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Zanka stands at the edge of the no-mans land, gripping tightly around Lovely Assistaff. She brings him some level of comfort.
He's not entirely sure what he's doing. He's supposed to be fighting trash-beasts, but they've been defeated, and... he doesn't want to go home yet.
He still has his mask on, saving him from the toxic air. He itches to take it off, so bad. He won't, he knows he won't. He can't. He has people to live for. He has goals to meet. And it pisses him off.
He's at the edge of no-mans land, yet it feels like he's back at the bottom of that well.
He's not sure why he's like this right now. Why he feels the urge to push everyone away and die alone. He knows the cleaners care about him. He doesn't know or understand why they care, but he knows they do anyway.
Zanka can't think of any incident that prompted this. It's just... passive suicidal-ness, maybe? He doesn't feel alive. He doesn't feel like he's worth what little clean air the ground has. He shouldn't be wasting that air with his incompetence.
He can do things. He can fight. He can win. He can work hard for what he wants. But it's not enough; it's never enough. And some days... giving up just sounds better.
Enjin told him that suicide wasn't giving up; it was depression outweighing the support. He had plenty of support, which is why he couldn't do it. He'd be letting too many people down. He doesn't like letting people down.
He hates it. It makes him feel even worse about his own shortcomings. Because of course, he can't even make other people happy.
Rotting in no-mans land sounds like a fitting death.
He feels his grip on Lovely Assistaff loosen, as he debates leaving her behind so that she doesn't have to watch him die. He doesn't want to leave her behind, really. Zanka always told himself that if he were to die, he'd want to leave with her in his arms. She's everything to him. His best friend.
His grip on her tightens again as he unclasps his mask with his free hand. He drops it to the ground and walks forward.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
He's walking farther and farther into the wasteland, letting the toxic fumes overwhelm his senses. It burns his lungs, but he doesn't care. He has fifteen minutes before he succumbs to it. He needs to last for fifteen minutes.
He makes it a good way in before he sits down on his knees, laying Lovely Assistaff across his lap. He closes his eyes and waits, letting the peace of death wash over him.
He feels dizziness set in after about seven minutes. His vision is swimming when he opens his eyes and his breathing goes raspy.
At ten minutes, his body is starting to scream at him, telling him to get to safety. He doesn't listen.
At eleven minutes, everything is quiet.
At twelve minutes, he smiles.
At thirteen minutes, there's a small prick in his neck. He doesn't notice it.
And at fourteen minutes, it goes dark as his body hits the ground.
When Zanka wakes up, he's in an unfamiliar room.
He smells antiseptics through the reek of harsh chemicals. It almost reminds him of a certain raider. His head is throbbing and he feels nauseous.
Then it hits him: I'm alive.
I'm not supposed to be alive.
Who the fuck saved him?
Zanka sits up abruptly, patting around for Lovely Assistaff. The lack of her comforting presence was alarming, but a quick glance around the room showed him that she was simply propped up against the wall at the foot of the bed he lay in. He sighed.
His head hurts more now from the sudden movement. It's quickly forgotten, though, when someone opens the door.
Zanka's head whips up to see who the piece of shit was that dared fuck up his-
"Zanka, my friend! You're awake~! Mornin' sleepyhead!"
Jabber.
Zanka is frozen in place as the raider approaches him, a lot more mellow than usual. He fixes a glare at him, hoping to convey how pissed he is at the freak.
"C'mon now, man. Don't give me that look. I saved your damn life!"
"Ya weren't supposed to!"
Jabber pauses, his easy smile faltering.
"Why not?"
Zanka opens and closes his mouth, not knowing how to answer that question. He whips his head away, turning his gaze towards the wall, which was much more interesting.
"So I was right. You were doin' that on purpose."
Silence.
Zanka feels another prick in his neck, fully noticing it this time. He smacks his hand to his nape and whips his head back around. He pauses though once he feels the pain in his body dissipate.
So he used the numbing agent.
Zanka grumbles, bringing his hand back down and fiddling with his fingers. He keeps his eyes focused on his hands, not daring to look up at Jabber.
He can feel those deep magenta eyes staring into his soul. He hates it.
A few awkward and tense moments pass before Zanka feels the bed dip beneath Jabber's weight. He still doesn't look up.
"Why were you tryna kill y'self?"
"...Like hell I'd tell ya."
Jabber just hums. Zanka knows he expected that answer.
They sit like that for a long time. The tension feels like it grows thicker, yet abates at the same time. The awkwardness fades and is replaced by just... contemplation.
Jabber finally moves. He repositions himself to sit side-by-side with Zanka. He leans back against the headboard.
"Is this the first time y've done this?"
"...No."
"Did somethin' happen to make you wanna do it?"
"Not really."
"Impulse?"
"No."
Jabber hums as more silence follows. It's peaceful. It's way too peaceful for people like them. Then, Jabber does something that Zanka never ever would've guessed could come from the raider.
Jabber slowly laces his fingers with Zanka's, who were still fiddling with each other. He then sits up and leans on Zanka, encasing the cleaner in warmth.
It was weird. Extremely weird. Yet Zanka didn't pull away or push him off. He just stayed tense under his touch.
"...W-Why?"
Jabber doesn't respond. He just nuzzles closer and fully wraps himself around Zanka.
Of all people to receive this kind of affection from, it ends up being Jabber?
He's been hugged before. It was brief congratulatory hugs from Enjin, from Riyo, hell, he's even gotten one from Bro before (that was objectively weirder than this, his brain dutifully supplies).
But he's never been held.
His hands have now gone to unconsciously fiddling with Mankira. He can feel the life buzzing under the metal. He can feel Jabber's soul buzzing under the metal. If the raider is bothered by it, he doesn't say anything.
Zanka can feel his face get hot. And he knows it's because he wants to cry. He's being held by his enemy for fucks sake, what is he doing?!
He thinks about it more and more. He thinks about their fights. He thinks about how Jabber unironically pushed him to be better. How Jabber has seen something that Zanka couldn't see.
Again, he knows Jabber can see something in him. Something that Zanka can't see in himself. But he doesn't believe it. He thinks Jabber is overestimating him.
But why would the raider do this?
"Because I wanna."
"Huh?"
Jabber's hand that wasn't linked to Zanka's comes up to catch a stray tear on his thumb. Like the weirdo he is, he licks it. Zanka makes a face that goes ignored.
"I don't really know what I'm doin'. I'm just goin' w'my gut here. N' if that means holdin' you, then so be it."
Zanka doesn't know what he's doing either, but he still curls up and presses himself closer into Jabber anyway. They reposition and fall sideways onto the bed. It wasn't large by any means, but that just meant they needed to cuddle closer to stay on, right?
Jabber held Zanka with the cleaners face in his neck, as he silently cried. He couldn't really control it, not like this. Not while he was being held like he was worth something.
"I'm yer enemy, Jabber..."
His voice was quiet and raspy, trying not to make the crying obvious (it was).
"Nah, you're just Zanka right now."
My Zanka goes unheard.
He still feels it. He feels it through Mankira carding through his hair.
He inhales shakily as he latches onto Jabber, his legs becoming tangled with the other's as his hands grasp onto Jabber's clothes. The raider's hold tightens just as much.
Zanka doesn't know what any of this means. He doesn't know why the guy he wants to kill (and who he thought wanted to kill him in return) is holding him so tenderly. After saving him from a nearly successful suicide attempt.
He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what will happen tomorrow. He doesn't know anything right now.
All he knows is that Jabber is warm, and that he might be glad he's alive to learn how that warmth seeps into his veins.