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Zanka is not expecting the Hell's Guard to let them in, when he and Riyo approach the building. Him in his torn clothes and dripping wet from the fountain, the sure-fire resolution that had ignited in his chest as he recalled the shame he had felt in the aftermath of the Doll Fest Festival doused as he dragged himself to the place he had once left behind with only a stick to his name, feeling more failure than human, more mistake than son. Riyo with her hair tangled and her emotions leaking out of her face like water from a vase, the emptiness that had started to take over her eyes since Mymo changed forms dulling her entirely, like she was more ghost than girl, more corpse than sister.
Maybe that's why the hell's guards have let them in, a guy in a Green Horns uniform silently leading them to the infirmary, and a stern-looking nurse only frowning at them as he let them in.
Goka was there. Zanka could feel his brother's presence from great distances. Like a shadow that loomed over him, the darkness closing like a fist around his neck the closer he got. He was saying something, right now. But Zanka could only hear the repetitive litany of pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic echoing in his head, lowered now that they had integrated themselves to the rest of the voices, the ones that called him mistake and average and fraud and boring and weak and disappointment and—
Riyo steps into Goka’s direction, her hand settled over her gun and her shoulders set.
Zanka grabs that very same hand, and walks over where Enjin is watching them, silent. He's not often silent, but things have shifted, and his mentor always needs a moment to find his footing again.
Zanka sits at the edge of his bed, his back turned to him. Riyo freezes standing at the edge of the bed, then drags herself to Enjins's feet and curls there, like an animal wounded.
“...I see,” Enjin says, his voice a rasp, sounding bruised. He had been injured. Grievously injured. Zanka doesn't know how. He had not been there. He's never there, not when it matters.
“You don't,” Riyo parries, the words as dull as her eyes. She hasn't blinked in a while. Zanka gets it. He thinks the darkness will consume him, too, the second he lowers his ward.
What ward? Something whispers in the back of his head. You cannot protect yourself from anything or anyone. You are weak. You are pathetic.
He's going to change. He had promised himself so. But what is he going to change? All of him is a mess. Starting over would be easier. Erasing the mistake, instead of trying to fix it.
Except that, well, Zanka is the mistake.
“It's never going to get better, is it?” He asks, eyes set on the floor, hands gripping his own knees. He should be holding Lovely. He's not worthy enough to hold Lovely, not anymore, maybe he never was. “It’s a waste of time, all of it. It doesn't matter. It never—”
“You will be okay again,” Enjin cuts him, his voice soft as an arm trails up his back, a hand coming to rest over his right shoulder as the left slides over Enjin's chest, the man enveloping him in a half-hug. When did Zanka even lay down? He doesn't know. He gives in so easily. He's so weak. “I promise. Just—believe me, okay? That's all you have to do.”
“I'm tired, Enjin.”
Some days I feel like I will never be happy again. Today I feel like I've never been happy at all. How can I be? I'm a mistake, a disappointment. I'm a liar, a fraud. A disappointment. Boring and weak and pathetic and—
“I know. Still. You have done things tired before. You have done things angry and sad and hopeless. One more time, okay? Just one more. You just have to hold on.”
“It's not worth it. I'm not strong enough. I will never be strong enough. I'm weak. I'm pathetic, I—”
“Shhhh,” Enjin says, a hand on his hair, petting him. “It's not true. You know it's not true. You are great. Don't listen inside, okay? Listen to me. It will get better. It always does. Just hold on. Just trust me. You trust me, don't you?”
Zanka closes his eyes, nodding weekly, head leaned into the older man's neck. He's cold, as he always is, but having Enjin close makes it better. It can be better, he reminds himself. It has been better before, and it can be better again. He can't quite recall it, but it has to be true. He clung to Lovely for a reason, he got out of the bottom of the well for a reason, he joined the Cleaners for a reason, he swore his life to Team Akuta for a reason; he trained and ate and meditated and cared for Lovely and drank with Enjin and Gris and stole cigarettes and then choked on their smoke with Riyo for a reason. He kissed Follo and ate too sugary pastries with Eishia and played dress up with August, Guita and Dear and talked boys with Semiu for a reason.
He helped Delmon tend to his garden and went to a concert with Tamsy and learned how to drive from Tomme and talked about what he wanted for his future with Corvus for a reason. He agreed to mentor Rudo for a reason, and he got back after Jabber Wonger dosed him with poison for a reason, twice. He went clothes shopping with Fu and talked about Vital Instruments with Amo and kissed Follo again after he let him hold Alan for a reason. He followed Bro to missions even through he didn't want to for a reason, he let Doc Alice check him over for a reason, he—
He got a hole blown through his body and still fought back for a reason. Even though he was in pain and even though he knew it was hopeless and even though it did nothing at all—
Zanka still did it. He did it all. He took hands extended to him, he extended his own to others. He went and came, he listened and talked, he helped and asked for help. No matter how humiliating, no matter how stupid. He tried. He tried and tired and tried, over and over and over again, all for a reason.
He cannot recall the reason, but here is Enjin, battered and half mummified, still holding onto him, and it must be for a reason. There is Riyo, creeping closer and closer until she's slipping into with them, half liquid and yet heavy, her thinner arms closing around them too, and she must be here for a reason. Here comes Rudo, and here at the foot of the bed he stands, all still and stony, and then he's sliding between Zanka and Enjin and Riyo and holding on to all of their held hands and crying loudly, and he must be crying for a reason.
And Zanka may not recall the reason but he doesn't have to, because here is his family, Enjin stinking of smoke and Riyo of blood and Rudo of dust, and that's enough to remind him that if nothing else, he loves them, and for these people that he loves—
For these people that Zanka loves, he can keep trying. Enjin is right. He must be.
He has never lied to Zanka before.