest, which barely hid his cold-raised nipples. "Fear clouds your judgment. My intentions are not warlike, like the Noxian. This whole chain of events started with you, so I don't understand why you seem to deny your role in this so much."
I know, I KNOW-
Tears stung his eyes. He didn't know if it was from heavy guilt, or anger burning in his throat, but he could only turn his head and close his eyes to try to hide from what he hears.
"... What do you want?"
"I want you to let us do this once again. As partners."
Jayce looked back at the puppet, at its utter expressionlessness, at the overbearing feeling in its voice, and defiance flooded his spirit.
Despite the pain, he leaned forward to speak directly to what was left of Viktor. "My partner died, long ago, in the Council Chamber, fighting for the liberation of his city. He could never be able to do what you're trying to do today."
Viktor said nothing more for a few seconds, before his voice rose again, as the hand around Jayce's waist snaked to his neck, squeezing him firmly.
"It was my sincere wish to avoid this." He said almost embarrassedly, not letting go of Jayce's hands.
Jayce tried to break free, to kick, but the puppet was damn strong, and slowly his consciousness faded again as his air supply ran out, but before he could give in to unconsciousness, there was a loud slamming of a door as it opened, and a loud shot before his body collapsed to the floor. making him let out a cry of pain.
"Jayce!" His mother screamed.