Chapter Text
Jabber swings Mankira at him, the relentless attacks leaving him breathless as he blocks hit after hit while looking for an opening, their last fight in the trash beast had taken its toll on him. Yet he's still here, striving to get stronger in what he thinks is the easiest way possible as long as the other Cleaners don't find out. Jabber lets out a groan, heady with adrenaline and excitement as Zanka strikes his lower back—sending him to the other side of the room. Though it's not much of a problem with how fast he closes in on Zanka again, launching off the wall towards him. His breath hitches—he tries to block again but it proves fruitless. Jabber's attack slows down so as to not hurt him too badly because of their unsaid agreement, but it still stings like hell.
Zanka lets out a pained breath when he's cut along his forearm, blood soaks through his uniform as he stumbles back and lands on the ground. His breath leaves him in wheezes, one hand holding Lovely Assistaff and the other holding him up—as if the nausea and dizziness that hit him fast would go away in a few seconds. It didn't, Zanka eventually laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling which certainly didn't help with how dizzy he was. Instead, he shifts his gaze over to Jabber, definitely better to look at than the spinning roof above—which Zanka would never admit out loud.
"What's wrong Mr. Bad Attitude, can't handle it?" Jabber grins and deactivates Mankira, leaning down to leave teasing pokes on his cheeks and forehead—a low whistle from him breaks the silence as he stares at Zanka. "Man guess I really got ya good! you're off in lala land—can't even answer me" he cackles between words before falling back on his ass—groaning in ecstacy from the hit Zanka landed on him, his back aching. Elated giggles and pants leave him—his laughter slowly dies down before he brings his hand up to wipe away at the drool slowly seeping out of his mouth, “you reaaally did a number on me this time Zan-Zan, how does her toxin feel? I bet 's real good, right?” He turns his body over to Zanka's, staring at him like he’ll be lucid sooner rather than later—he lets out a huff, a bit bored even with Zanka's amusing facial expressions. He can practically hear a clock ticking as time passed slowly, then he hears tiny whispers start to pour out of Zanka, curious—he shifts and leans closer, turning the side of his head toward the mouth gasping out incoherent words, his hand cups around his ear as if to hear better.
‘Shitty—, better off….. th’ well… worked…for what…,’ his breakdown continues, Jabber brings a hand up to his chin—mostly intrigued and a little sympathetic as he adds small commentary for no one but himself when Zanka switches to whatever happened between his sister and brother. He isn’t able to hear all of it but the bits and pieces he got was more than enough, albeit a lot more curious now than he was before when he heard something about ‘training’ and ‘gun’.
Zanka hates this, his own mind betrays him and brings up things he should be over by now, the words his siblings and father had said will never leave him alone—even in a state where he should be worrying about not puking all over himself and possibly choking on it. That would be a humiliating way to die, especially in front of Jabber of all people, unless the asshole decided to grace him with his oh so 'kind heart'—his words not Zanka’s—and help him. He feels tears build up, they're wiped away by something before they can fall, Zanka doesn't care about what's happening around him at the moment. He thinks he's moving his lips—to talk maybe, Zanka can't tell nor does he wanna know if he is right now. His ears ring—his vision swims with water and static, he feels one of his hands grip at his hair while his other holds Lovely Assistaff. His only anchor at the moment, until he feels something running up and down his back, his breath hitches, still not quite back in the real world yet but a little more aware now.
Jabber mutters a small "shit.." before questioning what he's supposed to do with someone who's definitely seen better days, the better days being—in Jabber’s opinion—when Zanka is beating his ass and having fun, 'seriously how does Mr. Bad Attitude even manage to brew up the weirdest bull-shit about himself, and wha’s up with his family?' He pulls Zanka up with him, wiping the tears around his eyes with the fabric of his sleeve before his hand inches towards Zanka’s back subconsciously, he starts running his trimmed nails up and down him softly, soothing and at a pace Zanka can match his breathing to. A few minutes pass—he hears him let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders sag before Jabber finally stops moving his hand, resting it over the middle of his spine. Bringing him back to the ground mentally and emotionally, he waits for Zanka to do something—maybe slap his hand away.
Zanka has so many things he wants to ask but no words are able to escape his mouth, he settles on what he wants to know first—thinking back to when he spiraled. He hopes he hadn’t actually talked, he'll have to dig a deeper grave if he spouted out some embarrassing shit—scratch that, he'll let his body sink to the bottom of a polluted lake, forgotten and never found, hopefully. "...Did I say anythin’," a simple question he can get out easily without his voice cracking—he looks everywhere else but at Jabber.
Jabber hums, thinking about what he should say without doing something stupid and maybe making Zanka retreat into his shell while he hurls insults at his face—" 'bout that.. you did, didn't mean to pry but it was somethin' about your family." His fingers fiddle with Mankira, twisting her around his fingers and tapping on her—"If ya want you can talk to me 'bout it, lips are sealed.." he made a zipping motion with his hand before continuing onto the next line he rehearsed in his head, "I can swap that toxin out for a different one when we fight next time so this doesn’t happen again, sound good?" Zanka finally looks at him—clearly lost in thought.
"..We can talk about it some other day, maybe—and quit talkin’ like that.” Goosebumps rise on his arms at the softness of Jabber’s voice—he shivers, pushing his body up on shaky arms, groaning at the ache in his head and body, Lovely Assistaff still in hand. Jabber’s hand leaves his back, "do whatever ya want, 's long as it doesn't mess me up permanently, well—maybe no more hallucinogen's." eugh, he sours at the thought of it. When he and Jabber fought in the trash beast it fucked him up physically, mentally, and emotionally—something he thinks he’ll never get over. He sighs before raising a hand to rub at his eyes, he glances over to the broken window, huffing and muttering something about having to walk back to Cleaner HQ. His legs lock up when he straightens them out, head throbbing and still slightly dizzy, Jabber gets up with him.
Jabber rolls his eyes, grunting while he rubs at his own back when he stands, equally sore—"want me to walk ya back pretty boy?" He grins at Zanka's painfully stiff face stuck in a frown and glare, grateful he's almost back to normal compared to what happened a few minutes ago. Zanka walks away from him, Only stopping when he sees Jabber isn't following, they stare at each other for what feels like an hour—Zanka's head falls back as he sighs.
"Are you comin' or not, ya freak." He hopes his expression is one of annoyance instead of exhaustion and embarrassment, he knows he'd failed when Jabber stares at him blankly like he's seeing everything through the crevices in his soul—Zanka screams internally and the frown on his face deepens. Jabber finally walks towards him, Zanka turns back around and continues on ahead—the whole way back to HQ was quiet, save for Zanka's irritated huffs as he trips over sand and steadies himself again on shaky legs.
Jabber decided that not talking was better than trying to make small talk, Zanka would probably strangle him if he said anything else—something he would enjoy if not for Zanka's current mood, a lot more sour than angry. They make it to the back of the building, Zanka's window slightly ajar—"goodnight Zan-Zan, dream of me." He blows a kiss for the fun of it, Zanka looks back at him with zero hidden irritation, he grumbles—looking away as he starts climbing up to his window, Jabber waits until he's inside his room before his head drops in thought and he turns around to walk back. Dirt and sand getting in his hair from the wind, 'dammit—‘least wash day's tomorrow..' he clicks his tongue before letting his hand drop from one of his wicks—shoving his hand back into his pocket, slowly fading out of Zanka's sight from the window.
Zanka walks towards the bathroom and sets Lovely Assistaff by his bed, he opens a cabinet—grabbing onto some cloth, ointment, disinfectant wipes, and bandages. He turns the sink on and lets the water clean out his wound, it might not be filtered enough to be sanitary but it's better than bothering Eisha at this time of night for a wound that may be a little big—but it's not deep enough to cause any permanent damage, he dries and disinfects the area before he starts applying the ointment given to him, courtesy of Eisha. A few minutes later he's done wrapping bandages around it, too tired to put everything away in favor of wobbling back into his room, getting pajamas on, and promptly passing out on his bed. Head empty and the promise of no dreams while he snoozes, he knows he's gonna have to explain something to Riyo if she saw him sneak out—or if he accidentally sleeps in, which he never does. But that's a problem for future him to deal with.
Future him—or just him now, doesn't know how to feel about what past him did. Riyo gave him a scrutinizing look after she saw his bandaged arm but didn't say or ask anything, August however—went on a spiel about how he should let him make a whole new uniform entirely. Which would be nice but with the amount of ideas August has for him already? well, he never wants to find out, August is very thorough with his work and will make you model for hours to analyze what you do and what you don’t feel comfortable with if he's trying a new design—even modifying some of it in the process to ‘make it look snazzy’ and ‘more his style.’ His words not Zanka’s. Enjin made a big deal out of his bandaged arm and that he needs to 'learn how to rely on Eisha more,' which he won't do—he thinks he puts a lot on her plate already with the amount of injuries he obtains like Rudo's trash collection. He's also certain he piles even more on her plate by refusing bed rest, he feels bad for it but it’s hard to just sit still and do nothing—maybe he’ll get an apology gift for her if it happens again.
He really should be careful the next time he fights Jabber, lest this happens to him again—though he's sure he won't be able to avoid it. So he sighs in defeat, continuing his maintenance on Lovely Assistaff who thrums in his hold—clearly pleased and sated after his last fight. He's not entirely sure how he feels about Jabber, but he guesses Lovely Assistaff has known since the flying trash beast—but what does that say about himself? She is a part of him so he should know. A thought comes to mind, his laughter—tears sliding down his face, Jabber's words, 'maybe I should'a picked one ‘a the other Cleaners—', he grips Lovely as he tries to control his breathing. He's lost to Jabber already, there's no way he can defend himself after seeking validation from an enemy like that. His thoughts trail off again, 'see what you did 't m—' okay, no he's not letting his mind go further than it should. He should see if Rudo wants to spar, he opens and closes his door behind him—the flush from his previous thought disappears as he moves through the hallway.
Small vibrations run through his hand in fast intervals, as if she’s laughing just to say ‘I told you so.’ He pauses in the hallway before quickening his pace—willing his thoughts to go away once again.