Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all went to shit on a... quite a nice day, actually. No trash raining from the sky, no clouds of dust darkening the measly sunrays they manage to get down in this hellhole. At some point, one could hear an insistent whistling noise somewhere seemingly very far away and then Enjin was the first one in their group to point a finger upward where all their eyes followed. Zanka mindlessly heard Riyo mutter a "what the fuck" under her breath, as she was right beside him, and Rudo exclaiming something loudly somewhere to the far right.

There were missiles raining from the sky, their fiery trail visibly long, whistling noise becoming less and less easier to bear the closer they got. Countless of missiles, as far as the eye could see.

Zanka covered his ears, at some point. Somebody slammed into his shoulder, at some point. Somebody grabbed him by the arm, at some point. But it did not really matter.

When the missiles made it to land, the ground trembled violently, the buildings fell, and all Zanka could see through the dust of trash completely covering the area was his Assistaff, cluched by his chest like a lifeline.

Next thing he knew, something hard and heavy hit his back, his staff was pushed into his ribs painfully from gravity, and he was falling down and down and down. And down?... And then everything stopped and went black for a split second.

Or at least what seemed like a second to him.

When Zanka plied his dusty eyelashes open, he felt like shit. His eyes were so itchy he could barely keep them open, full of dust, as his mind supplied, his lungs stung and his head felt woozy. As he in fact could not see a single thing of significance in the darkness he was currently engulfed in, he moved his fingers slightly, just to make sure his limbs were working. Said fingers dug into a familiar trashy gravel and for a moment he thought, oh, so I'm not dead, words not sounding happy nor sad in his dazed head.

Right, assess the damage first. He pushed up from his spread hands with medium difficulty, coughing up from his dusty lungs as he did, until he was sitting on his knees with a hunched back, arms still providing support, palms digging into rough ground.

So, his shoulder was sprained. His right leg had weakness in it, although he could not yet tell if it was broken or merely bruised. His spine ached at the base, but not that much to cause immediate concern. His ribs were broken, on the left, the bottom two? Or three, he thought while gliding fingers on the spot on his skin where it hurt the most, pressing just a little to get a better feel. Shoulder and leg were from the fall, surely, back pain was easily explained by the wall of cement that so gracefully made him experience the said fall, and the ribs broke exactly where Assistaff had dug in--

Assistaff? His Lovely Assistaff, his vital instrument, was not in his hands, panic flooding him like a wave, seemingly nothing else was important at the moment. His palms searched blind in the gravel, the darkness around him not adding anything to help at all, and he realized he was holding his breath in his anxiousness by the way he blew out a deep sigh when fingers touched familiar wood on the ground.

She's here, his staff is here, and she broke his ribs and she was here and everything will be completely fine now, now that she's here. He pulled the staff close to him, running fingers blindly along her length, just to make sure she was whole. There were splinters that his fingers touched, but otherwise, Lovely Assistaff seemed to be in one piece, and the relief he felt at that moment was everything that still kept his mind sane. Sane enough.

Assess. He assessed the damage to the best of his capabilities and now the matter of... what the fuck had just happened. Zanka furrowed his brows, brain still sluggish, fingers still trailing on Assistaff's wood as a mental reminder that he is, in fact, still alive, even if his aching body seemed to imply otherwise. He activated his vital instrument, blue mist flowing into her to change her shape, and the dim light emitted from the staff made him see at least further than a noselenght like before.

He looked up - there was a ceiling alright, or at least something that classified as that, no natural light coming from up top. There were walls around him - nature-made, uneven and rocky, and he realized that he was indeed in a hole, again, like so many times literally and mentally in his youth. He would've laughed from the absurdity if not for his broken ribs making his weak chuckle disappear into a series of coughs.

The area he had fallen into was not that big or deep and so he reached over to grab onto a wall as a support as he pulled himself upward, Assistaff clenched like a crutch in his other hand. So all that was actually broken was his ribs, right leg apparently good enough to carry his weight. He still limped a little when he followed the wall, walking forward to see better in front of him.

Zanka heard a brief whistle of wind coming from somewhere in a corner, near the roof of this strange cave and dragged himself towards it, looking up. There was no apparent exit yet, but as he raised his staff to poke at the rocks above, some came undone and pettered onto the ground and his hair. Ah, so a weakpoint! Stepping a bit away, he poked it harder until bigger pieces of rocks came apart and he gnawed at the spot with his vital instrument until he made a small, albeit appropriately sized hole in the ceiling, natural light making him blink wildly.

Now it was just the matter of acrobatics, and with his trusty staff at his side, Zanka made short work of the small leap, hands grabbing onto the sides of the hole and pushing himself up, adrenaline kicking in for a second as he realized that this was it, this is how everyone will see him, crawling out of a hole by himself where he was almost buried alive.

Only... As he sat on his butt with a huff from exertion, on the surface now. There was.... nothing. He eyed his surroundings with half-closed eyes still, not used to the natural light, only to find absolutely nothing. No Raiders HQ, no Enjin, no Riyo, no Rudo, even, just a plain old dusty field of rubble, familiar gravely sand under his fingertips, and... nothing else.

Realization has not hit him yet fully, it seemed. Zanka was still thinking logically at this point - maybe the blows have blasted him somewhere further? Maybe the rubble to his right was just random trash, and not the Raiders HQ completely flattened? But as he looked around fully, wind picking up quite dramatically to ruffle his still-intact earrings and hair, there was nothing of significance to see among the dust and the plains of absolutely nothing but gravel, trash and rubble.

Oh, he thought, fingers subconsciously clenching on Assistaff on his lap. This was not a dream after all.

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He spent around a week and a half, he thinks, wandering around the same spot he dug himself out. It was hard to tell by day four or five how much time has passed. Loneliness does that to you.

Zanka did indeed confirm that the rubble closest to him was Raiders HQ, having found bandages (which he clumsily wrapped around his broken ribs) and cans of random food that he himself has seen at some point in the kitchen. There was nothing remaining of said kitchen, walls fallen inwards, almost completely flattened, but he did remember by the layout of what was remaining of the floor where it was specifically. He dug out a chair at some point, a simple round stool with a pathetic excuse for back support, still more or less intact, save for the layer of dust it was covered in. He placed said chair by a corner of what he assumed to be the cafeteria just a few days ago and sat in it for hours a day, just... waiting.

Waiting for something, he guessed. A sign, a word, a familiar figure coming back to Raiders HQ to check on survivors. Having found no... human remains underneath the rubble, Zanka was subconsciously still hoping for something, at least. It was not like everything was wiped off his world so cleanly and completely, right? Right. And so Zanka sat sometimes, ate sometimes, drew stick figures in the gravel with the end of Assistaff sometimes, kicked around some rubble, placed his chair in a different corner (if you could call even ground a "corner" at this point), slept on the ground with his oversized sleeves of his tattered uniform cluched between his fingers like a blanket. He sang to himself quietly at some point, on day four or so, just to have anything else to listen to other than the wind moving rocks along the ground. It was a folk song that he barely remembered the words of, one that Kyoka has hummed once or twice when he was a toddler. He wondered if she was fine, before realizing that she was probably not thinking the same about him, if she was out there somewhere. And so he took Assistaff from the ground where she was placed a minute or so before, hugging his instrument to his chest instead.

Then one day, rising slowly from sleep, he decided that waiting for something was not ideal. That, and he was going to go insane soon. Zanka opened his eyes wearily with a few blinks, stretched his arms up, mindful of his still sore sprained shoulder, yawned and then got up from the hard and uncomfy ground without rushing much. He did his usual morning routine of a few full-body stretches, ate some canned food, then brushed his teeth with a finger to the best of his ability with a bottle of water he scavanged the day before and some overly minty toothpaste he found under some wood, which may or may not have been a cabinet at some point. Zanka then reached over to the right sleeve of his uniform, thankful for the loose fabric, and tore the sleeve away with his bare fingers, making somewhat of a sad resemblance to a backpack from the fabric of now both of the sleeves. He placed some goodies he dug up in it, tying it together as best he could, put it on his healthy shoulder, took Assistaff, looked directly into the horizon with resolution, sighed to hype himself up and... sat down again. Then his eyes started watering, probably because of the morning light being too bright on them (or so he told himself at that moment) and Zanka hugged himself (to keep away the wind from making him cold, his desperate mind supplied). He sat there on the ground for quite some time in silence, hunched over and definitely not crying.

When he next woke up, having found himself uncomfortably laid on the rough ground on his back, not entirely sure if he slept the full day or napped for an hour, he looked up to the cloudy day sky, searching for answers. Finding none, with a resigned sigh, Zanka pushed himself up once again, took his makeshift bag and his staff, scribbled a barely corehent "Zanka. Going south" on the remains of Raiders HQ with a random sharper rock and then just started walking slowly southways, steps quite heavy due to his injuries.

There was absolutely nothing to see for hours, not even a peek of a trashbeast. It was eerily quiet however far he walked, stopping only to rest against his staff or to sit in silence. Zanka was actually and very honestly excited when he saw bare walls in the distance, sticking out in the bare horizon like a sore thumb, not yet fallen completely apart, and rushed his step to reach the location. It must've taken him around three hours to reach the ruins, he assumed, the sky now getting darker. There was a faint sound of... scratching? from within the best looking stone building he has seen in what seemed to be ages. Not only the walls were intact, but it looked like most of the roof was as well, only one side of it seemed to have crumbled in. But most importantly, and trust him, Zanka had to fight his instincts to not bolt immediately, was the scratching. Hearing nothing else but wind for days on end, he just could not explain what else than a living creature (!) might be making that sound. And so with newfound vigor, he grabbed the door-sized plank blocking the entryway and moved it aside.

Eyes met eyes, Zanka blinked stupidly.

"Are you real?" a question was immediately thrown, voice oh so very familiar, strangely soothing on Zanka's ears. You can't blame him at this point, he has not heard anything of note for forever.

"...what?" was all Zanka could mutter, his own voice gravely and quiet, the complete opposite of the man's in front of him. He barely used it for so long.

So, there he was. Jabber, with all his might and geniusness, sitting in a bunch of ripped fabric, looking hunched over and small, clothes dusty and ripped at seemingly random spots, Mankira's claw extended to where he was previously scratching a line on the stone wall, looking at Zanka expectedly.

"What do you mean, what? Are you real or not?"

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Zanka did not, in fact, have the mental capability currently to answer. Completely stunned, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it immediately, akin to a fish.

His nemesis, as per usual, did not share the sentiment. Impatient as ever, Jabber crooked an eyebrow at him, huffed, a grin breaking through his lips. And that was the only warning Zanka got before Jabber pushed off the wall nimbly, coming straight at him, claws and all.

"What the f--", was all Zanka could get out before he was bodily pushed to the ground, Assistaff poised in front to block incoming attacks. He groaned quietly, back hitting the ground on the side where his ribs still were indeed broken.

Anticipating a blow, Zanka winced in advance, cursed himself in his head for that in that same split second, and looked up to his attacker, who was currently straddling his belly.

Only that there was no continuation of the attack, Jabber's expression clearly shocked, dark eyes locked with Zanka's, Mankira frozen midway a blow. It seemed as if the man did not expect to actually make contact. Zanka took this opportunity to hook Assistaff to the ground, using the support to throw Jabber off of himself and then got up on his feet again, spinning the staff to prepare a better battle stance, vital instrument now active.

"Wait, wait," Jabber mumbled, speeding through the syllables in a panicky way. He was very obviously winded from the force of the push, scrambling to get on his feet, eyes wide as he deactivated Mankira, hands now at his chest level, waving awkwardly in a 'don't shoot' manner. "Wait, stop, you're real!"

But Zanka did not stop, nor wait. Mentally preparing himself for the pain in his ribs, he stepped forward and brought Assistaff down with a quick speed, aiming for Jabber's shoulder. The strike was dodged by a nimble duck and so Zanka brought the staff down on the ground for support as he aimed a swift kick with his bruised leg for Jabber's ribs. That indeed landed and he mentally tapped himself on the shoulder at the small 'oof' he heard from his opponent. He then swiped Jabber's legs and pounced right after, reversing the position from before, now he himself on top of Jabber's thighs. He brought Assistaff down again, aiming for his opponent's head, only to be met with glowing magenta eyes, a wild grin and a loud clash of metal as Assistaff was blocked by a once again active Mankira.

"Zanka!" Jabber exclaimed with honest glee, grabbing Assistaff with one clawed hand to mess with Zanka's upcoming block, delivering a swift punch to the blonde's still very broken and hurting ribs with the other.

The move made Zanka hunch over and Jabber grinned even wider, if that's even possible, at the realization. He used the split second of weakness to aim claws at Zanka's face and the blonde forcefully ripped Assistaff out of the other's hold to block it, reeling back to dodge. The claws still made contact, however, scratching at Zanka's cheek just a little bit, drawing blood. Zanka jumped back as Jabber jumped back up on his feet and they were once again on equal footing, facing each other with wild eyes - magenta ones burning with excitement, blue ones with anger and determination. Zanka touched his cheek briefly, just to actually make sure that he was indeed hit by Jabber's poisoned claws, briefly glancing at his fingers to take note of the small amount of blood on the fingertips. So he had like what, a minute or two before the poison took effect? Well then, better make it count, he thought preditably, as he stepped forward swiftly with his vital instrument in his grip, with the intention to combat down his rival once and for all.

Only that there was no poison this time, and they went on what seemed to be forever, trading blows, dodging and dancing, meeting eachother's strikes with what seemed to be perfect tempo. Only issue being, Zanka was already previously hurt and Jabber was very apparently not at all, and so his movements slowed down from exertion at some point, missing a block to a heavy punch on his cheek, which sent him down to the ground on his back, claws ripping at his shoulder painfully right after.

Groaning, Zanka closed his eyes in anticipation to finally be out of this empty hell of a place, lungs burning pleasantly from exhaustion of the fight. The weight of Jabber halfway on top of him and Mankira digging into his right shoulder felt like a good way to go. But for two, three and now four seconds of not actually being put out of his misery, Zanka opened his eyes a sliver again to check what might be the problem.

He was met with a predatory smile, teeth showing slightly, Jabber panting from the battle as well, eyes locked on his own.

"You're actually real," there was still disbelief in his rival's voice, the short sentence ending in a small deranged giggle. Mankira's hold tightened on his shoulder as if to make sure this was real.

"Yer..." Zanka coughed a bit to clear his throat, still not used to actually speaking to somebody. "Yer delusional." He moved his hand to grab onto Jabber's wrist, twisting Mankira out of his shoulder and Jabber let go without much of a fuss, deactivating his vital instrument.

They were left having a staring competition for a good minute, both breathing heavily trying to catch their breath.

"Why wasn't I poisoned?" Zanka asked then, too tired to care about the dangerous raider in front of him, eyes darting downwards, too unused with the prolonged eye contact. He sat up and pushed Jabber away from him with a weak jab towards the other's shoulder, and Jabber sat back willingly, plopping on his butt.

"Do you think the poisons last forever? It's been a month, everything is dry," the raider replied, tone not giving anything away. When Zanka glanced at him again, Jabber was now sitting on the ground, legs splayed out, hands placed behind for support, staring into the ceiling with a pleasant enough smirk on his lips.

"A month?" Zanka clarified, wiping blood off his cheek with the back of his hand, placing Assistaff to his side on the ground as it did seem like they have reached a stalemate of sorts. "Since what? The bomb rain?"

"The bomb rain," Jabber parroted with a chuckle, meeting Zanka's eyes again. "You have a way with words. Yeah, the bomb rain. What, were you living under a rock?"

If only he knew how accurate that was. Zanka furrowed his brow and decided not to answer. So he has indeed lost track of time, it seemed. Jabber broke the eye contact this time, getting up with just a small amount of difficulty, seemingly tired as well. He walked back to the wall where a line of scratches resided as Zanka now noticed, dug his slender hand into the pile of fabric that reminded Zanka of a den of sorts, fished out a small leather-bound notebook and threw it in Zanka's direction without looking. Jabber then sat down into his apparently soft fabric chair contraption and leaned back unto the wall, sighing.

"The last page I had space to keep track of," Jabber said, ring-adorned finger pointing at the wall with the scratches. "Last seven days I had to mark somewhere else."

Zanka took the notebook, flipping it randomly. It didn't have a lot of pages, but each small page was filled with scribbles almost completely, some formulas, some words, some sentences that Zanka could not read clearly due to the bad handwriting. He flipped to the end where a quite tidy list of numbers sat at the bottom of the page, counting to 24. Leave it to Jabber of all people to count the actual days of hell. He scrunched his nose briefly, realizing that he himself was not sane enough apparently to keep track. Or that he didn't have anything to write in. Must be the latter.

"So, I walked a lot," Jabber's voice came again and Zanka raised his eyes from the notebook, signaling for him to continue with a mildly annoyed look. "And there was nothing! Nothing at all. Not even a trash beast. I thought I'll go insane."

His voice turned a bit pensive at the end and Zanka made a mental note of that. He was not much of an extravert himself, but Jabber sure seemed like one. If he almost lost his mind from the silence, he could only imagine how the other felt. Not particularly wanting to sympathize with a deranged lunatic though, Zanka kept quiet.

"Sure, there were ruins and stuff, and I found some food, and some places actually looked like somebody was living there, but there was noone around. For miles, Zanka! Hundreds of miles maybe, even!" Jabber waved his hands with the last sentence, as if to show how much distance he crossed without meeting any soul. "It was maybe... Hm, day 22? Is where I started imagining shit. Like you know, people to talk to. On purpose at first, just to have a conversation, yanno. Spoke to you for example for a bit--" ah, that made sense, Zanka thought. "You were really mean and shit, as usual. My imagination wasn't that good. At the very beginning I, like, tried to--"

And the raider went on and on, relaying almost every hour of every 31 days after the event, and Zanka zoned out at some point, laying back fully, eyes fixed on the ceiling. With absolutely nothing around as far as the eye could see outside, Jabber sure had a lot to say. So that's all he was now, huh. An ear to yap to for his one and only, surprisingly tame currently, rival. Jabber's story-telling voice was really calming to Zanka, him being tired from their battle as it is, and the cleaner closed his eyes briefly, calmed also now that there was something else other than the sound of wind outside in his mind. It was really nice, he thought, to have a person at his side. It did not even matter to him at that moment that this person was not a very sane one, or trustable one, for that matter. Things like that seemed to disappear from his worries after realizing that he may indeed be very much alone in the world otherwise.

Before long, he must've dozed off, lulled by the raider's speeches of which there was seemingly no end to.

Chapter Text

Zanka woke up unexpectedly and not quite well-rested to fingers prodding at his sliced up shoulder. With a frown, he opened his eyes and swatted at the annoyance with his hand.

Oh right, he did fall asleep in the same ruined house where an insane raider was staying in. He wasn't even surprised about Jabber's unhinged grin, prodding fingers now having left his shoulder, staying mid-air loosely, but still uncomfortably close to Zanka.

"What do ya want?" Zanka asked, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the side and visibly relaxed his shoulders when he saw Assistaff placed there still, not stolen or hidden.

"You appear to be bleeding," Jabber pointed out with a waving ringer finger in the direction of Zanka's shoulder.

"And ya appear to be as annoyin' as ever," Zanka quipped, but turned his glare to his shoulder still, inspecting the wounds with the fingers of his other hand. They were quite deep and still angry red, Mankira apparently as sharp and deadly as always. With the way the raider was so nonchalant and could it be even said, sated and friendly? currently, he did not hold back in their scuffle at all. It annoyed Zanka for some reason, this whole situation. "Leave me alone, ya scoundrel," the cleaner muttered without any heat in his words.

The petname seemed to make Jabber's eyes glow with mischief, the grin never left, and the raider stood up from his crouching position in front of Zanka, moving back to the wall obediently. Obediently?

"Why are ya so..." Zanka followed Jabber's movements with a suspicious look, fingers idly brushing on the wounds on his shoulder still. "...tame?"

"Tame?" Jabber scoffed, chuckling a little, settling into his den of fabric comfortably in a cross-legged position and meeting the cleaner's eyes. "I dunno about you, Zanka, but I'm glad to see you! A month without a living soul and it's you who's apparently still around. Talk about coincidences, am I right! I feel downright amazing after our little catfight."

Zanka could read into the missed lines. Jabber, talkative, insane Jabber, left completely alone in the world for a month, with nothing to keep his mind occupied. Could it mean that he missed Zanka, in some weird fucked up way?.. Zanka could not say the same back. Out of all available clear-minded people in the world, he got Jabber.

"Right..." the cleaner responded absent-mindedly, looking around for his makeshift bag.

He noticed that without the pieces of fabric huddled up in the spot where Jabber was currently residing, there were a lot of other knick-knacks thrown about the living space. A dusty alarm clock was placed alongside a couple of old-looking books without covers on a shelf that was barely hanging on the wall. There was a table pushed to a far wall, still looking quite complete, seemingly random small planks of wood placed on it, along with a wooden bowl, a fork, a beaten-down keyboard, another dusty book, a tiny brown sad-looking ball and multiple cans of what appeared to be canned tomato soup. There was also a mahogany chest pushed against the side of the table, one wooden side completely missing, so Zanka could see random beaten-down stuff placed in it. And on top of this chest, tidily untied, was his backpack, all objects inside of it placed on the fabric one-by-one, like they were inspected.

Zanka threw an annoyed look over his shoulder at Jabber, who seemed to be following his every move in silence, and earned a shrug and a grin in response. Of course the scavenger would scavenge.

Everything he packed was still there, however, and he picked up the bandages and a bottle of water from Raiders HQ, sitting down on the ground near the chest with his back to Jabber and extending his Mankira-clawed arm, reaching for his hurt shoulder. Zanka splashed some water first to the wound, cleaning it at least a little. He bandaged it with a little struggle, ignoring the "wow, so capable!" comment from Jabber behind him, tying the bandage as best he could with the help of his teeth. And with a small sigh, turned around to face Jabber once again.

"I will be leaving," he said decidedly, placing hands on knees. There was a moment of silence where Jabber's eyes seemed to be looking for answers in his, a twinge of panic in the look.

"What? No, you can't! You just got here!" Jabber tried, desperation clear in his tone, which made Zanka raise an eyebrow. "Zanka, buddy, you are aware there is... well, absolutely nothing around?" the raider's voice was a bit loud on Zanka's ears, pace of the words a little too quick to appear normal.

"Mm. Nothing, exactly. No bodies either. So there has t'be somebody somewhere," Zanka explained patiently, deciding to humor Jabber's obvious panic instead of outright leaving then and there.

The raider brought one hand up to his dreads, an anxious little move, spinning one around his finger with a small noise of metal clinking where the cuffs attached to the strands of hair met the others. Jabber seemed to ponder his words for a good minute, bringing up short nails decorated with chipped black nail polish to scratch at his scalp. With all the little strange movements and nervous tilts of the head, Jabber looked like a dog, Zanka thought. A dog that doesn't understand why his owner is leaving. But a dog is too cute of an animal to be anywhere near Jabber, so Zanka squished the thought in his head immediately and trummed his fingers on his knee, waiting for a response.

"Well! Well I'm not leaving," the raider exclaimed then, nodding to himself as if to agree with his own thought process. "I don't know where you have walked from, but thataways--" he pointed behind his shoulder with a thumb, implying the direction he wandered about for a month. "There is nothing to find. And I know you stopped listening to me yesterday, sleepyhead, but trust me on this one. Nothing as in absolutely, decisively, no bullshit about it, no-thing."

"Fine," Zanka said simply, standing up and gathering his things in a bunch again, tying his bag up and putting in on his shoulder.

"Fine!" Jabber mirrored, albeit more furiously.

The blonde walked back to where Assistaff was laying on the ground, picked her up and without looking back, pushed the plank acting as a door aside again, stepping out. There was a slight mist of orange dust covering the horizon today, but the sky looked quite bright otherwise. Perfect day for a trip, he thought, just starting to walk forward, without a destination in mind, no rush in his step.

And if he didn't rush just in case a certain raider would decide to catch up, so what? Sue him.

Chapter Text

Zanka walked onward without looking back for a good half an hour. He estimated so, because when he did look back (just to check how far he walked, he said to himself in his head), the building was quite far and the orange dust mist had almost reclaimed it. There was no Jabber in sight, but he absolutely did not care about that, or at least that's what he talked himself into believing.

The wind picked up at some point. Despite the climate down there being quite on the warm side, Zanka did feel the breeze on the lack of sleeves on his arms. He stopped for a bit to secure Assistaff to his bag so that it hanged off of it on his shoulder, the wooden inactive shape of it quite light and comfy to be carried this way. He placed his hands underneath some layers of his uniform to keep them warm, having no pockets available, essentially hugging himself at the chest, and walked on.

Having nobody talking his ear off, it felt weird. It felt like the reality of being all alone was coming back, nothing but dust to keep him company. But he didn't let that stop him from trudging along, mind occupied with thoughts of what could've happened to everybody, and having found Jabber now, surely he could find somebody else as well. As soon as Jabber came to his mind, Zanka shook his head to get him out of it and furrowed his brow, but kept on marching on in a straight line. To where? Who knew.

He hiked until the sky turned dark and then some more, stopped to rest and drink water for a little bit, sore foot acting up again. He sat on the ground and massaged the shin muscles for a while, then spilled some water on his fingers to wash some of the dust off his cheeks, stood up and trekked on into the silence.

He didn't know for how long he walked, seeing nothing but an occasional run-down building. It was getting too dark to see clearly, not that there was anything to see but plains ahead, but he activated Assistaff on his back to provide some light, at least. And he walked until he could see the end of the world some meters away from his feet, appearing visible only now through the dust fog.

Not literally the end, he realized, walking up to it. Just a big, wide, gaping mouth in the earth that reminded him of a canyon he's seen in encyclopedia books. It stretched as far as the eye could see to his left and to his right. He wasn't sure if either it was here all along and none of the cleaners actually bothered to come out this far to see its existance, or maybe it was made from the barrage of missiles. Not that he cared to find out, at the moment. There was nobody around to ask.

He sat down at the edge, staring down at the abyss of darkness below. He couldn't tell if it was truly infinitely deep, or if it just looked like that since it was indeed nightime already. His legs were dangling at the edge and he swung them a little, just to keep himself occupied. He pulled out his staff from its secure place by his makeshift bag and placed it across his thighs, it still glowing with a faint blue light, providing comfort. Grazing fingers through the metal, he sighed and sat there for a while, not sleepy yet, having slept more than enough these past few days, staring into the black horizon and down at the canyon. He thought about his friends, his HQ, the city right by the HQ, both of which were reduced to barely recognizable rubble. He thought about his family as well, wondering if they would be better off in his shoes, more composed and more okay with finding themselves all alone. They probably would've found all the answers to what was happening in the first few days. He wondered what the best course of action for him would be now.

He didn't know for how long he sat there, pondering, playing absently with some spikes on Assistaff from boredom. The night sky was breaking into a slow, lazy dawn. At some point, there were barely audible steps behind him, nimble and silent, as if a cat was sneaking up to him. It wasn't a cat though, he knew by now. There were no cats in existance anymore. And there was nobody around but Jabber.

So when the raider sat down beside him, same position and everything, huffing and puffing quietly, Zanka barely passed him a glance and continued staring into the abyss. They sat in silence for a bit, only barely audible sounds filling the space from the raider, as if Jabber was out of breath.

"Did ya run to catch up?" Zanka asked, not even looking in his direction, finger scratching his staff's bandages absently.

"No," a quiet reply came immediately through barely audible panting noises, and the corner of Zanka's lips cracked up in a small smile without him noticing it. To control at least the chuckle that threatened to come out of his mouth, Zanka coughed into his fist awkwardly.

There was rustling from Jabber's side then, and a hand came into his view, offering a piece of fabric big enough to classify as a blanket. Zanka looked at the hand and then up to catch Jabber's eyes, whose face was devoid of any grin for once, just cheeks a little flushed. From running here, Zanka assumed at the moment. He couldn't make sense of the blank expression on the other's face though, so he just took the offered fabric, wrapping it onto his shoulders and burrowing his nose into it, pleasantly surprised that it didn't have a weird smell, just a plain old dusty blanket. And watched the canyon again, wrapped in warmth now.

There was a strange comrodery in their shared silence now. Even the quiet was not so quiet with somebody right beside him.

Chapter Text

They went to sleep near the canyon, using a nearby taller rock as a head support. Separately, under separate blankets of fabric, of course, because Zanka was not that insane yet. But close enough that he could feel Jabber's elbows brush against him in his sleep sometimes, the other being a very fidgety sleeper, turning around a lot. Zanka himself could not fall asleep for a while more, listening to Jabber's breaths equal out, signaling the other was indeed dozing off. His back was facing the raider, unprotected and vulnerable, but it seemed better at the time than to fall asleep face-to-face. That seemed too intimate.

They went to sleep in silence that day, Jabber just pointing at the rock, Zanka nodding and the raider rose to his feet and moved places, laying down. Zanka thought about that for a bit - it must've been... like around 2 hours they just sat there quietly, not conversing. It was strange to see the chatterbox that was Jabber so quiet. Unnervingly quiet. The cleaner wondered if something was wrong. But it was tomorrow Zanka's problem, he thought and closed his eyes, thankful that the morning was cloudy and so it almost felt like he fell asleep at a normal nightly hour.

He woke up decently well-rested. Sure, his neck was a bit achy due falling asleep with head placed on a literal rock, but other than that Zanka felt quite good. With a yawn and a short stretch of arms, he sat up, back against the said wall and looked sideways. Jabber was not sleeping anymore either, sat back against the wall as well, blanket loose on his legs still, the leather notebook in his hand, a pen in the other. He was scribbling something in the very corner of a page, notebook turned sideways, having found some available space to write on.

"Mornin'," Zanka muttered, brushing a hand through his hair to keep it somewhat decent-looking.

"Daytime, actually. But back at you," Jabber met his eyes with a grin. "Oh, before I forget!" he placed the notebook in his lap, reaching over sideways where Zanka could see a beaten up, but spacious tan backpack placed by the raider's side.

Jabber rummaged through it for a moment and pulled out an object with an "aha!".

"Here!"

Next thing Zanka knew, the brown ball he saw in the house previously was in Jabber's palm, extended for Zanka to take. Of course Jabber packed the trinkets he collected thorough his wandering. Because why not fill up a backpack with random stuff nobody would ever need. Zanka furrowed his brow.

"What is this?" the cleaner managed to ask, dumbfounded.

"Well," Jabber then rolled the ball in his palm with a finger, as if to show Zanka the dummy that it is indeed a ball. "It is, quite obviously, a ball." Right.

This must be a trick. But having no idea what the trick could be, Zanka raised his hand to take the ball tentatively. As soon as his fingers closed around it though, Jabber grabbed his wrist quite loosely with a quick movement, rings cold against Zanka's skin, and grinned wildly. Zanka, shocked by the sudden touch, couldn't stop a surprised little huff from coming out his lips.

"But! Not for free! I'm trading it for your toothpaste. Fair? Fair," and then the touch was gone, the ball was in his hand and all Zanka could do is blink stupidly.

Jabber already had the toothpaste Zanka had packed in his hand and waved it around as if to show what he took. Zanka, outsmarted, outwitted and outfoxed, just rolled his eyes to save face and turned away from Jabber's smirk, bouncing the ball on the ground. Hm, with a month of doing nothing, the ball was strangely entertaining.

"So, what were ya writin'?" Zanka asked without looking up, just to have a conversation. He bounced the ball again, catching it effortlessly.

There was the sound of pen on paper at his side again, and Jabber took a good 10 seconds to answer, as if picking the right words to respond with.

"Counting the days still, where I can. And writing down some... hm. Thoughts, you could say."

"Thoughts?" Zanka questioned, catching the ball again and glancing over at Jabber. The raider didn't meet his gaze.

"Yeah. Just about things. To keep a sane mind and a clear head, yadda yadda. Momoa used to say it helps."

Zanka hummed in response. Sane mind and Jabber should not go hand-in-hand in the same sentence, but who is he to judge. If he had a notebook back at the rubble of Raiders HQ, maybe he would've not cried himself to sleep that one time. But there was nobody around to see his little breakdown, so who's to say that even happened. Shaking his head a little to clear his thoughts, Zanka decided to ask about what was gnawing at him before he fell asleep.

"Jabber?"

"Hm?" the raider looked up from his notebook to pay attention to the blonde.

"Why were ya so quiet yesterday? When we were sittin'."

"Oh, I thought you liked it? Silence, I mean," Jabber tilted his head a little, as if the question was stupid.

But was the question stupid? Zanka pondered the raider's answer. Why was Jabber doing something that Zanka might like instead of being his usual self, always blabbing about anything to fill in the space with words?

Zanka took a little to long to answer apparently, not fully comprehending the raider's words, because Jabber doubled-back:

"Or I can just talk your ear off about how the gravel is kinda different everywhere I go, if you'd like? If that's better for you, I mean," the raider offered, words rushed a little at the end, which Zanka remembered meaning that the man was starting to slightly panic to save the situation. "It changes colors, yanno. This one here is a little yellowish, for example. But back at the house the dust clouds and stuff were orange. It kinda helped me keep track of how far I walked. Because you can't see it change colors when you walk, yanno, but it--"

"And why are ya doin' things for me?" Zanka cut him off mid sentence, kind of feeling bad with the realization that Jabber began rambling out of... panic? Panic for what?

"Well, uh," Jabber spun a dark lock of hair on his finger, eyes darting sideways, the other hand trumming nails along the notebook cover on his lap. "Well you just kinda left. Without me. And I just thought, yanno, maybe you got annoyed, or something. That I was yapping so much."

Ah. Mysteries solved. Zanka grabbed the other's hand that was still playing with the dreads to stop the nervous movement that was unnerving the cleaner as well, and placed it palm-down on the ground, his own hand on top of the ringed one. The touch piqued Jabber's attention, eyes darting back to meet Zanka's.

"I hate the silence," Zanka said, decisively, eyes stuck on Jabber's own.

He could see the thinking gears shift in the raider's head and then a wide grin stretched across Jabber's lips.

"Oh! Well that's all you had to say, Zanka, my buddy!"

And if the hand on top of Jabber's (who didn't move it away either, to Zanka's surprise) was left there through the whole following speech about how the gravel was changing colors from yellowish, to reddish (how fascinating, Zanka thought, sarcastically) however far Jabber walked, who cares? There was nobody else around to notice it and ruin Zanka's reputation.

Chapter Text

They fell into a comfy rhythm. Talking about the most random things became the norm, albeit it was Jabber doing most of the talking and Zanka just offered his input wherever it seemed appropriate. The raider didn't seem to mind the dynamic though, and Zanka was just glad the awkwardness between them simmered away slowly but surely, left behind like the house Jabber was staying in, or Raiders HQ. It helped keep his mind off of things.

They agreed on walking along the edge of the canyon, to the east (after Jabber pointed the opposite direction Zanka offered initially, whining an overdramatic "but I like this side better!", because of course. And Zanka let up, because of course). But there was seemingly no end to the massive gaping line in the ground, no way to pass to the other side either, and so they just trekked on and on, Zanka glad for the staff at his side to help him walk easier. Zanka did feel exhaustion kicking in eventually, around after the third time Jabber was listing the rest his trinkets and where he found them with a quite excited voice. His broken ribs starting to ache a little too uncomfortably, but he tried his best to carry on, too prideful to show weakness.

Jabber suddenly looked up at the darkening sky, pointing up with a ringed finger. He did a little skip before turning to walk backwards, grin bright as ever.

"I gotta mark down the day, we should stop around here," he said, simply.

Zanka narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if the raider noticed his gradually slowing pace or if he was looking into things too deep. Hard to tell with someone like the lunatic he was stuck with. But he shrugged his shoulders nonetheless with a small sigh, feeling thankful internally, and they just sat down side-by-side by the edge of the canyon again, done with walking into nothing for the day.

"So where'd you get so beaten up, anyway?" Jabber asked with actual curiosity in voice. "I didn't mess you up so bad, right?"

"Nah," Zanka absent-mindedly touched his aching side. "I kinda fell into a hole when it all started."

"Hah, nice," the raider scoffed. "Well, you didn't miss much topside! When the missiles dropped," Jabber mimed the action with his hands as if Zanka needed a reminder, fingers of one hand landing on the palm of his other hand. Mankira's rings gleamed in the dusky daylight. "They kicked up so much dust that I couldn't see shit. And when it cleared somewhat, everything was gone," he made a 'poof' action by spreading his palms. "Anticlimactic, but very effective!"

"Were ya near any people when it hit?" the blonde asked after a beat clumsily, as if he remembered that he has to continue the conversation to appear normal. His eyes followed every movement of those nimble, distracting hands, strangely mesmerized.

"Not really. Was alone, maybe ten minutes away from a... city...?" the end of Jabber's sentence ended in a question where there shouldn't be one and Zanka darted his eyes to meet the man's, suddenly embarassed to be caught staring at the raider's hands out of all things. Jabber tilted his head in a questioning manner, but didn't say anything more.

"I should change my bandages," Zanka announced abruptly to change the subject that was not even there to begin with. Really smooth.

Wanting to disappear into the earth, he just turned away, pulling his makeshift backpack on his lap from the side and rummaging through it to find someway to occupy himself. Because that's a completely normal thing to do.

And so pulling the spool of bandages out, he placed his backpack back down on the ground and busied himself with unwrapping the previous fabric from his shoulder, pulling down the his uniform down a little to reach better. The bandage came off roughly halfway, caught in the wound, ripping some skin and making the clawed gash bleed sluggishly again in some spots. That's what he gets for trying to avoid anything Jabber related while being flustered.

"Lemme help," Jabber said from the side, (thankfully) not mentioning anything about Zanka's weirdness.

Zanka felt him shift closer. To his surprise, the raider didn’t poke or tease. He took the torn bandage oddly gently, unwinding it little by little with steady hands, careful not to pull too hard where it clung. When he finished, he let the fabric drop, but his fingers stayed, resting lightly on Zanka’s shoulder. Not touching the wound, but close. Warm.

"You have awfully bony shoulders," the raider observed next, and Zanka raised his eyes to meet the other's.

There was a strange tension in their eye contact, as if Jabber was challenging him. A small grin on his lips, quite cocky, but subdued with an unsaid question hanging in the air still. The air felt different, charged, testing, as if there was a line they haven't yet crossed between them, but they were both unmistakably standing on suddenly.

The fingers trummed on his shoulder once, twice, as if Jabber thought of saying something more and then changed his mind halfway through. Then, a shift:

"Hold still," the raider murmured, breaking the spell and their magnetic eye contact first. He reached over to grab the fresh bandages with his free hand.

And so Zanka did hold still, shoulders tense, moving his eyes to stare right ahead instead.

Jabber worked the wound up quickly and efficiently, with practiced movements, wrapping the bandage tidily and with ease. Probably having done so multiple times before to himself, Zanka thought. The casual brush of Jabber's knuckles against his skin through the process felt a little too deliberate, but maybe Zanka was imagining it, sitting there tensed up like a wire.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Jabber said, tone sounding almost satisfied, tying the final knot a little roughly to jostle Janka's arm definitely on purpose, making the cleaner meet his eyes again. Zanka felt like a fish out of water.

There was a beat where Jabber looked like he was searching for something in Zanka's eyes for quite a while, but evidently did not find what he was scavenging for. As he then sent the cleaner a little smug smirk, stood up and stretched dramatically, switching right back to the good old Jabber. Zanka let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"All wrapped up and pretty, you're welcome."

"Thanks," Zanka cleared his throat, looking over the tidy new bandaging with cheeks strangely heated. From the pain in his shoulder, surely.

"Anytime!"

Chapter Text

For the next day and the day after, it seemed that Jabber has adopted a new strategy of annoying the living hell out of Zanka, testing the waters. Whatever line they were so close to crossing had almost seemed to have disappeared, trampled over by the raider until there was nothing left of it. There were quips of teasing nature thrown everywhere, absolutely everywhere, with such purposeful nonchalance that Zanka gave up after a day of trying to shut Jabber up. Like when Zanka stole Jabber's pen at one point and started rolling it on his fingers out of boredom, he didn't reply with a classic "go t'hell" to the "ooh, I wonder what else those deft, oh so skillful fingers can do?" comment, but rather furrowed his brows and threw the pen back at Jabber, closing his fingers into fists to hide them, cheeks heated up. There was also much more touching involved - a hand on Zanka's shoulder to get his attention, left there a little too long to appear normal, a passing nudge here or there when they walked a little more to the east again, and the fact that Jabber outright threw his hand on Zanka's chest when they were sleeping, essentially midway hugging him. The raider pretended to be asleep, but Zanka had other suspicions, left laying there riggid as a rock until sleep claimed his racing mind.

The dynamic has fully shifted and Zanka was left scrambling, whereas Jabber seemed to enjoy this little psychological torture very much from what Zanka could tell, all the giddy chuckles and grins a very obvious sign of that.

The raider touched Zanka's hand absolutely on purpose when the blonde passed one of the food cans for him to open with Mankira on the second day. When they shared the can while sitting down, Jabber very obviously sat as close as humanly possible without straight up laying on Zanka. The heat of the raider's shoulder pushed up against his own was, in fact, extremely distracting.

"So, dear Zanka, what do you think happened to the others?" Jabber asked while chewing, a fork in his hands clinking against the metal of the can. "I mean, maybe this is some sort of test, yanno? Like they got teleported somewhere and we're just stuck here until we do somethin' that the universe deems correct?"

If the whole universe is at fault for Zanka living in a nightmare of a constantly flirting Jabber, the cleaner might just go on a rampage. The can and fork was passed to him, and so Zanka took them from the raider, deliberately ignoring how Jabber moved his finger to brush against Zanka's.

"I dunno," Zanka muttered under his breath, teeth clenched from the fact that he has been metaphorically pressed against a wall by the tension between the pair for these last two days. "Maybe the universe wants ya to be normal for once? Has that crossed yer mind?" he finished the last of the food and left the fork inside the can, hand clenched around the metal cilinder like it was the only thing stopping the cleaner from drowning.

"Oh, but that can't be it," Jabber shifted, causing their shoulders to scuffle against eachother. The raider turned to Zanka a little, brushing the hand Zanka had a death grip on the can with, a grin on his face, the touch light, but purposeful. "I might be the normal one in this little situationship, don't you think so?"

And that was it. The turning point. The final straw. The tension (or Zanka's patience, he couldn't tell) snapped, the can clattered to the floor and now Zanka's fingers were clenched in Jabber's uniform by the neck, pulling the raider up from the force a little.

"What in the fuck are ya doin'?" Zanka growled, narrowed eyes catching the mischievious glint in the raider's own. Jabber grabbed his wrist, just holding it there and they were locked in place, faces too close for Zanka to deny the weird pull he has felt all this time.

All he got in response was a shit-eating grin and all Zanka could think at the moment was that he wanted really, really much to wipe it the fuck off. He threw a punch to Jabber's left cheek with his free hand without thinking, knuckles grinding against the cheekbone, physically whipping the smirk to the side, earning a small grunt. Then, without waiting for a reaction, he grabbed the raider by his jaw roughly to make the other's face turn to him again and clashed their lips together.

The kiss was all teeth and warfare, nothing sweet or soft about it. Jabber kissed back immediately after realizing what was happening, as if he was waiting for it this whole time. Zanka didn't feel any butterflies in his stomach, just gut-wrenching rage and annoyance, but he opened his mouth when the raider's tongue started prodding at his bottom lip nonetheless. Then there was spit, a note of minty toothpaste and a tinge of iron in his tastebuds, upper lip throbbing slightly where it was bit. He moved his hand from Jabber's jawline to his throat at some point through the kiss, not soft but not overly rough either, just to have something to ground him. Jabber groaned silently into his lips at that, licking into his mouth with seemingly even more ferocity, tongue darting against Zanka's molars. There was a hand then at the back of Zanka's hair, pulling him downwards, and Zanka went willingly, not breaking the magnetic collision of lips.

When they did separate, although not by much, Zanka was on his back on the ground and they both were breathing heavily, the heat of Jabber's huffs still right by his lips. The blonde opened his eyes that he didn't even know he had closed at some point, meeting glimmering dark ones above him. Jabber was straddling his thighs, towering over Zanka, one hand as a support on the ground right by Zanka's left ear, the other in the cleaner's hair, not pulling, but holding absently.

"Gave up after a couple of days? My, expected better from you, feisty little fighter," the words were mumbled against Zanka's lips and the cleaner did indeed give up on his sane mind and on fighting his internal conflicts altogether, shutting Jabber up with another messy kiss by pulling him closer by his uniform.

They had to break the battle of lips for air once again, and Jabber then sat back a little to get a better view of Zanka, bitten lips stretching into a too satisfied smirk. The hand on Zanka's hair moved to his cheek, blunt nails dragging a little line across the side of Zanka's face as if to check if the other was real, until he was cupping the cleaner's jawline surprisingly softly. Jabber opened his mouth to likely throw another teasing remark, and so Zanka beat him to it:

"Don't... say anythin'," he mumbled, eyes darting sideways somewhat embarassed. Or mad. Mad, probably, his mind supplied. He didn't move at all, fingers still clenching the other's uniform.

"But you kissed me! Twice!"

"It was a mistake."

"Wanna do it again?" Zanka's eyes darted back at the raider at that sentence, and Jabber giggled, unhinged.

Zanka's silence at that question held all the answers Jabber could ever need. A resounding 'maybe...yes' without it being spoken outloud.

Chapter Text

Right after the kiss (kisses, multiple, Zanka's mind generously supplied), they both sat back, Zanka pointedly not mentioning anything about the situation that has unfolded. He did, however, stay still when Jabber scooted back to make himself comfortable with his head on Zanka's lap, grabbing his hand to play with the cleaner's fingers. He didn't move just to keep things casual and not awkward between them, or so he said to himself. His internal monologue seemed to be making sense less and less, but that was all he had left to still somewhat remain sane and not crash down to the fact that he kissed Jabber, of all people. Having remembered that, Zanka brushed his lips with the back of his free hand to wipe off any resemblance of that, skin coming back shiny with spit and slightly reddish with a tiny amount of blood. Zanka absently licked his lips, purely to check if there was any more blood remaining on them from having been bit, of course.

"Well, that surely was something," Jabber hummed, running a nail along Zanka's pinky finger. He sounded a little bit out of breath, but there was a satisfied grin on his lips, not aimed at Zanka, just there. "Honestly didn't know you were such a shitty kisser. Wouldn't have imagined it."

"Stop imaginin' it, then," Zanka huffed, having half a mind to run a hand through Jabber's dreadlocks, fanned out around his legs. But he did not do that, obviously, and shut the thought up. "And I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Not a shitty kisser," Zanka met Jabber's eyes for a second, earning a giggle from the raider. Of course Jabber had a convoluted way of making Zanka actually talk about the elephant in the room. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows and looked away.

"Obviously not, but it's funny seeing you all riled up," Jabber poked at Zanka's palm, let the hand go and rose up to his feet, stretching his arms above his head with an overdramatic yawn. "Now that we've got that out of the way, where to? To the nothing in the east, or the south? What d'ya think?"

The raider extended a hand then to the still-sitting cleaner like a peace offering, and Zanka took it, pulling himself up as well. Zanka shook his hand to make Jabber let go when the raider annoyingly didn't immediately after helping Zanka up. Because they are absolutely not holding hands. Jabber let go, albeit with a grin that made Zanka very aware that the other was hell-bent on riling Zanka up at whatever cost.

"I guess we should look for more supplies. Doesn't seem that there's an end to this hell," Zanka muttered and picked up his bag and staff from the ground, ready for another pointless trip.

"Supplies it is, boss!" Jabber echoed brightly, like they hadn't just been tangled up in each other minutes ago. He picked up his own backpack, throwing it on a shoulder, making a small 'oof' sound at the weight of it.

"Not yer boss."

"Sure you are. All big and mighty with your stick," Jabber nodded at Assistaff, skipping ahead of Zanka's step with a grin akin to a smug cat. Accurate, seeing as he was indeed lounging in Zanka's lap like one not that long ago. "Makes you look real authoritative. Kinda hot!"

"Shut up," Zanka sighed, catching up to Jabber's brisk pace, hand tightening around Assistaff in his hold absently.

"See! Commands and all. Thanks for proving my point!"

And then they walked, the raider throwing tidbits of smalltalk here and there. It was kind of a nice companionship, minus the occasional flirting comments. They tredged through the gravely desert together now, side by side, like a couple of old friends (that might have kissed and might be called a little more than friends at that point, but Zanka once again ignored this train of thought completely). It was an hour or so of just walking, the canyon left behind their backs now, until they came across some ruins, which looked like a small town by the amount of cement and stone thrown about. Without further ado, Jabber skipped ahead and immediately started scavenging the place, lifting up rubble and kicking rocks around to find something of note. The raider picked up a book with seemingly half of its pages missing from under what could've been a wall at some point and threw it into his backpack. Zanka, used to the peculiarities at this point, said nothing and looked around for anything worthwhile himself. Having looted a hairbrush, a can of something that had a picture of a carrot on its side and a wooden mug with its ear missing, he walked back to Jabber, who was now sitting on a piece of a fallen wall, humming something off-tune, appearing extremely bored.

"Yanno, I've been thinking," Jabber said, looking over to Zanka approaching, the smirk that followed the words did not bode well. "Your form is bad. You looked quite sad hunched over, and could barely lift a rock to look for stuff."

"My ribs are broken."

"That's your excuse? Wow," Jabber whistled. "Didn't stop you when you tackled me to the ground a couple of hours ago, did it? Where's that ferocity gone, man?"

Zanka grit his teeth, jaw twitching. He didn't need a reminder. "Keep on talkin', see where that lands ya."

"Oh?" Jabber perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag being opened. "Is that a threat?"

Ah, so that was what the raider was fishing for. A fight to battle the boredom. Sure, he could play along. Zanka placed the items he found tidily by his makeshift bag, almost ceremonially, as if giving the raider time to reconsider. The raider didn't. He never did. The air between them thickened with that familiar crackle of anticipation, the kind that always rose right before someone decided that today was a good day to lose a tooth.

Only then Zanka spun around suddenly. Assistaff activated, her circular shape clashed with Jabber's forearm with a practiced swipe. It was blocked effectively, Zanka's eyes meeting a devious smile. And they were back on their good old song and dance.

Mankira was now activated as well, and they clashed together like waves of an ocean, always meeting eachother's strikes with wild abandon, trusting eachother to go all out. It was wild and messy, both of them battling on top of some ruins that might've been somebody's home at some point, dodging and weaving out of attacks without missing a beat. Dust was kicked up from their scuffle and it was almost poetic, a fight right after their shared kiss (kisses, multiple).

It was almost easy to forget the world around them, reduced to gravel and rubble.

Almost easy.

Because at some point, Zanka felt the hairs on his arms prickle up and that was the only warning he got before a sudden blue flash of light behind Jabber's back stunned Zanka out of rhythm. A sidestep he had made a million times before came a second too late.

Mankira's claws, elegant and so very capable, slid right by Zanka's stomach, the vital instrument taking off a chunk of meat off his side rather than impaling him outright. Jabber, having realised that the blow was not getting parried like he probably very honestly expected it to be, had moved the weapon to the side at the very last second to soften the blow, not able to stop in time. Zanka could only speculate from the pure shock he saw melting into the raider's expression when he darted his eyes back to meet Jabber's, that this was not planned. This wasn't part of their dance.

His back hit the ground, his ribs and side flared up in agonizing pain and all Zanka could do through the adrenaline coating his senses is breathe in a desperate wet-sounding sob.

He visibly winced at the loud metallic sound of Assistaff skittering on the ground where it had fallen, but could not even cast his eyes to the side to look at it, having been frozen in place by the sudden numbness, with half-lidded eyes up to the sky.

"Wh--What!" there was a shout then, hands on his side immediately, dreadlocks falling onto his cheek and Zanka felt weirdly caged and overwhelmed, heat and pressure everywhere on him, breath stuttering.

"Do you have a death wish! What the fuck was that!" Jabber's voice, unsettlingly panicky, sounded so far away, and Zanka moved his hand a little to grab onto to it, maybe. But it fell short, palm falling back down into a weirdly stickly liquid beneath him.

There was another voice afterwards, maybe? But how? It was getting hard to concentrate on thoughts. Or any coherent thought, for that matter. Zanka furrowed his brows when the dreadlocks on his cheek and the heat from Jabber on him left him halfway, limbs getting tingly and cold. He wanted the other's warmth back. His fingers blindly reached some fabric, a sleeve, he thinks, and he pulled on it weakly. There were stars in his vision, quite pretty, he thought, the sky darkening in his eyes.

"Zanka, fuck you, please don't--"

Fall asleep? But he was so exhausted. His eyes dropped closed after a couple of slow blinks he offered Jabber when the other's blurry face came into view, and then everything was black.

Chapter Text

"Jabber!"

Jabber didn't turn at the voice behind him. He couldn't. Not with Zanka's blood seeping hot between his fingers. His own breaths matched the cleaner's, coming out in short, frantic bursts as if his lungs were trying to outrun what was happening. A mantra of fuck, fuck, fuck's started repeating in his brain, which was seemingly short-circuiting at the moment. There was so much liquid just spilling from Zanka's side, Mankira's rings slipping on the blonde's skin. He would've thought this view of the ground drenched with Zanka's blood quite appealing at some point in his life. Not now though.

"Jabber, for fuck's sake!"

There were steps behind him now, matching the thundering heartbeat he could hear in the back of his head, and Jabber whipped his head around at that to face the voice.

"Back the fuck off," he gritted through clenched teeth, shifting over Zanka like a protective guard dog, eyes narrowed at the figure.

He was in fight mode, strung up like a wire, hackles raised, teeth bared, but couldn't move his hands away from Zanka's wound to bear Mankira at the intruder. His instincts were in full control and so understanding that Jabber could go haywire any moment, the voice-bearer stopped in their tracks.

There was a weak pull on his sleeve and Jabber completely shifted his attention to Zanka again, pulling up one hand away from the bloodied mess to move himself up a bit to Zanka's face. He cupped the cleaner's cheek in desperation, coating the entire side of the porcelain skin with Zanka's own blood. It was everything he had ever wanted to see and yet, he felt himself spiraling. He almost expected the other to say something cliche in his dying breaths, but nothing came.

"Zanka, fuck you, please don't fall asleep," he got out, words jumbled.

Then the cleaner's wet eyes met his for a second, the other blinked and then the inky blue closed with a soft flutter of pretty eyelashes. Jabber immediately moved his free hand from Zanka's cheek to his neck, nails slipping along the stickiness he has now so beautifully painted Zanka's skin with in red. He felt for a pulse roughly, panicky. It was soft, but there, and left his fingers there just to ground himself.

"You need to tie the wound," Cthoni quipped quietly from behind him, and Jabber felt his eye twitch.

"Fuck off to wherever you came from," hallucination or not, he needed to make Cthoni disappear. This was not the time.

His eyes were glued to Zanka, the other's already pale complexion looking a bit ashy, the clawed side sluggishly weeping red liquid. It slowed, the bleeding. Jabber didn't know if that was from his hand stopping the blood, or if it was a bad sign. He didn't know. He didn't fucking know. It was one thing bringing death to others, but stopping death was an entirely different matter, one that Jabber was not well-versed in.

"What do I do?!" he groaned under his breath, to remind himself to think.

"You need to tie the wound, Jabber. To stop the bleeding," Cthoni repeated patiently, and Jabber grit his teeth. He was not speaking to her.

But she did make sense, and so Jabber looked around quickly, eyes zeroing in on the dusty bag Zanka was always carrying about. It was two meters or so away, placed tidily by a wall of rubble. Jabber experimentally eased up on the pressure he had on Zanka's wound, and the marred skin let out another string of blood with a wet-sounding squelch. That won't do. Shit, tie the wound. Tie with what? He can't reach the bandages. He reached up with his free hand, trying to rip his uniform to at least get some sort of fabric. It was not that easy to do, apparently, because his hands were fucking trembling and slippery.

There were steps behind him again, but he was hellbent on his mission to tie the damned wound. And so when a small used roll of bandages hit the ground right by Zanka's fanned out hair, he actually flinched. Bandages don't just fly out. Hallucinations can't touch things. What the fuck...

"What the fuck," he deadpanned to himself, but then immediately grabbed the bandages.

Fuck whatever was his sick mind was making up, he was not letting Zanka die. He reached over to grab Zanka by a shoulder, roughly and rushed, feeling sick to his stomach by the way the cleaner flapped around like a ragdoll (or a deadweight) by his jostling when he flipped the blonde on his side, other hand still applying pressure on the wound. He searched for the end of the bandages with his teeth, surely looking like a wild dog, and then rolled the fabric out, lifting Zanka's uniform a little to unclothe the other's thin waist. He started the wrapping with an unsteady hand, pulling his other hand out from underneath of the bandages when he deemed the fabric tight and secure enough and then proceeded with two bloodied hands now, painting the greyish bandages with red fingerprints. The bandages ended at Zanka's back, and so Jabber flipped the other over fully face-down, whining silently at the ugly wet sound Zanka's lifeless body made when it splashed into the puddle on the ground. He tied the dressing with a vicious pull, to make sure it applied enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

And then his fingers were immediately on Zanka's face, now lying cheek-first on the ground. He brushed the hair out of the other's face, half expecting to find them open and shining with that familiar determination that Jabber already missed so much. But there was nothing. He scrambled to grab hold of Zanka's hand then, fingers blindly searching for the pulse point on his wrist. Nothing, nothing, nothing...ba-dump. Slow, but there. That little shit was fighting even in his dying moments. Jabber couldn't control the unhinged chuckle leaving his lungs with a breath of relief.

"Zanka, Zanka," he muttered, like a prayer at this point, one hand placed around Zanka's bony wrist, feeling his pulse, the other sweeping up and down the cleaner's cold arm, to coat the other in blood or to warm him up. He didn't know for what reason, exactly. But the movement was calming Jabber a little, and that's all that mattered.

"He's not going to make the trip at this state," Cthoni said, matter-of-factly from some ways away on the side.

Jabber darted his eyes at her, unconsciously moving a little closer to Zanka, as if to protect him. The sluggish rhythm of Zanka's pulse underneath his fingers stopped him from just ripping her to pieces to make her gone. He said nothing. The hallucination has not disappeared yet, but she was talking nonsense, which so far was accurate for a vision made by Jabber's brain. The short-statured woman stood quite far from the pair, as if keeping her distance from a wild animal.

"I will need to return later. You have to keep him stable. Can you do that?"

"What the fuck are you on about," Jabber furrowed his brows. Of course he can. Zanka is not dying, not now, not by Mankira's claws.

"Jabber, do you understand me? I will return later. He lost a lot of blood. You need to keep him stable for a couple of days, at least."

"Return where? You're making zero sense. If you're not going to help, just fucking disappear already," Jabber was running out of patience. He tightened his hold on Zanka's arm, having half a mind to expect a painful groan from the other, but, of course, not a peep of sound came from the cleaner.

"Jabber, listen to me," Cthoni took a step closer, just to make the point, and Jabber moved forward just a bit, ready to bolt at her. So the woman back-tracked, stepping a couple more steps back. She breathed in an exasperated sigh and went quiet for a moment, as if searching for the right words not to break Jabber's frayed mind completely. "You are in a dimension hole, of sorts. This is not the reality you know. I am real and you have been missing for a month and a half."

"Sure," Jabber scoffed sarcastically, waving a bloody hand at the female raider dismissively, an estranged giggle escaping his lips. What a load of bullshit. He didn't need this right now. This toying of words, this false hope. Not when Zanka's heart was beating so slow under his fingertips. "Makes very much sense, yeah. You, looking for me, too! Nice touch. As if."

"I can take you back. Both of you. But not with him at this condition."

"How convenient," Jabber mumbled then, and looked back at his...companion. Who, drenched in blood, limp as a dead body, was still here, still real and still so solid. Eyes closed, Zanka's long eyelashes brushed along his cheek, accentuating his boyish features. He looked so peaceful. So wrong.

"Jabber, you..." Cthoni's voice sounded forced, like she had run out of words to say to make him believe her. There was a pause then, which made Jabber glance back at her, Cthoni's face twisted in a frown. "Nevermind," she finished, shaking her head. "I will be back. That is all you need to know. Do not move much from this location. And clean the wound if you want him to survive."

And with that and a sudden flash of blue, a manhole formed under Cthoni's fingers. She climbed inside and left. The world was deadly quiet on again and Jabber's trembling fingers caressed Zanka's arm absently, limp in his hold. There was a chuckle rising in his chest again, panicky and unpure, and he let it echo through the dust around him.

He was all alone again, bathed in blood. And whose fault was it if not his own.

He laid Zanka's hand down gently on the ground and moved him over with care this time, careful not to jostle the dying cleaner, so that he was lying on his back again, a bit further away from the puddle of red liquid. There was a visible drag mark of blood where Zanka now resided, still as limp as ever, and Jabber sat back on his heels, taking it all in.

He should... he should maybe... he leaned over the cleaner again, just to see his face clearly. Jabber brushed back the soft blonde hair as if that somehow could coax Zanka into consciousness, tapped his cheek a couple of times with two fingers and when he received no reaction, Jabber surrendered. Curling himself up by Zanka's healthy side, he extended fingers to hold on to the laps of Zanka's uniform. The fabric was stiff with dried blood. He held it anyway. And when a chuckle started somewhere deep in his belly, he let it drift out, just to have something to listen to other than the raspy, barely audible breaths from the other.

Because of course it's by Mankira's claws that Zanka meets his end! Oh, how romantic. Before long, the deranged giggles that sounded more like breathless hiccups by the end lulled him to sleep.

And when nightime came, and a sharp inhale from the chest he was laying on jolted him from sleep, he stayed perfectly still for a bit, as if afraid that it's his mind playing tricks on him again. But then another tremor passed Zanka's chest, a cut-off cough or sorts, sounding painful and weak.

Cautiously, Jabber sat up. His hands trembled when he cupped Zanka's bloodied cheeks, thumbs brushing away dirt and dried red as if that alone could hold life inside of him. The other's eyes fluttered open, as if it took everything he had to lift them even a fraction. But he was still fighting. Still there. Still Zanka.

Eyes met, and Jabber's lips stretched into a smile, teeth and all, heartbeat picking up.

He cannot live in this world without him, or any other for that matter, he realized. Zanka might still die, this fragile little creature he cradled in his hands like something holy, but he's not dead yet. And that's all that mattered.

"Jab--" a quiet beginning of a name in the form of a weak breath then came. It sounded like pain, adoration and desperation all at once.

"Shh, I've got you," Jabber leaned in, forehead touching Zanka's, gentler than he can ever remember himself being. "I won't let you die. You can't leave me all alone."

Zanka's eyelids slipped lower at that, fluttering, but still open, still here. Still alive.

And Jabber held him there, in the complete silence that followed, as though by sheer force alone he could will the next day to come.

The night was quiet.
But Zanka breathed.
And for now, that was enough.