Chapter Text
Jabber wakes slowly, consciousness dragged to the surface like a net of a hundred struggling gar. It feels like someone cracked open his skull, stuffed it with cotton, then sealed it back up with tacky glue. His whole body is heavy, sunken deep into whatever pallet he’s laid across. Damn, he hasn’t slept that hard in years!
He stretches his hands out to admire Mankira, but something seems off as he takes in the view. Jabber squints. His beloved rings have the same grounding presence as always, but his hands themselves look different. Have his scars faded, or is the light in here playing tricks on him?
Wait, where’s ‘here’?
Instead of the dank cell the bossman left him in (solitary confinement, what a creative punishment), he seems to be in some sort of infirmary… it looks way too clean and organized for the raiders’ den.
Was he kidnapped? The thought’s almost laughable. Everyone knows raiders can’t be ransomed. The warm lamplight emanating from the corner of the room could certainly lull a less astute captive into a false sense of security, though. Jabber’s thoughts are drifting again, and he forces himself to focus on the scents around him.
He closes his eyes and smells antiseptic, the faint jojoba oil in his hair, and some fresh floral soap and incense. The last scent's oddly familiar. Jabber dips his head to get another whiff and abruptly realizes he’s not alone in the bed. If he wasn't fully awake before, he sure as hell is now. The sight before him is so preposterous he has to pinch himself to confirm it's real. (And then again just for fun.)
A solid form is wrapped around Jabber's side, leg slung over his waist as they exhale warm breaths into the crook of his neck. Jabber goes ramrod straight as soft hair tickles his jaw. The smooth rise and fall of the mystery person’s chest against his ribs makes his skin crawl. They murmur something incoherent and nuzzle further into his neck, and Jabber abruptly sits up and scoots back against the wall. The sudden movement jostles the stranger’s head from its comfortable spot in Jabber’s neck, and they wake with a groan.
“... the hell? Jabber?”
The raider’s mind reels as he takes in the man beside him. Mr. Bad Attitude? Does he have a death wish?
Zanka's confused expression quickly morphs into familiar frustration. “This is why ya don’t go drinkin' random shit outta ponds! I told ya to leave it, not like Mankira needs the fuckin’ upgrade, but no, ya gotta ruin the mission n’ make me cart yer sorry ass back to HQ.” Huh? What’s he yapping about now?
Zanka’s voice may be harsh, but he’s still wrapped protectively around Jabber’s waist, as if the burning contact doesn’t even faze him. Shit, maybe those hallucinogens really were too much for poor Zan-Zan. The warm press of the cleaner’s body against Jabber is becoming unbearable.
“Why’re you all up in my grill, man?” Jabber shoves off the leg that’s casually thrown across his lap. “Talkin’ ‘bout Mankira like ya know shit about her,” he mutters.
Seriously, where’s Zanka’s self-preservation instinct? Does he wanna get his ass whooped again that badly? Maybe they’re more alike than Jabber thought. He expects a shove back, or more scathing remarks, but instead Zanka just looks quizzical (and maybe a little hurt?). For real, what’s up with him?
Zanka slides out of the bed to give Jabber space. Hey, that’s no fun... why isn’t he fighting back? Matter of fact, why’s he dressed so casually? When they met, Jabber would swear showing an inch of collarbone would kill the guy, but now his full arms are on display. Were they always that big? Standing backlit by the lamp, Zanka’s silhouette looks broad and imposing. Where was this intimidating presence in their fight yesterday?
Zanka assesses him carefully, tilting his head as he contemplates something. “Jabber. Whaddaya remember from yesterday?” He finally asks. Wow, the high and mighty cleaner deigns to use his real name? This day just gets weirder and weirder.
“Damn man, already nostalgic over the beatin’ I gave ya? Thought I was the masochist,” he giggles. But Zanka doesn’t bite. He just crosses his arms, trying and failing to mask his concern. How odd.
“Details. Please.” Zanka’s voice is impassive, but his posture is tense.
Okay, something’s definitely off. The good ole cleaners Jabber knows would never treat him so politely. He caves, recounting their first meeting in excruciating detail (partially in hopes of getting a rise out of Zanka). The man’s eyes darken when Jabber mentions how much of a dick move it was to double-team him with that sphereite, but he lets him finish the story without interrupting.
“Yer pullin’ my leg,” Zanka scoffs in disbelief.
Jabber just laughs. “You asked ya boy for details, don’t get mad at me for keepin’ it real with ya!”
Zanka’s eyes bore into Jabber’s face, scrutinizing him for any sign of deceit. Seeming to realize the man’s being honest, he sighs, expression shuttering into something unreadable.
Zanka rubs his temple. “Jabs, that fight was years ago. Yer a cleaner now, have been fer a while.”
Years? No wonder Zan-Zan’s buff as hell now! Jabber’s mind reels from the implications… Zanka must be lying. What in the Abyss would compel him to join this raggedy-ass band of losers? How could he ever replace the thrill of fighting strong enemies with mindless trash beasts? Something's not adding up.
And another thing: it’s allegedly been years, and Zanka still has that fuck-ass mullet? Jabber’s eyes crinkle, and Zanka bristles. “What?”
“On God we gon’ get you a better barber, man,” Jabber wheezes with a laugh.
The fire’s finally back in the cleaner’s eyes. “That’s yer main concern?” he scoffs and heads to the door. “Stay put if ya know what’s good for ya, I’m gettin’ Eishia.”
Is Jabber supposed to remember who that is? For all he knows, Zanka put him in the infirmary himself and is bringing in a cleaner buddy to finish the job. He bites his lip thinking about it.
Fuck it, he might as well loot the cabinets in here while his warden’s out. Maybe he can stock up on some new painkillers for Mankira… Cleaner HQ probably hoards all the good shit. Jabber creeps out of bed to take stock of the infirmary’s medicine supply. As he sifts through the cabinets, he can't help but overhear a muffled conversation from the hallway.
A soft voice squeaks “Three years? So he thinks he’s still a raider?” The girl sounds anxious and a little frightened.
Zanka’s voice is oddly calm when he responds. “He’s confused, not hostile. Yet. Can ya just check his vitals again? I won’t let ‘im hurt anyone.”
Oh? Little Zan-Zan thinks he could stop Jabber if he truly wanted to rip this place to shreds? Jabber suppresses a laugh as he recalls Zanka’s twitching form laid out on the ground, practically foaming at the mouth. Big words from a guy who can’t handle a measly drop of hallucinogen. Jabber has to admit that killing an innocent doctor is beneath even him, though… he’ll let Zanka keep that big head for now.
The voices in the hall peter out, and Jabber pockets the strongest painkillers he can find and quickly returns to the bed. He puts on his most innocent smile as the door swings open. Zanka steps in with his shoulders squared, and the meek doctor trails in behind him with clear trepidation.
Zanka clears his throat. “Jabber, this is Eishia, our healer. Ya may not remember, but she’s patched yer dumb ass up more’n I can count. So don’t try anything while she’s assessin’ ya, ‘kay?” Zanka puffs his chest almost imperceptibly, an unspoken threat. He’s maintaining a respectful distance now, but Jabber can still feel residual warmth from where the man had been pressed against his side earlier. He ignores the feeling and turns his gaze to the timid doctor. She hesitantly moves toward the bed.
“Word.. Hey Eishia, wanna test those healin’ powers on our dear friend here?” Jabber grins. When Eishia furrows her brow in confusion, he flicks his gaze meaningfully back to Zanka.
“Um, I-“ Eishia stutters out, and Jabber launches off the bed, activating Mankira before the girl has a chance to finish her thought. Doctors may be off-limits, but his favorite grumpy cleaner? That’s easy pickins.
Or so he thought. Zanka almost seems to have expected the attack, swiftly dodging the poisonous claws slashing at his side and kicking Jabber square in the solar plexus. Damn, has he always been that flexible?
Jabber stumbles back, barely staying upright as he catches his breath. He raises his head to take another swipe at the cleaner — maybe he’ll lunge left then feint low this time… but Zanka’s gone. He sees Eishia in his periphery, backed into a corner with her gloved hands trembling against the wall. She seems unsure if she should make a run for the door or not.
Jabber quickly goes to turn around, but strong arms wrap around his waist, and suddenly his world’s flipping upside down. He barely has time to process how the ceiling’s traded places with the floor before his head’s colliding into the ground. Holy shit. Did this motherfucker just suplex him?!
The arms around his waist withdraw as Zanka maneuvers Jabber, pressing him facedown into the floor. Heavy knees dig into his back, and Jabber lets out a breathy moan. "Damn, Mr. Big Stepper, take a guy out to dinner first," he wheezes. Calloused hands twist Jabber’s arms back until his shoulders are screaming in their sockets, and his eyes nearly roll back from the sharp bolt of pleasure it elicits. Ugh, why wasn't Zanka this handsy in their first fight? Jabber weakly flexes his fingers in hopes of nicking his captor with a stray claw, but the man’s keeping his body juuust out of reach.
“Deactivate her,” Zanka grits out. “Now.”
Jabber groans. He’ll admit his technique was a little sloppy, but hey, he hadn’t expected the cleaner to manhandle him like a fuckin’ pro wrestler! Jabber futilely grinds his hips up into Zanka. “C’mon man, quit buggin'... the fun’s just starting! Don’tcha wanna beat my memory back into me?” he purrs, biting his lip.
Zanka tightens his hold roughly, dislocating Jabber’s left shoulder with a sickening pop. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Jabber,” he warns. The pain is heavenly, and Jabber doesn’t bother suppressing another moan. Part of him wants to see how far Zanka's willing to go to beat him into submission, but he can still make out the doctor’s terrified form in the corner. No need to scar the poor woman further — he can always just attack Zanka again after her assessment's done.
Jabber finally relents, letting his anima fade. As soon as Mankira’s claws detract, Zanka shifts his grip to hold Jabber’s wrists in a single hand, using the other to quickly slip off each precious ring. Jabber tries to buck him off, but it's too late.
“Hands off man, the fuck? Give her back!” Jabber fumes, cursing himself for ever letting his guard down around this bastard.
“Quit whinin’, this is just insurance. I’ll give ‘er back after Eishia checks ya out, since ya wanna pick fights in a fuckin’ infirmary.” Zanka’s clearly miffed, but for some reason it seems like he's genuinely trying to reassure Jabber. “I know yer confused, and we’ll figure it out, ‘kay? But I can’t have ya wreakin’ havoc after ya finally earned everyone’s trust ‘round here.”
“Aww, the big bad cleaner's scared of a little scratch?" Jabber teases, trying not to show how bereft he truly feels. His fingers are too light without the reassuring weight of Mankira. He wonders which pocket Zanka put her in, but soon dismisses that train of thought when the man gets off of his back and hauls him up onto the bed. Fine, he might as well let the doctor do her job. He can deal with this weirdly buff version of Zan-Zan later. "You cleaners are hella shady, takin’ advantage of an amnesiac over here…” Jabber grumbles.
“Ain’t nobody takin’ advantage, ya brat,” Zanka bites back. “Now lemme reset yer shoulder.” Jabber wants to pester him more, but his thoughts are sidetracked again as Zanka presses him onto his back and firmly drags his limp arm outward. The cleaner places one hand on Jabber’s chest to keep him in place, and the other grips his wrist securely, pulling his arm out tight until the bone slides back into its socket with a clunk. Zanka didn’t even flinch! The fuck are they feeding this guy in here?
“Yeowch, man,” Jabber whimpers, rubbing at his sore arm with a pout. “At least kiss it better...”
“Hush yer mouth ‘fore I dislocate somethin’ else,” Zanka threatens with a glare. He steps back and beckons Eishia over.
“Hey doc, you cool with him bullyin' a patient like that?” Jabber whines at Eishia as she approaches him with renewed caution. Honestly, the idea of being pulled apart limb by limb by Zanka’s strong hands only fuels the flames pooling low in his stomach, and they probably both know it.
Eishia winces. “Well, um, I’m not sure how much fighting you should be doing in your current condition. So please try not to instigate anything. Zanka does have your best intentions at heart.” Zanka’s eyes narrow at that, but his ears go pink. Cute. “I didn’t find any physical injuries when you returned from the mission, but you’ve been.. asleep.. for a bit.. and you seem to be, um, missing a good chunk of memory… So I’d like to check on your brain if that’s alright,” she peters out, obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of diagnosing something serious.
“Go for it, Eish,” Jabber grins, "... long as you're gentler than Mr. Bad Attitude over there.. on that Booker T type shit when ya boy's brain's in such a delicate state..." He bats his eyelashes and massages his sore shoulder for dramatic effect. Zanka clenches his fists but says nothing.
"Of course," Eishia smiles. She removes her layered gloves and unravels a cord from around her shoulders, plugging her hat into the wall... Huh. Jabber’s never seen a vital instrument quite like that before. The doctor turns and reaches toward Jabber’s head, then pauses in consideration. “M-May I?” She asks, fingers outstretched inches from Jabber’s face.
“'Course, I won't bite. This time.” Jabber grins. A warm electric thrum of energy makes its way from Eishia’s hand into Jabber’s temple. He shivers as it permeates the skin and travels all the way down his body. His shoulder already feels less sore!
Eishia concentrates hard, closing her glowing eyes to focus her energy on Jabber’s brain. “Okay… I don’t sense any internal bleeding or atrophy… your neocortex is healthy and whole.” She furrows her brow. “Something’s off with your amygdala, but I can't detect a physical injury… the tissue is in good shape.” Eishia sighs, opening her eyes as she slowly retracts her hand. Thank god. Jabber doesn't know how much more of that gentle touch he could endure.
“Um, I’ve never had a case like this before… I’m really sorry, but I’m not sure when your memories will return. It's hard to estimate a timeline without any clear injuries for me to heal.” Eishia bows her head in apology. “M-maybe you can jog them by talking to the rest of your team?” She asks hopefully, glancing toward Zanka.
“Works for me, doc!” Jabber beams, delighted to have an excuse to fight meet all the strong guys who wanted to pummel him into the dirt before.
Seemingly reading his mind, Zanka straightens up. “Hold yer horses, yer not cleared to leave yet.” He turns to Eishia and clasps her shoulder. “You can get ta bed now, Eishia. Thanks for checkin’ on him. Yer guess at whatever that toxin did ta his head is a helluva lot better’n mine,” he reassures her. Eishia flushes at the compliment and goes to unplug her instrument.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more use…" She turns to Jabber with a hesitant smile. “I’m sure you’ll get your memories back soon, Jabber. You’re a very, um.. resilient person!” Eishia bows her head again and slips into the hallway, probably thankful not to be subjected to another fight.
“Resilient, huh?” Jabber peers over at Zanka. “What exactly has your sadistic ass been puttin’ me through here?” He smirks.
“Fuck off, just take the compliment. Not that ya deserve it,” Zanka huffs, bringing his wrist up to activate his choker.
“Riyo? Ya still up?” He asks softly.
A woman’s voice answers immediately, followed by what sounds like arguing teenagers. “Hell yeah we are! We’re not sleeping until I take Rudo for every property he’s got! Little shit keeps buying up all the railroads,” she mutters.
“Y’all are still playin’ that dusty old board game?” Zanka raises an eyebrow.
“What about it? Are ya finally gonna quit moping and join us?” Riyo asks. The voices in the background seem excited at the idea. When Zanka takes a beat to respond, Riyo's voice softens. “How’s your boy doing?”
“Ah… Jabber’s up, but he’s uh.. different.” Huh. This is the most nervous Jabber's seen Zanka since he woke up. “That toxin from the lake scrambled his brain a bit, n' he’s lost some memory. Eishia said maybe talkin’ to y’all could help jog it.. or somethin’..” he trails off.
“He’s awake?!” another girl excitedly inquires. “Hmm, how much memory are we talkin’?” Riyo asks with an edge to her voice.
“A few years,” Zanka sighs. “Just.. just come n’ talk to him. If ya want.” His casual tone is betrayed by the way he’s pacing back and forth, twiddling his choker anxiously around his wrist. It's hard to believe this is the same man who pinned Jabber down and wrenched his arm from its socket just minutes ago.
“Shit, okay.” The line goes dead.
Zanka glances back toward Jabber, but his gaze doesn't meet his eyes.