Chapter Text
It’s not that Rudo means to eavesdrop exactly, just that his room is only around the corner from Zanka’s, and on the way to the cafeteria. It’s around dinner time and Rudo had just come back from a small cleaning job (he was getting more of those between bigger events, still had to do his job as a cleaner while pursuing his own goal) so, he’s starving.
Just as he walks past Zanka’s door... he hears a groan. Rudo stops in his tracks, curious but also slightly concerned. Zanka’s usually pretty quiet when he’s in his room, a sharp contrast to his usually volume when around Rudo, so hearing anything from behind the door could be a cause for concern.
Another groan sounds out from behind the metal, and Rudo’s stomach drops as the sound trails off into a slight whimper. He presses his ear to the door, politeness fully discarded, and listens. His eyes go wide.
Is... Is Zanka... crying?
It’s not a loud sound. Rudo doesn’t think it would even actually qualify as crying to a normal person. They’re more like small, broken sniffles if anything. But despite the repeated beatdowns Zanka gets... he’s never been seen crying about it before.
Rudo’s stuck for a moment, not knowing what to do. Ironically, his mind flashes back to Zanka’s own words about situations like this. Rudo wants to learn to help people, this is the perfect opportunity to gain more experience in that. He just never really considered that Zanka would be someone he could help in this way. After the trash beast, Zanka just seemed so... untouchable. Emotionally, at least.
Whatever it is that's made him cry, had to be way above what Rudo could help him with.
But still, Zanka is his friend. So Rudo feels compelled to at least try.
Gently, Rudo knocks on the metal door to Zanka’s room. The sound reverberates slightly in the empty hallway, furthering the sense of foreboding that overtakes Rudo. There’s no answer, but Rudo does hear a sharp intake of breath come from inside the room.
‘How heavy must he be breathing, that I can hear it from behind a metal door?” Rudo thinks to himself, preparing to knock again.
He tries a little louder this time, the clanging being only slightly dampened by the thick material of 3R. Another whimper, this time even louder, followed by...-
Rudo throws open the door just in time to see Zanka, leaning over his bed and frantically reaching for a bucket stationed nearby. He barely has it beneath his chin before violently throwing up into it, and Rudo can see that the action is painful for him. Well, he can kind of see. The room is completely shrouded in darkness, curtains drawn (heavier curtains than Rudo has seen in any other room of HQ) and all the lights turned off. From what little Rudo can make out, from the light flooding in from the hallway, Zanka’s covered in sweat and tears, a state which Rudo can hardly believe.
Even beaten black and blue, Zanka was able to at least pretend to look put together.
“S-Sorry!” Rudo stutters out, “I didn’t know you were sick, I just heard you cry-” he cuts himself off, knowing that Zanka likely doesn’t want to be seen as weak, “I heard suspicious sounds, so I-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Zanka interrupts. It’s his typical blunt tone, but the quality of his voice is completely wrecked. Practically no sound had even come out of him, his voice was that strained.
As carefully as possible, Zanka places the now foul-smelling bucket back on the floor and rolls back over on his bed. Rudo can see him shaking beneath the covers.
“Are you... okay?” He tries again. It pays to be a little more patient with Zanka, Rudo has found. “Do you need me to get En-”
“Shh!” Zanka interrupts, sharp and angry. Rudo’s eye twitches.
“Fine, asshole!” He growls out, not missing the way Zanka’s body flinches in his curled position under the blanket, but he pays it no mind. “I was just tryna help!” Rudo leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Just as he’s about to walk away, however, he hears what sounds like Zanka whining. Like some kind of injured animal.
The guilt from the interaction is already making a pit in his stomach before he’s even started walking away. So, abandoning his plans for dinner, Rudo sets his sights on finding Enjin... or Eishia. Whoever he sees first.
Sure, Zanka was being a jerk, but he was also clearly incredibly sick. Finding someone better equipped to deal with his moods was probably the best choice.
He eventually (after almost-sprinting down several identical hallways) spots Enjin hanging by the front desk with Semiu. Rudo rounds the corner quickly, skidding to a stop by the desk and inhaling deeply, ready to spill his worry for Zanka.
Rudo must look as frazzled as he feels, because before he can even open his mouth to tell Enjin his concerns, the man is already looking him up and down in shock.
“Woah, woah!” Enjin placates, hands in front of him, “Slow down, Rudo. What’s got you all worked up?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Semiu adds, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
Rudo flushes slightly at this. Sure, he’s worried, but he didn’t think it would show so obviously. No matter. He should still tell Enjin what he saw.
“It’s Zanka.” He explains, fidgeting nervously with his hands. “When I went past his room, I heard him... crying?” Rudo says it like a question because it partly still is. Even seeing the tears on the guy's face wasn’t enough to really convince him that Zanka had actually been crying.
Enjin also looks shocked at this, raising both eyebrows in disbelief.
“Crying?” He asks, “Zanka? Are ya sure?”
“Well, no I wasn’t sure,” Rudo concedes, “so I went in his room to see if he was okay.” He looks at Enjin seriously, “I think he’s sick. He was throwing up... and really sweaty.” Rudo tacks on the last part as more of an afterthought. Zanka looked basically drenched. It was only just occurring to Rudo that that was likely also a symptom of illness.
“He was shaking a little, too...” he trails off, not sure how to continue.
Even Enjin begins to look a little panicked at the news Zanka might be ill. So, Rudo’s assumption was correct, then. This isn’t a state that Zanka is in often.
“Hold up.” Semiu says, standing and walking to lean on the front of her desk, arms crossed, “Enjin, before you get too worried, you sure it’s not just another code black-out?”
Seemingly remembering something, Enjin blinks a bit, then deflates in exasperation.
“Ugh, I hope not.” He whines, “It’s been ages since his last one... and you know how he gets.”
Semiu nods in fake sympathy and pats his shoulder. “Well, either way you gotta check on ‘im.” She says, practically dismissing Enjin from her presence. Or maybe more like she’s giving him permission to be worried.
Rudo sees Enjin nod and draw himself back up. He claps his hands together and gives Rudo a strained grin.
“So, kid,” He starts, leading Rudo back down the hall and towards the infirmary “when you went in... how did he react?”
Again, flushing slightly, Rudo admits “He told me to-” he trips over his words slightly, “be quiet.”
Enjin side eyes him, “those his exact words?”
“No.” Rudo responds, avoiding looking up at Enjin. “He told me to shut the fuck up.”
Usually, something like that from Zanka would have Enjin bursting into laughter. It’s not often Zanka showed his rude side in front of the man, after all (Rudo had learned this quickly. Zanka did not want to be seen as weak in front of Enjin. This extended to immature things like lashing out and being impatient... both things that Zanka did quite a lot). However, Enjin gives no such response. In fact, Rudo watches as the man’s eyebrows furrow even further, giving him a pretty constipated expression.
“Hm. Not good.” Enjin mutters to himself as they round the corner to the infirmary.
Puttering about in the corner is Eishia, bent over what looks like some kind of logbook of medications next to their carefully stocked cabinet.
Knocking on the door frame to make his presence known, Enjin calls out to her, Rudo hanging back behind him.
“Hey, Eishia! We got a black-out situation in Zanka’s room.”
Rudo can’t even begin to guess what that could mean, but Eishia seems to know. After quickly recovering from the shock of being suddenly called on, Eishia nods and gathers a bottle of pills from the cabinet, checking something on her logbook as she does.
“R-right, I was thinking it had been a while since the last one.” Eishia sighs, handing over the medication to Enjin, “you can give him his usual dose but...” she trails off, nervously looking down and clutching her hands together, “I’m not sure how effective it’ll be, sorry. E-even though the pain meds are really strong, he’s used a lot a-and-”
“Yeah, he knows.” Enjin interrupts, not unkindly, “He’ll appreciate it anyway, Eishia. I’ll let him know not to overdo it, yeah?”
She nods in understanding, and Rudo then follows Enjin back out, now to Zanka’s room.
On thew way, Rudo finally finds his voice again.
“So, what is a code black-out, anyway?” He asks. Rudo’s managed to gather that it’s not life threatening, seeing as everyone has remained pretty calm. But he also gets the feeling that it’s not something that anyone particularly enjoys dealing with, for Zanka’s sake more than anything else.
Also... Eishia said something about pain meds. Strong ones.
“Is Zanka sick?”
A strong hand comes down to ruffle Rudo’s hair, he swats it away, grunting in protest. Enjin chuckles half-heartedly.
“Somethin’ like that.” He says as they round another corner, “He’s mostly just in pain.” Enjin sighs and shakes the bottle of pills a little for Rudo to see, “The good stuff helps, but only a little.”
“In pain?” Rudo asks, even more confused than before, “Has he been in another fight? He wasn’t even like this after the-”
He’s cut off harshly by a hand covering his mouth, and Enjin shushing him. Rudo scowls, what is it with people telling him to be quiet all the time? They’ve stopped in front of Zanka’s room, heavy metal door looming in front of Rudo in just the same way it had earlier. Rolling his eyes and swallowing his pride, Rudo raises his hand once again to knock. Once again, a hand stops him from doing the thing he wants to do.
“What the hell are you doing?” Enjin hisses, eyes practically bulging from his head, “Are you allergic to being quiet?”
Before Rudo can protest that it’s basic manners to knock a door before entering, Enjin is already turning the handle and entering the room. He gives Rudo a sharp look, as if to say ‘seriously don’t say anything if you value your life, kid’. It’s a very specific look, but the meaning is conveyed perfectly.
Zanka is exactly as Rudo had left him earlier, curled up under his blanket, curtains completely blacking out the room. He isn’t making any sounds anymore, however. Rudo and Enjin get closer, and it’s then that Rudo sees Lovely Assistaff in the bed with Zanka.
He’s curled around her protectively, gripping her hard and squeezing his eyes shut in agony. Upon closer inspection, Rudo can even see that Zanka is driving his forehead into one of Lovely Assistaff’s prongs, applying a massive amount of pressure to his face with the wood of the stick. Rudo is somewhat surprised she isn’t bending under the pressure. The position doesn't look... comfortable.
“Zanka,” Enjin whispers, placing a gentle hand on Zanka’s shoulder, “we’ve got your meds, buddy.”
Zanka flinches, even at the barely audible sound of Enjin’s voice.
“They won’t... do shit.” He responds through gritted teeth. He sounds even worse than when Rudo had come in earlier, somehow.
Enjin sighs and runs a hand down his face. Wordlessly, he shakes two small pills from the bottle and places them on the small table next to Zanka’s bed. Enjin picks up the bucket (which still stinks) and takes it to the bathroom to empty. When he returns, he secures the curtains, making sure they’re completely blocking out all light. He even adjusts Zanka’s blanket slightly so that it covers his legs and feet, having become scrunched from Zanka’s likely continuous twisting about. Rudo watches him do a number of other small things around the room, feeling useless and unable to help.
He looks to Zanka and guilt pools in his chest. Rudo still doesn’t really get whats wrong, but he knows that coming in and shouting earlier likely hadn’t helped. Perhaps he’d even made it worse.
“Hey Zanka...?” He tries his best to whisper, but it’s still slightly too loud, “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you were... um.” He pauses, “Sick?” Rudo’s eyebrows scrunch together in thought. He still doesn’t really know what's wrong with him.
“S’just a migraine,” Zanka hisses, curling further into Lovely Assistaff, “s’whatever. Happens sometimes.” The words are a little slurred, but Rudo hears them for what they are. Forgiveness as well as a dismissal.
Zanka doesn’t want pity for this.
Rudo nods just as Enjin gestures for them both to leave the room. Before he shuts the door, Enjin whispers a goodbye.
“And try to take the meds,” he adds, frowning, “you’re worrying Eishia and Rudo to death.”
Rudo sputters, but it’s too late, the door is already closed. Silently, he purses his lips. Worried to death? What an exaggeration. It’s the normal amount of worry to feel when you see your friend/trainer in such a state for seemingly no reason.
Enjin is seemingly not immune to this worry, either. The man is barely two steps from Zanka’s room before he takes a cigarette from his coat and lights it up, taking a deep drag and groaning. Rudo follows him, recognizing the way to the cafeteria, his original destination before all this went down.
“So, what is a migraine, anyway?” Rudo asks, finally having a name for what the problem is. He’s heard of them before, obviously. People got them up on the Sphere, too. But he didn't know anyone who actually had them. “I just thought they were headaches... That didn’t look like a headache.”
“S’cause it’s not,” Enjin takes another drag of his cigarette, before putting it out on his sleeve and tucking it back into his jacket, “migraines are headache’s demonic daddy that kicks your ass just for existing.”
Rudo scowls. Enjin’s explanations of things are often lacking, leaving him with more questions than answers. His confusion must show, because Enjin tries to elaborate.
“It’s a headache, sure.” He concedes, “But you ever had a headache so bad you threw up?”
Rudo had, once. Well. His head had hurt really bad, and he had thrown up. But Regto said that what he had was called a “concussion”, and he had thrown up more because of the dizziness than because of the pain itself. But still, it isn't an experience he’s keen on repeating.
“There’s a bunch’a other shit with it too,” Enjin continues, “I dunno about other people who get ‘em. But Zanka always says he can tell when they’re comin’ ‘cause he gets like, shapes in his vision and stuff.”
Rudo’s eyes go wide at the information. He didn’t know they were that intense. No wonder Zanka had been so pissed at him before.
As if somehow sensing his guilt, Enjin gives him a hearty slap on the back and grins.
“Don’t worry too much, kid. This is just another thing that Zanka works through to make himself stronger.” They reach the cafeteria. “Don’t let him catch you with that look on your face, or he’ll triple your training.”
“H-he would not!” Rudo cries in disbelief.
Enjin raises an eyebrow.
Rudo deflates, “He totally would.”
The next day, Zanka doesn’t exactly feel top of his game, but he feels at the very least functional. That’s all he can really ask for after a migraine attack that intense. Quietly, he laments his own brain’s shortcomings. It had been ages since a migraine that bad, and now Zanka knows he’ll be suffering with at least the residual brain fog for the next two or three days. He sighs and collects himself. It’s just another thing he has to accept about himself, along with his mediocre nature and inability to keep his cool.
Another shortcoming he can work hard to make up for.
After a light breakfast, he makes his way to the front desk in search of Semiu. A mission should surely put him back on track. Even if it is something simple like a stray trash beast in a polluted zone. It doesn't have to be crazy, it just has to be distracting enough that he can forget the fool he made of himself in front of Enjin and Rudo. He’d thanked them at breakfast for looking after him, but the whole process was humiliating. He’d prefer it if no one saw him when he was like that.
“Mornin’.” He greets as he rounds the corner, carefully ignoring the magazine Semiu flicks through so casually, “Anythin’ that needs attention today?”
“Not for you there isn’t,” Semiu replies, not even lifting her head to look at him.
Zanka’s eye twitches. This always happens after he has an attack and he hates it. They treat him with the kid gloves for days after the fact, like he can’t be trusted to know his own limits. It’s done. He’s over it. Yeah, the pain was excruciating. Yeah, he threw up and he could hardly move. But, crucially, he’s up now. He can be useful now. Why they’re always so hesitant, he doesn’t know.
But, he also knows that arguing with Semiu is useless. If she says he’s not being assigned a mission, then he isn’t. Just his luck.
With a sigh and a nod, he turns to leave, clutching Lovely Assistaff tighter in frustration. Just as he’s about to round the corner, Semiu speaks up again.
“I’m not stopping you from leaving, though.” She says, eyeing him carefully, “I know you probably just wanna get out of here, and I get that. You don’t need permission to go on a walk.”
Zanka has never felt more grateful for the Cleaner’s receptionist. Smiling, he thanks her and leaves. It’s not exactly like a walk will get him fresh air, there's not a lot of that on the Ground, but it can bring him some peace of mind.
He decides to make his way over to the closest town. Maybe he could get some sweets for Rudo, the kid had seemed pretty shaken up. Zanka kind of feels bad for him, he knows it isn’t pretty when he gets a migraine, but at least everyone else at HQ was somewhat used to them. This is the first one Zanka’s had since Rudo arrived, it must have been a pretty confusing thing for him to see.
He walks for a while, taking in the desolate scenery of trash and desert. As a Cleaner, he often has to walk great distances between jobs, but after such an intense migraine, Zanka knows he should be taking it easy, so keeps to a slow and even pace. It'll make the whole trip take longer, but he doesn’t mind. More time away from HQ means less time being coddled, which suits him just fine.
Zanka is, however, finding it a little difficult to keep track of how far he’s walked so far... Brain fog will do that to a person... But something about this feels off to Zanka. He pauses and takes in his surroundings. To one side of the ‘road’ is a vast expanse of desert, nothing but dirt which eventually turns to mountains of trash on the horizon. To the other side, much the same, save for a lonely abandoned structure that must have once been some kind of warehouse, or even a barn. The view should be familiar, Zanka has walked this road many times before, but his mind just... can't seem to catch up. He feels adrift.
Trying to get a better look at the landmark structure, Zanka squints against the glare of daylight, only to realize there isn't any glare at all. His vision is tunneling.
“Not good...” Zanka whispers to himself, just in time to feel a wave of nausea sweep through his body.
Instantly, he feels sweat bead at the base of his neck, accompanied by a shiver. His stomach churns. Vision tunnelling even more, Zanka presses the palm of his hand into his eyebrow, hoping the pressure will stave off the pain he knows is sure to be inbound. He has to get some place not so open. Somewhere dark. Only then can he call for help; if he uses his choker right now, he’s sure the effort of speaking will send him to his knees.
As quickly as he’s physically able, Zanka makes his way to the only bit of shelter he can see, the abandoned warehouse structure. It’s not ideal and it’s almost filled to the brim with trash, but it’s all he’s got so he has to make it work. Plus, it has no windows, so it’s at least a little bit dark.
Collapsing against the interior wall, Zanka pushes his forehead firmly into the wooden shaft of Lovely Assistaff, and tries to contact Semiu. The ringing sound of the choker is ear-splitting, causing him to grind his teeth against the assault of it. The pain behind his eye and along his jaw is very quickly building.
“Zanka?” Semiu’s voice almost makes him flinch. It likely would have were his muscles not already so tense. “You’ve been gone like 3 hours, you good?”
“R-rebound...” He manages to grit out through heaving breaths. Another wave of nausea washes over him and he swallows heavily. He'd like to spare Semiu the sound of him vomiting if possible. “Can’t get back.” He adds, in case that wasn’t already clear.
“Okay, are you somewhere you can chill for a bit?” She asks, voice serious and to the point as always, “I can get Gris to come pick you up.”
Zanka heaves. Thankfully, nothing comes up. He re-angles Lovely, pushing one of her prongs into his forehead and curls around her on the floor. If anyone were to find him like this... he doesn’t even know if he would have the capacity to be embarrassed.
“I can... wait.” He finally answers. Semi must say something in response, but he doesn’t catch it, just registers the hum of the choker cutting out to blissful silence.
He hates this whole situation. However, even as he’s lying on the horribly dirty ground, dry heaving and in blinding pain, Zanka knows he has no one but himself to blame. Rebounds are something he deals with frequently... Almost as often as the initial migraines themselves. It’s why he’s been refusing medications for them so frequently. At the dose he’s on, coming down from the painkillers is almost as harmful as not taking any to begin with. Try telling that to Enjin, though.
He should have known that going out was a bad idea, but he was so caught up in his own inability to be pitied that he ignored that fact and now look at him. Stranded on the border of a polluted zone, halfway between HQ and the nearest town, with absolutely nothing to protect him. Just his luck.
Zanka’s not sure how long he’s been lying there shivering for, but eventually he hears a noise. Thinking it must be Gris here to collect him, he does nothing to silence his breaths. He doesn’t call out or anything either; Zanka thinks he’d likely throw up if he does that.
The shuffling sound gets closer, followed by what Zanka thinks must be some trash getting tossed in a nearby pile. More shuffling... and then, a terribly loud and grating voice.
“Woah! Zanka, that you my man?”
The last person on the entirety of the Ground Zanka wants to hear.
Completely unprepared for the onslaught of sound, Zanka finds himself whining in response. He’s fucking furious. Of course Jabber of all people would be in the middle of the exact spot of nowhere that he is, just as he’s unable to defend himself.
“Yo, who got you fucked up like that?” Jabber asks, curious and with a touch of humor to his voice that Zanka hates hearing.
Zanka tries his hardest to sit back up, clenching his hands hard around Lovely Assistaff and using her for leverage. He finds that he still can’t open his eyes, but upright like this he can fight off the nausea slightly easier as he talks.
“Nobody,” He finally hisses, “now fuck off.” Zanka hears footsteps approach, followed by the unmistakable sound of Mankira being activated.
“Don’t look like nobody to me.” Jabber replies easily, the sound of him clacking Mankira’s blades together echoes around the warehouse. “S’a shame too, I was hoping we could play a little.”
Zanka’s hands find their way to the top of Lovely. With every ounce of strength he has, he wills his legs to plant beneath himself and stands. Finally, as much as he dares, Zanka opens his eyes and fixes Jabber with the meanest glare he can muster. With the amount of pain his head is causing him, it isn’t hard at all to wish Jabber would just drop dead from it.
“Awhh, don’t look at me like that, man!” Jabber cries, hugging himself and shivering in an exaggerated show of... something Zanka doesn't want to think about, “You’ll get me all excited ‘n we can’t even fight about it!”
“Who says we aint fighting?” Zanka spits back, finally activating his vital instrument. The pressure behind his eyes feels like it doubles with the action. The mental load of activating a vital instrument almost too much, but he’s fought through pain before and there's a Raider right in front of him. Now isn’t the time for hesitation... even if his vision is blanking out slightly in certain places.
Jabber clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. The motion is just as over the top as everything else he does.
“I got no interest in fightin’ you if you can’t go all out.” He says, sounding bored even by the concept, “And I don’t wanna kill you neither, since then we can’t fight ever.”
If he’s being honest with himself, Zanka is shocked that Jabber has put that much thought into whether or not Zanka should die. He’d always assumed that Jabber was the type to kill anyone who didn’t give him the exact fight he was looking for at the drop of a hat. Still, the comment pisses him off.
“So, what? Yer jus’ gonna walk away?” He growls out, ignoring the way his words are slurring, and sweat is already running down his back, “As if I’ll let ya do that.”
“Nah,” Jabber sighs, bringing his eyes up to meet Zanka’s, then grins horribly, “here’s what's gonna happen.” He raises Mankira and takes another step forward. Zanka can only shuffle back slightly, using Lovely to keep balance.
He really should have thought this through better, he’s in absolutely no position to be fighting at all. But really, what is he meant to do? Jabber is right there, he can’t let him go without at least a little bit of a fight.
Jabber takes another step, he’s in reach now. If Zanka wanted, or was even able, it would only take a single swing to send him through the nearest wall. He slides his hands into a better grip, lifting Lovely Assistaff from the ground. Immediately, his knees buckle slightly, causing Jabber to laugh. His pace doesnt slow at all, until they're practically face-to-face with one another. Jabber places Makira’s claws delicately under Zanka’s chin.
“I picked up somethin’ fun for Mankira recently, and I haven’t had the chance to test it out yet.” Jabber pushes in slightly, and Mankira breaks the skin of Zanka’s neck, “Let’s find out what it does, together.”
The pain of the claws drawing blood barely even registers underneath the splitting pain already in his head, but the effects of whatever toxin is in them become very quickly apparent. Zanka’s already waning control over his body is completely removed, causing him to fall to his knees. His arms loosen their grip on his vital instrument and Lovely falls to the ground beside him, also powerless. It’s like his bones become jelly. He’s sinking. He can hardly even feel the ground underneath him. But... most of all.
Past the fear, past the idea of vulnerability, the largest thing that Zanka feels after being intoxicated is... Relief. Pure and blissful relief.
As he feels his body sink deeper into the ground, all he can do is let out a calm and sated sigh. After the unending pounding in his head from only moments ago, this feels practically euphoric. Zanka’s eyes slip closed. He can’t move a muscle, but he doesn’t feel paralyzed or trapped in any way. Just... loose. Like his body could float away at a moment's notice.
“’Mazin’...” He laughs breathlessly, still limp on the ground. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but it’s like he has no filter anymore. Everything just feels so good.
A maniacal laugh rings out above him, and a shadow crosses his vision. He knows that moments ago the sensation would have been scary, or even enraging, but right now all Zanka can do is keep gently laughing to himself along with the other person.
“So, Zan-zan, what’s it do?” Jabber asks, grin evident in his voice, “How you feelin’?” He crouches down next to Zanka, and carefully carves another thin line across the back of his hand.
As the dose increases, so does the floating feeling that encompasses Zanka’s head. It’s almost too much. He can barely even think. But still, he was asked a question.
“Feels...” He tries to open his eyes, they feel heavy, but he manages. Blue meets magenta, “Good.” Zanka laughs at Jabber’s expression, something in his face looks almost perplexed, “Migraine... gone.” Zanka clarifies, blinking slowly.
Jabber clicks his tongue, “Boring.” He says, standing back up and staring down at Zanka in annoyance, “I thought you were fucked up from some other fight. You tellin’ me your own brain wants you dead, too?”
Suddenly, his eyes seem to light up and he grins once more.
“But you tried to fight me, even through that shit?” Jabber cackles, “Man, you’re actually crazy! I knew I was right ‘bout you!”
Jabber lies on the ground next to Zanka, studying him with a smile. The position feels almost familiar, but Zanka can’t place where this would have happened before. Perhaps whatever drug is circling his system is just making everything feel safe and familiar. He can’t find it in himself to care. Only able to move his eyes, Zanka stares back at the man next to him.
Something about his face has Zanka trying to move again. He can feel the presence of Lovely, close by but still too far. She’s between him and Jabber, the space separating them minimal. His hand twitches towards her. Jabber doesn’t miss the movement but also makes no attempt to stop him.
“Still tryin’?” Jabber grins and nudges Lovely Assistaff closer to Zanka’s hand. It’s still not close enough.
Zanka can only breathe heavily as his hand snakes its way across the disgusting ground of the warehouse. The buzzing in his head is growing. Something deep within his subconscious is pleading with him to move, but it’s like he just doesn’t care enough. He's not in any pain at all... so why should he? Still, his hand moves.
The very tips of his fingers meet the wood of the staff. Instantly, she activates.
Jabber rolls onto his back in order to avoid the sharp spikes on her prongs and howls with glee.
“God, you wanna kill me so bad!” He cries, “Even when you’re high outta your mind, you can’t help but try hurt me.” Jabbers arms wrap around himself, Mankira still active, as he rolls back and forth slightly with a moan.
Just as it seems like he’s about to go on another tirade, the familiar green-yellow glow of a portal fills the room. Cthoni is perched on the edge, face unreadable.
“Jabber, time to go.”
The man groans in response, standing up and returning Mankira to her original form.
“But Cthoni, I only just stared havin’ fun!” He cries, gesturing to where Zanka is still lying limp on the ground.
“Having fun with your Cleaner wasn’t part of Zodyl’s instructions.” She says, voice completely unreadable. “He’ll correct you for this, if you’re not careful.”
Zanka watches as Jabber seems to freeze up, all fun momentarily lost from his mind. When he speaks again, his voice shakes a little.
“Well, the thing the Bossman was after ain’t even here, so.”
The warehouse is silent for a moment. Then, Cthoni sighs.
“Come home, Jabber.” She makes brief eye contact with Zanka. He can’t say or do anything. “He doesn’t have to know about this.”
And just like that, they're gone. Jabber doesn’t even spare him a second glance.
Even through the haze, that bothers him... for some reason.
Zanka lies there for a while longer, Lovely Assistaff at his side, mind drifting far away.
Eventually, he hears the sound of a car engine. Followed by footsteps.
“Zanka?” A voice hisses out into the warehouse. Zanka hums in response.
Blond hair and blue eyes come into view and it’s then that Zanka remembers that Semiu had sent Gris to come and collect him. Zanka smiles, body finally able to truly relax. He’s going home.
“Gris.” He whispers with a giggle.
Above him, Gris frowns and places a hand on his forehead. The feeling is nice, even through Gris’ gloves, so Zanka laughs again. Everything just feels so good.
“Semiu said you had another migraine attack?” Gris asks, confused. His confusion quickly turns to concern when he spots the trails of blood leaking slowly from Zanka’s neck and hand. “What happened?” He asks, frantic and grim, and he picks Zanka (and Lovely) up and takes him to the car.
Zanka sighs as he’s placed into the passenger seat and buckled in. Theres slight sensation returning to his hands now, which he uses to clutch at Lovely Assistaff.
“S’gone...” He answers as best he can. “Was given stuff.”
Gris looks concerned as he turns on the car and pulls away from the warehouse, gripping the steering wheel in a controlled manner. Light blue eyes flick back and forth between Zanka and the road ahead.
“Stuff?” He asks when it’s clear Zanka won’t elaborate any further. “What stuff?”
The gentle hum of the car compounds on the floating feeling washing through him, and Zanka feels his eyes drift closed again. It’s like he can sleep peacefully for the first time in days.
“Good stuff.” He says. Finally, sleep claims him.
He’s not in any pain at all.