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In a clatter of black and violet swirls, Zanka was brought to the ground.
Another day, another loss. His favourite foe stopped short of crashing into his chest, his claws digging into sand right next to Zanka's ribs. Then, they vanished entirely and Jabber dropped down to his forearms.
Dark and simple cloth that smelled of dust and old fabric clad Zanka these days, rendering him almost invisible in the cave's twilight. A hood, clasped by dull metal with the Cleaner's sigil engraved, shadowed his face, only the blue of his eyes flickering as he kept his jinki activated. Up to his cheeks, his mouth and nose was covered by a tight scarf, pulled up to muffle his heavy breath which rattled from his broken lungs. Ever since the accident had left his lung tissue torn and scarred from contaminated air, he'd found a new style. Three years of suffering, three years of futile attempts to reach his old fighting style. Until finally, Zanka had come to grudgingly accept that his health would never allow him to get back to his aggressive, elegant handiwork on the field. He was forced to adapt, whether he liked it or not.
His strategy was that of an assassin, now - attack from the shade. Act quick, deal few but daunting strikes. Use poison.
With a fragile truce between Raiders and Cleaners, Corvus had picked Jabber as Zanka's new teacher. So far, he'd always managed to return from the old cave system they held their sessions in, either consisting of sparring or Jabber's education on the vilest of poisons.
And still, he kept on losing. Time after time, he found himself on the ground, holding Jabber back with Lovely Assistaff before his strength left him, or a new fit of coughs announced itself, and he inevitably was forced to yield.
Bright, magenta eyes lost their glow when Mankiller returned to its ring shape, pupils small while Jabber seemed to scan Zanka. "So, Mr Bad Attitude. I take it you're yielding?"
Teeth showed in a smirk, quite self-satisfied to see Zanka defeated again. With his new style, Jabber as well had to adapt - one of his favourite parts, the way Zanka tickled his sense for danger, dealt him wounds and presented new challenges. Despite losing their matches, Zanka was one hell of a pain with his jinki, and Jabber had enough fun in their lessons to show up the next week, and the one after. They'd been training for almost four months, now, without seriously damage to either.
Grunting through his scarf, Zanka finally slapped his palm into the sand. I yield, that meant, and Jabber hummed to himself when Zanka revealed his scowl, ripping down the thin cloth. Already, Jabber was pushing himself off the Cleaner's chest, missing the signs, unable to avoid Zanka's hand that snatched the back of his neck. Instantly, Jabber whipped around, unable to fend off the sudden grip to his nape.
Was that Zanka's revenge? Kill him while he was distracted, fuck the truce? His hand was so damn cold against the dip in his nape, how had he missed this attack?! Futile, he could try and struggle but he only managed to look on as if he was an outsider, his head yanked down already. The hairs in the back of his neck raised when Jabber understood that Zanka held more physical strength, he knew how to break a neck, he was about to kill him!
Pink flames lit up his eyes, Mankiller screeched against rock. Zanka's fingers curled, too quickly, the best Jabber could do was kill him in return. He twisted his wrist, silver bracelets clicking when he brought the claws closer and closer, ready to punch through Zanka's side. Not fast enough, Zanka is gonna end me first, he's gonna leave me here—
The first thing Jabber noticed was that Zanka didn't break his neck. That the weight of Zanka's palm rested in the back of it, no damage dealt to his spine - on the contrary, Zank was dragging his thumb along the baby hairs there.
Bright pink flickered - Zanka's eyes were shut, his entire torso open and vulnerable. If Jabber wanted to stab, he had every chance. Had he used Mankiller?, the dread shot through his thoughts. Zanka felt cool below him. Zanka was always cool, his nose icy against his warm cheek, his forehead cold, his lips warmed from his breath, or from Jabber's own?
His palm ran along Zanka's side, searching for a cut in his tunic, sticky blood that would seep from his wounds if he had indeed stabbed Zanka. Nothing. Zanka's clothes were whole, and except for sand and the sweat gathered in the hollow of Jabber's own palm, there was nothing to be felt. Muscle flexed against him, in disregard of the long claws that should have worried Zanka, yet he showed no sign of retreat. On the contrary, he shoved himself further into Jabber's grasp on his waist, sighing into the raider's half-opened mouth.
A disbelieving snicker ran hot against Zanka's lips, once Jabber's brain caught up to what exactly the Cleaner was trying. Zanka had his lips on him, he was being smooched by Mr Bad Attitude himself. Oh, and he was alive, surprisingly. Jabber's jinki died, his teeth clattering harshly into Zanka's own as the raider pressed into the kiss full force.
"Damn, Zanka." His name tumbled from Jabber like a spell, drawing his attention back towards the raider. "I ain't lying, you didn't seem to have it in ya. Like, yer some icy statue, emotionally. Thought you were gonna kill me."
Zanka rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't kill ya. Not right now, you're too expensive to waste." Jabber didn't question that Zanka meant was he said - that guy was too stuck-up, too rational, than to kill an entire truce benefitting his people all for the sake of his own pride.
"There's the ice block again", Jabber mouthed, his face down in Zanka's own - he didn't complain, his breath rattling on unevenly while he held onto his Lovely Assistaff. Her weight was comfortable where she lay against his palm, her shaft not bruising them even though he held Jabber's entire weight up with her now, inches away from his chest. Without Lovely Assistaff, his most beloved partner, he would have been out of breath from holding Jabber up minutes ago, maybe even after a single kiss. They demanded so much air.
His head thumped back, into the sandy ground of their cavern. Brown and blonde sprawled around his head in a jagged halo, and Zanka... well. He squeezed his eyes shut when Jabber chuckled. Listened to Mankiller's eerie clicks while the raider traced along his stomach, over the dark uniform, ready to tear into it. He half expected his new clothes to suffer, poor Auggie, when Jabber would inevitably rip holes into the fabric.
Nothing of the like happened. Clicks of metal against metal followed, when Jabber's fingers brushed too closely to one another while he opened it patiently, button by button. Indigo nails trailed down, over his ribcage and the hard muscle on his stomach.
"Fuck, what happened to ya?", Jabber screeched, voice too close to Zanka's ear for comfort. The cleaner scoffed, cracking one eye open in a bemused stare.
"Y'know what happened. 'S why we're trainin' right now, airhead." Nevertheless, he sighed and closed both eyes again, the turquoise sheen dimming while Lovely Assistaff returned to her usual form, an unassuming blue branch. Jabber didn't seem to pose a danger to his lungs anymore, and Zanka had lost that round of sparring, regardless.
Who'd have guessed, that he would lose against that fucking genius again. Renewed ire accompanied his words, this time. "I crashed. Trashbeast, three years ago. Fell 'nd lost my mask, they didn't find me for hours. Now I gotta save my shitty breath. Remember?!"
Distracted, Jabber needed a second to catch onto what he meant, the din of silver ring on silver ring loud in front of Zanka's nose when he waved his hand into his face. "... yeah, yeah. I know all'at. Didn't mean your lung problems, ya told me 'bout that. I mean this."
His fingers pressed against Zanka's stomach, feverishly warm - Jabber's default temperature, it seemed. He couldn't tell whether that was because of the many highs or just Jabber in general. His fingertips caught on old scar tissue, a jagged circle. The scarred skin slightly protruded, in multiple places. Eight of them. Each of them a lesson. Lean muscles tensed - he had not forgotten they existed, but normally, they were between him and the mirror. He never ran around with half his body exposed, anyway, these scars were only seen by himself and the Stilzas. They didn't comment, so long as the scars didn't compromise his health. Jabber, already content with receiving no answer at all to his question, had begun tracing the scars, drawing lines between the bullet holes. Constellation after constellation, as though they were stars in the pale sky of his skin.
"Told you. I'm average." He whispered, jamming his staff's end into the ground to pull himself up on her in the process. Finally up, he sat cross-legged in front of where Jabber was crouched. "My sister had quite a few methods to let us practice dodgin'. Anythin' including bullets. I wasn't very good at that."
"Your sister shot you?"
"My friend shot you. Remember?"
"Uh-huh." Jabber smirked, rubbing above his collar, a waft of old clothes and sweat catching up with Zanka. He wished he could say he cared about Jabber's weird stench. "The little cleaner didn't do that for some messed up drillin', though. 'Nd that aside, I'm glad she did. Felt hot as fuck, and - in hindsight - meant I could keep ya around longer." Never one to mince words, he tipped back onto his heels, landing on his ass. "I really wanted to see how the trashbeast would've eaten ya, though. Shame."
"Shame, indeed."
With how leisurely Jabber moved outside of their sparring, the manner in which his pink eyes shot up caught Zanka off guard. Almost instantly, Jabber's vision had cleared from his fog while these magenta eyes pierced Zanka, from one second to the next. An assessment, he noticed, feeling an uncomfortable breath strain against his throat. Swallowing them down always ended in dry, heaving cough, and so once again, he allowed the coughs to shake him.
When he pulled his mouth back from the crook of his elbow, once the inevitable coughs had wrecked through his lungs, a speck of fresh blood clung to his bottom lip. Jabber had pecked the bright red spot away before Zanka could argue, only able to react with a discontented groan.
"I liked bein' shot, man." Zanka, ready to throw another insult at him, already drew in air through his nostrils to chastise Jabber for his statement. "Honestly, though? I really hate the thought of seein' you gettin' shot at. Eight times, ZanZan?"
"More. Training was pretty consistent. Just learnt how to dodge, with time." Not good enough, though. He wouldn't forget that last session, two months before that day he'd met Enjin. Warmed up metal rings nudged his ribcage, too skinny for the years of training. He didn't eat much, never had, but his appetite had begun to dwindle even worse since the injury.
Jabber's thumb pad fitted into the old wound against his rib, close to his aorta, not even two inches away from his heart. The sudden pain hadn't even been different from the bullet wounds he'd already experienced before. Only Goka's huff had told him something was off. It was then that he'd noticed how, within the seconds he'd been laying on the ground like a felled puppet, his uniform had gone red, drenched with blood that kept spurting up through his chest.
For a short while, he'd been sure that this was the end, and by the time Goka lifted him up, the world had started to blur in his vision. He'd felt the most rested he'd been in years, his muscles untensing for the first time when the pressure to succeed finally left with pulse after pulse of fresh blood.
"ZanZan?" Startlingly gentle, Jabber's voice echoed between them. Dazed, the younger man focused again, blinking away the memory of his family. A grunt escaped and he raised a brow, feeling Jabber's palm retreat from his opened tunic. Away from the scar. "What did ya think about?"
"Last lesson. When I got that." He nudged his chin downward. "My sister got me real good, right there. Where ya touched."
Next to him, Jabber's face darkened - he was faulty, prone to lapses in judgement at times, but he had his anatomy memorised well. After years of foemanship, his knowledge on Zanka's own anatomy came in as close second. He knew when a bullet wound could switch from dangerous to lethal on the Giver, and that scar was located in one such place.
"... 'kay." He mumbled, his shoulder twitching in a half-shrug while he settled, keeping a mild distance between the two of them. "Ya know, you looked really happy right now."
Still barely more than a mutter. Jabber side-eyed him, contemplative now. They sat, backs to the red limestone of their little cave, Jabber with one leg pulled up and Zanka cradling Lovely Assistaff in his arms. Jabber's voice was more unnerving when he wasn't screeching, leering or babbling on, Zanka decided. Not much of a fan of his grounded, more serious tone, Zanka scoffed. "Yeah. So what, I meant it when I said I'm just a normie. I can't dodge bullets like the rest of my family."
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck your normie shit, I didn't speak 'bout that, either." Jabber rolled his eyes while his wrist bobbed up and down over his knee. "Sometimes I'm gettin' scared, man. Only times I see some relaxation in your eyes 's when ya talk about dying. Or some of your near-death experiences. You're freaking me out."
"I'm freaking you out? You just told me you found it hot when Riyo shot you, idiot!" Exasperated, Zanka laughed. Jabber shrugged, his head thumping against the cave wall behind them. He wasn't chuckling.
"Yeah. Cause I like pain, not cause I wanna die, Zanka."
"I don't wanna die, though." Zanka scoffed, gripping his staff tighter above the lap. He didn't want to die. He had to fight trash beasts, overcome obstacles. Give his all to the Cleaners, maybe make himself a name, even though his lungs gave him trouble. Not that he expected Jabber to understand.
At his words, a bit of contemplation seemed to fall off the raider, who gave a half-smile, running a hand along his neck. "... okay. Yeah, that's a relief to hear, man."
Zanka believed him, oddly enough - Jabber sounded earnest, his pupils small today, no excess venom pulsing through his veins. Told him that Jabber wasn't a liar. He didn't particularly enjoy liars.
Then again, he lied a lot himself. His lungs were overworked. Functioned more or less, but he trained enough to wreak havoc in the already strained tissue, every few weeks. He didn't care much about causing himself a scar more here and there, when he'd crossed a line, or that his spit turned bloody when he excessively trained. He lied about that, when Enjin or Eishia asked. He didn't like liars. Then again, he didn't particularly like himself, anyway. Why was lying to Jabber out of all people difficult to do?
"Y'know, I live for the job. We both know I'm trainin' a lot, and I am good with my staff, but we're always gonna lose against prodigy kids." He'd curled up around Lovely Assistaff, arms crossed around the stick, his knees up to his chest. "I don't wanna die, man. But sometimes I just don't wanna return from missions anymore."
He remembered why he preferred his lies the second he'd spoken his truth. Killing Jabber's relief hadn't been on his to-do list when he'd come to the cave today. Still, he realised through his numbness that Jabber deflated, his head still leaning against the limestone.
"Zanka, man." He muttered, clenching his fists around nothing, the rings scraping together with an ugly noise. For all the horrible imaginations that flicked through his mind at the words, he was glad to see Zanka comfortable enough to be honest, at least. Glad to not be high today, Jabber reached out, his ring finger intertwining with Zanka's. He racked his brain, found no words to say, and sighed. Stayed silence while he linked their fingers tighter.
"... hm, 'm sorry. First I kiss ya all of a sudden, then I drag ya down like that." He muttered, his forehead sinking against the staff, then to the side when Jabber pulled him in by the waist. His head rested against the raider's shoulder, not protesting his intimate embrace nor the handholding.
Huddled against him, Jabber scratched the back of Zanka's neck underneath he longer hair there. He took a while to speak again, still sober compared to his otherwise extroverted rambles. "They shouldn't have treated you like that, Zanka. I always thought you were lucky 'bout havin' a family."
"I sure was luckier than you lot."
The raider threw him a doubtful glance, shaking his head. In his locks, the jewellery jingled softly, chains of gold dangling and making a music of his own. He'd asked August to fashion them, and Jabber - unaware of what exactly a 'gift' was - had been wary of a trap at first. Why else would someone hand out precious metal for no prize at all?
"Who's to quantify luck, hm." Jabber snickered, apparently amused by ideas that didn't reach Zanka, who shrugged. Nevertheless, he remained where he was, leaning against the shorter man - Zanka himself wasn't tall, but years of toxin abuse and malnourishment had left Jabber even smaller, even more gaunt, than him. Although, when he fought, his claws made up for the lack in muscle, and his litheness proved advantageous to his speed. Jabber was a pain in the ass to fight with - Zanka was glad their duels had turned to sparring, no longer fearing for his life if he lost.
"ZanZan, how about we just stay here? Not forever, but like - til tomorrow."
Spoken into the silence, the raider didn't expect an answer. Much less any sort of response that involved positivity, or agreement. 'Agreeable' was one of the last attributes he'd ascribe to Zanka. Nose wrinkling and with his whole face warped, the Cleaner froze up - of course, he was sensing a trap. Well, that was on himself, Jabber thought, he hadn't exactly given Zanka much reason to trust him so far. How much more precious that the guy still kissed him if he got too close.
"Okay. Til tomorrow should be fine, just gotta tell Enjin I'll stay out for the night." He slumped, his perfect posture faltering while he seemed to ache for air. Speaking, training, the emotional wreckage - they'd tired him, and now each breath appeared more laborious than the last, sweat forming on his temples - Jabber had learnt not to mention the signs of Zanka's health. The difficulties in his breathing usually lessened, once Zanka was left alone for a few minutes.
"Sure, go ahead. We wouldn't want this to end in a new battle, if you forgot to tell daddy you won't make it home tonight." One faintest hint of jealousy accompanied Jabber's mumble, the dust of pink on Zanka's nose not escaping his keen eyes. Jabber wasn't fooled into thinking he was a first choice.
"I got a bedroom, further down that tunnel." He pointed to the third tunnel entrance on the left - the one he always emerged from before their lessons began. Zanka had no idea why he doubted Jabber would sleep in an old cave, and found himself surprised nevertheless.
Turned out that Jabber's 'bedroom' consisted of a plateaued nook, maybe five square metres wide, onto which he had assorted old plushies, haphazardly tailored cushions and makeshift blankets, fashioned from all kinds and textures of cloth, all of them bleached with age. Getting into the nook was easy, wide and large enough to comfortably set Lovely Assistaff against the backmost wall. The same rough, red limestone the entire cave system seemed to be made of chipped when Zanka pushed the staff down, only wishing for his precious jinki to rest somewhere safe.
"Careful", Jabber muttered beside him, flicking stone flakes from his thighs. "Wouldn't want ya to tear down my room."
Room is a bit of an overexaggeration, Zanka thought to himself, but he did leave Lovely Assistaff alone for the time being. Never before had he considered where Jabber slept. If he even slept. He seemed like a weirdo who could go days with barely any sleep, and the image of Jabber resting somewhere alone, vulnerable with his eyes closed, was a surreal one. "... imma take more care." His anemically pale hand reached for a stuffed animal, made of patchwork - the head of a bunny, the body of a bear, with two mismatched buttons for eyes. "So, that's where we gonna sleep?"
"What? This ain't suitable for Cleaners, or rich kids?"
"You'd be surprised where I've slept already." Grunting, Zanka curled himself up - Jabber should have expected for the damn staff to rest right next to him. Damn, did he have to compete with a fucking stick now, too? No matter. He was determined. Maybe a little high on Zanka's kiss before, still.
Skinny arms wrapped themselves around Zanka's waist, a purchase for comfort. Jabber's grip was weird at best, holding on so tightly, his nose pressed in between his shoulder blade as his breath warmed him. Zanka understood the raider, more deeply than he'd liked. A twist, he'd turned away from Lovely Assistaff and shuffled around until he was comfortable. Jabber buried into his chest, his hair a perfect mess beneath his chin.
"Next time we'll sleep at HQ. Imma help you break in." Already affected by the caves moist air, Zanka struggled to find a position that fulfilled both Jabber's need for a tight hug and simultaneously allowed him deep breaths.
" 'kay." Slurring, Jabber nuzzled further into his collar. He bit the skin, sucked it into his mouth and ran his tongue along the mark. Ignored the grunt from Zanka - a hickey was not helpful, and Enjin would tease the hell out of him for that tomorrow. "Looking forward to seein' your room, ZanZan."
Snorting, Zanka tightened his hand into Jabber's locks, teasing along his scalp while a second mark was sucked below his jaw. "Not much to see, there."
"I'll help ya. Upgrade your room." Wiggling his narrow brows, Jabber snickered and buried his face against Zanka for good.
"My room's fine as it is."
Jabber snorted, his nose digging deeper between Zanka's chest bone. "Ah, I'm sure. You've no space for fun in your heart, but don't worry. I'll teach ya. Show you the shit that has you seeing rainbows."
"Yeaaah... I don't need 'at. 'm fine without your shit." Zanka muttered, squeezing his arm tighter across Jabber's waist. Secretly he cherished his mewl, the vehement nuzzle that followed.
"You ain't got talent lying, Zanka. I've seen you, you love my painkillers." He didn't reward Jabber with another comment. Instead, he listened to the silence, broken only by the wind howling through the cave a few tunnels down the line. By all means, Zanka wasn't a scaredycat, but the idea of sleeping alone in a cave, open to anybody strolling by, with the wind wailing all night... he'd rather sleep with another person present, even when that was Jabber. Hell, he liked Jabber. He'd kissed Jabber, was easily holding him up pressed to his chest. He was sheltering the raider. Talk about how he was disappointing his family, all over again.
"Fuck them." Jabber mumbled. "You got a better family. One that don't shoot at ya."
"Hm-hm. Now I got some who jab me with shitty drugs, ya mean?"
"People who protect ya, I mean." Zanka could imagine the subdued smirk on Jabber's face, eyes closed and all. He sounded happy enough. "But yeah, imma take the badge if ya wanna count me as family."
Zanka snorted - oh, he wished to clap back, tell Jabber that he hadn't been counted among his trustees. That he didn't want him close to his family, the Cleaner one. Would be a lie, but that way he'd at least protect his pride. In the end, he sighed, brushing his lips against the top of Jabber's head. "Go 'nd catch some sleep, weirdo."