Chapter Text
Zanka had not fully woken up when the choker around his wrist chirped. Blearily, he brought it up to his face as he answered.
“This ‘s Zanka speaking.” He stifled a yawn, still mumbling a bit.
But it wasn't any of the expected Cleaners on the other end of the call, no orders issued and talk of trash beasts in need of Cleaning.
Breath, weak and wet on the other end.
“Heyyy Zan-zan...”
The words went through him like a shot of adrenaline. All at once his eyes were wide open, his pulse fast. It was Jabber, unmistakably.
But there was something wrong in that voice, in those two words. The energy or at least the loopy giggles was gone. The stupid nickname, the way he sounded, was some horrible facsimile of it.
“Jabber, where are you?” His mind was racing. Jabber got hurt all the time. He got hurt by Zanka all the time. He'd sounded a million ways.
He'd never sounded like this, though. And he’d never called without asking for a fight. He didn't sound like he was in shape for a fight right now.
“... really wanted to keep fightin’ you, y'know...”
Zanka couldn't breathe. This was all wrong. He grabbed Assistaff, slipped on his shoes along with her holster, sliding her across his back in one long motion before running out the door.
“Jabber, focus. Where. Are. You?”
For a long moment there were just weak wheezing breaths. Had he punctured a lung? Was that blood in his throat or in his lungs? Or both?
“... think ‘m in yer city...” He was slurring his words. Zanka cursed as he ran out of the headquarter’s front doors. He thought maybe Semiu was shouting a question, probably where he was going, but there was no time to answer.
“Jabber, stay awake, ok? I need you to look around. What do you see?”
A weak moan. “‘m tired, Z...”
“I know, but please. Try for me. What's around you?”
Quiet for a moment. Zanka didn't think he was breathing while waiting for a reply. “Smells like beer... n like you... called you... called you ta tell ya...”
Zanka's mind ran a mile a minute. It smelled like him? Smelling like beer hardly narrowed the city down, but him...
“Incense? Does it smell like incense?”
Jabber moaned in what Zanka prayed was affirmation. He ran.
“Keep talking to me. Don't fall asleep, you hear me? I'm coming, just don't fall asleep.”
“‘s it red light that lets animals sleep?” Jabber's words were sluggish. Zanka almost missed his second clue with how delirious he sounded.
Silently he prayed he was right.
Corner after corner he coaxed single mumbled words, mostly pitiful sad versions of his name “Z”, “Zan-zan”, and something that sounded suspiciously like “baby”. They all felt like “please”.
“I'm sorry, I know, I know. I'm coming,” he repeated over and over again.
The Pleasure District came into view with the sight of a sea of red neon lights and the smell of incense.
“I'm here, sweetheart, I know.” Just a single block. He just needed to search every nook and cranny... of a whole block. He started running. “I'm here, but I need a little help. Can you call out?”
It was a stupid question. He could probably barely get out the murmurs he'd been reduced to the last minute.
Zanka’s eyes passed over alley after alley, trying to determine at a glance if any of them contained Jabber. Tried to get to the center as best he could to perhaps hear the impossible shout.
There, and then gone. Just a flash. To anyone else on the street it would be lost in the sea of red and yellow lights. Magenta flashed against an alley wall in the corner of his vision.
He was there faster than he felt possible. Jabber was bathed in diffused red light, limp atop a pile of garbage bags. Some had ripped and garbage was spilling out on and around Jabber's supine form.
Zanka did not think about how much blood there was everywhere he touched as he picked up Jabber. He did not think about how weak his breath felt against his neck. He did not think about how Jabber wasn't even whining anymore, even when Zanka tripped and nearly fell in his haste.
“You did so good. You're gonna be ok. I found you. I've got you, I've got you, I've got you...”
He only slowed as he saw Enjin and Semiu standing in the yard. Enjin had a deceptively casual hand on Umbreaker, while Semiu had her hands on her hips.
“He’s hurt, please -”
“It’s Wonger.” Semiu said, bluntly cutting him off.
“Zanka, we've been trying to call you. You run out of here without saying anything, you don't answer our calls, and you come back with a Raider in your arms.” He rubbed at his temples. “A Raider, mind you, that has a long history of - even unconscious - violently attacking Cleaners.”
“He's dying! Semiu, look, please, somebody call Eisha or let me through I don't care if she brings a battery out here he just -”
“He does seem to be in critical condition...”
“Are we sure he isn't faking somehow? Poisoned himself, maybe?” Enjin shifted closer, but all Zanka could see was the slight shift in grip on Umbreaker.
Zanka jumped back, turning so his body was between Jabber and Enjin’s, his hand clutched protectively over Jabber's bloody head. He looked over his shoulder at Enjin with all the desperation of a cornered animal.
Enjin's eyes widened.
“Please.” His voice cracked.
Enjin called Eisha on his choker.
Zanka was in the infirmary. It was a blur how he’d gotten there. He wasn’t holding Jabber anymore, but he was still close. The Raider was laid out on one of the cots. Had he fallen asleep?
He blinked blearily. His muscles felt stiff. Eisha wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He took stock of Jabber. He was still bloody and unconscious, but his breathing looked stronger. Zanka’s eyes fell on empty fingers and for a moment he thought he might be sick.
His fingers clutched around felted fabric. When he looked down, he saw a small bag looped around his wrist and held tightly in his hand. When he opened it, he nearly sobbed in relief.
Mankira. She was safe. A few of her rings looked a little scuffed, a few dented, but they were all whole.
“We had to take them off to set his fingers.” Eisha’s voice was quiet as she came in and walked to them. “Well, I needed them off, and you wouldn’t let anyone else touch them.”
Zanka closed the little bag quickly before letting it dangle at his wrist, moving to gently take Jabber’s hand, examining his fingers carefully.
“They’re okay now. He’s okay now. But it was... bad.”
Zanka still ran careful fingers over every joint of his knuckles. She was right, they were okay as far as he could tell, but the blood... there was still so much blood dried on his skin. When he was done checking both hands he moved to his head. Blood had gotten in his locs. It was everywhere.
“Can... ah... can I wash him?”
She nodded. “I’ll get you some water and a cloth. And a new gown.”
It was only then he noticed the Raider’s change in attire. His clothes were gone, replaced with a still bloodied hospital gown.
When Eisha returned, she instructed him on how best to bathe him. He couldn’t be submerged, and Zanka wasn’t going to try and wash his locs, but he could at least get all the blood off.
“I wanted to myself, to better see his wounds, but you barely let me get his clothes off,” she sighed. “It’s a good thing it isn’t a hundred percent necessary with my ability - I really just need an idea of the worst areas. Granny would have kicked you out, but I knew you were just trying to protect him.” She smiled softly at him, before bowing a bit awkwardly and leaving them both.
Zanka’s head was reeling a bit with that little tidbit of information, but he tried to set it aside and focus on the task at hand. He first untied Mankira’s bag from his wrist before tying it to one of Assistaff’s prongs. She was propped against the wall within arm’s reach, so that anyone who wanted to get to the both of them would have to go through him first. The thought was a soothing one.
For a moment he debated between pulling the curtain for privacy or not. If he did it would block his view of the door, which made him anxious, but he rationalized that the hinges needed a bit of oil and creaked when opened, and let that be his warning if needed.
He began with his face, wiping gently at his hairline. He wouldn’t attempt to wash his locs, too afraid of messing it up, but he could do this, at least. He was as gentle as he could, passing the warm cloth over the curves of his face.
He had the passing thought that Jabber should be beautiful like this, still and sleeping, but there was a tightness in his gut that disagreed. He didn’t like seeing him like this. Jabber was most beautiful when he was fighting, when his eyes were alight with anima and glee.
Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. He barely was capable of admitting it within his own thoughts, but he was tired.
He focused on the task at hand. He didn’t need to think, he didn’t need to worry. He just had to wipe all the dried blood and dirt off.
So he did. He took his time, taking extra care with each finger, pulling the cloth along each knuckle gently, making sure to wipe each dip between his fingers. Around his wrist was a cuff attached to the bed. Luckily it wasn't so tight that Zanka couldn't move it to wipe under.
When he worked beneath the gown, he did not think about the expanse of the other boy’s body, and only paused briefly on the scars he recognized as inflicted by him.
He left the most private of areas alone, but bathed every other inch he could get to, even rolling him gently on his side to reach his back. When he was finally done the basin of water was dark with blood, but Jabber was clean and clothed in a fresh gown.
He moved the curtain back once more before re-tying the bag on his wrist. He held Jabber’s hand and kept an eye on the door.
It wasn’t too much longer before Enjin came in. Zanka sat up in his chair, his grip tightening on Jabber’s hand.
Enjin looked down at their entwined hands, raising an eyebrow. Zanka mentally swore at himself, but couldn't let go. His mentor pulled a chair over, leaning one arm over the back. Umbreaker was hooked over that wrist, and with his free hand he rubbed at his temples.
“What have you gotten yourself into, kid?”
Zanka felt like he couldn't move. Enjin was disappointed in him. Of course he was disappointed in him, who wouldn't be? He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
Enjin wiped his hand down his face with a sigh. “So, what? Are you fucking him?”
Zanka’s mouth dropped open. Out of everything he thought the man would say, this wasn't it. “No!”
That somehow was the wrong answer, because Enjin's face just twisted into further confusion.
“It's not-” He was going to say it's not like that, which was a half-truth. They hadn't had sex, but he had been sneaking out to fight him regularly... and with Jabber, the lines between fighting, flirting, and fucking were worryingly blurry. He sighed. “It's not-not that either... It's... complicated. We just fight. It helps me train and get stronger. He... likes it.” Zanka cringed. “But that's not the point. The point is he was going to die. He called, and I couldn't just- I couldn't-”
Enjin held up a hand. He still didn't look pleased, but at least he looked more tired than disappointed. “Okay, okay. I know, Eisha had to spend the better part of the day on him. You did good bringing him here.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you did good by not giving him back his instrument. Keep it that way, I don't want that maniac loose in here.”
Zanka let out a shuddered breath. “So... I’m not getting kicked out of the Cleaners?”
“No! God, kid, of course not. The Boss is out, he'll decide what to do with him when he wakes up, but you're fine. You saved a life. Sure, your guy gives me the heeby-jeebies, but no way in hell are you getting kicked. If they so much as tried, most of this damn place would walk out with ya.”
“Oh... good,” Zanka said in a small voice.
“Look, I just came in to check on you and make sure you weren't giving him back his poison skewers before he's outta here.” He smiled softly at Zanka. “So, are you ok, kid?”
He nodded, forcing himself not to tear up.
“Good. Call if you need anything, ‘kay? I'll give you a heads up before the Boss is back.” With that he pushed up off the chair and headed out with a little wave over his shoulder.
Zanka's head was reeling, but for the moment he knew that he hadn't traded Jabber's life for his place in the Cleaners. There had also been no mention of the Hell Guard, at least yet. Corvus would want a read on the situation first. That would give him time.
He was so caught up in his own thoughts he almost didn't notice when the slack hand beneath his grip grew firm. Jabber’s thumb rubbed soothing little circles against the back of his hand.
When he looked up, Jabber had peeked one eye open and had a tired, but shit-eating grin on his face.
Zanka slipped his hand from Jabber's, ignoring how quickly he missed the touch, and buried his face in his hands. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Mmm... not much. Just the bit where you professed your undying love for me-”
Zanka punched him in the arm, harder than you probably should punch people in hospital beds. Jabber giggled.
“I did no such thing. And you're lucky to be alive, shithole.”
Jabber hummed in agreement. Silence fell between them, and suddenly the whole thing didn't seem so funny anymore.
Zanka dropped his hands and furrowed his brow, looking down at them in his lap. “Mankira is okay. You probably heard they won't let me give her back to you, but she's right there with Lovely. She's a little scuffed and dented a few places, but every ring is intact. I think-” He choked a little bit. “Well, I don't know what happened, but, uh, you kept her safe.”
Jabber didn't say anything for a moment, and Zanka finally looked up. He was looking at the little bag holding Mankira, still tied to Lovely. His expression was painfully pensive. Zanka was disturbed to find that he couldn't think of another time he'd seen him conscious and not smiling. He didn't like it.
“No one but me has touched her,” he said softly.
Jabber turned back to him and smiled. It wasn't manic, but small, and a bit sad. His fingers rose to Zanka's cheek and ghosted down and along his jaw. One thumb pressed ever-so-softly against his lips. And then they were gone.
Zanka felt like his mind had short-circuited. This wasn't right. None of this was right. They weren't soft like this. They fought and hurt each other, and sure, they'd kissed, but it was always an extension of fighting, always full of teeth and blood.
But things hadn't been right from the beginning. Jabber never lost this badly, never got hurt this badly.
“Jabber...” Zanka started. He sighed, and followed instinct over experience. He brushed a loc out of Jabber's face, the knuckles of his fingers grazing softly against his face. His skin was warm and soft.
Jabber’s eyes closed, and he leaned ever-so-slightly into the touch. Zanka let him. His fingers spread slowly apart until he was cupping the other boy's face. He rubbed at his brow gently with his thumb.
Jabber hummed in pleasure, and Zanka couldn't help but to think of when the stray cats he fed would rub up against his hand and purr.
“What happened?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Jabber stiffened under his hand. For a moment he thought he'd turn away, but instead he nuzzled into his hand further.
“He told me to stop playing with my food.” Jabber took on a slightly petulant tone, but the veneer was slipping. He was upset.
Zanka waited for him to say more, but he didn't. His breath ghosted over his palm. “Zodyl?”
Jabber’s whole body tensed. That would be a yes.
“I don't understand. I thought y'all fought all the time. Did it go too far or something?”
Jabber made a displeased sound before reaching out and pulling him partially on the bed. It was stupid beyond belief that he didn't give an ounce of resistance.
They were face to face. Jabber's lips were close enough to kiss.
“I haven't fought him in months. Do ya get it, now?”
For a long month Zanka just blinked dumbly at him. Then everything clicked into place.
Jabber hadn't fought Zodyl in months because he'd been fighting Zanka. If Zodyl had noticed a change or caught wind of it, he'd either be concerned of Jabber's loyalties or see an opportunity to take out a cleaner.
Either way he'd order Jabber to kill him. He'd tell him to stop playing with his food. Zanka couldn't breathe.
“You told him no.”
Jabber's gaze held a burning intensity. He'd surely been kicked out of the Raiders. He'd almost died. Mankira had been in danger. All for Zanka. All because he wouldn't kill him.
“You're an idiot.” Zanka pulled back, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Jabber, you could've died. What were you thinking?”
Jabber frowned, an angry little crease pinched between his eyebrows. Zanka tried to ignore how cute he found it. “I was thinking that I like fighting you.”
“Fighting me isn't worth your life.”
“What, so you can throw away your life but I can't risk mine?”
Zanka clenched his fists at his side. He wanted to punch him, to hit him, for both of them to be out there like they so often were, bloody and bruised and smiling. He let out a long breath, then put his head in his hands.
There was a gentle rap at the door. Zanka sat up straight before calling for them to come in.
Corvus walked through the door with a smile and a small, polite bow.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Of course not, sir.” Zanka sat back in his chair, spine straight. Jabber was a ball of tense silence beside him.
Semiu followed behind him, and closed the door once more when they were both in.
“I believe introductions are in order. My name is Corvus. This is Semiu. We know you are, of course, Jabber, and I assume the two of you have long since made acquaintances. Are you feeling better?”
Jabber blinked owlishly at the Boss before breaking into a wide grin. “They're strong. Zan-zan can I fight them? Pleeeaaase?” He leaned over to stage-whisper into Zanka’s ear. Zanka swatted at him in annoyance. He giggled.
“We would appreciate it if you would refrain from fighting anyone for the time being.”
Jabber shrugged in acquiescence, but Zanka saw the way he shivered just a little at the “time being” qualifier. Semiu narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
Corvus pulled a rolling chair in front of the bed and sat, crossing his legs and smiling at the pair of them. Semiu still loomed over his shoulder with her arms crossed.
“It has come to my attention that you may... no longer be... welcome in your previous organization.” Corvus chose his words carefully, but Jabber still stiffened at them.
Zanka put a warning hand on his thigh. Jabber was still tense, but relaxed slightly.
“What do you care?”
“Boss-” Semiu started, but Corvus held a hand up.
“The Hell Guard has been looking for an opportunity to interrogate a member of the Raiders that has worked closely with Zodyl.”
Zanka involuntarily squeezed Jabber's thigh. Jabber would probably like a lot of their methods, the freak, but they didn't just torture the Giver. They broke Instruments, too. Jabber glanced back at him, an eyebrow lifted in question. Zanka shook his head slightly. He was still smiling, but his magenta eyes cooled before returning back to the Boss and Semiu.
“What're ya getting at?”
“The report must be made within 48 hours. That's less than 24 left. If you wish, you may be given your things and go before we make it. They will chase you, but we know you to be quite capable. Or...” He motioned with his hands as if weighing options. “You can join the Cleaners, gain immunity and protection from the Hell Guard and the Raiders, and in exchange give any information you have to us and work cleaning trash beasts.”
Zanka thought his eyebrows would raise right off his skull. Jabber threw his head back and laughed. Semiu pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Corvus simply smiled.
“Please consider it. You don't have to answer now, but be aware of the time constraint.”
“Will I be able to fight other Cleaners?” Jabber was practically bouncing in excitement.
“You'd be able to spar with those who consent. Generally it’s your team. You'd be added to Team Akuta - Zanka's team.”
Jabber whipped back to grin at Zanka. “Didja hear that, Zan-zan? We'd get to fight whenever we want. Do ya think umbrella-guy would fight me? I've reaaalllyyy wanted to fight him.”
Zanka blinked at him, his jaw agape. It snapped shut as he looked to Corvus. “You're serious? You'd let him in?”
Corvus’ expression softened. “He would have to keep his best behavior. Trial basis like we had with Rudo. He'll have to prove he's trustworthy. But as you know, many of our members had... sordid pasts.”
“And Semiu? You...?”
“I said he had potential. I also said it wasn't worth the risk. No matter how much he likes you.”
Jabber giggled. Corvus coughed into his hand. “There will be no more killing, of course. And you'll have to report and work under superiors. But you're strong, and young. You could do great things here.”
Jabber waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah.” Zanka pinched his thigh. Jabber looked back at him with a grin. “I still don't give a crap about any of that. If Mankira and I can stay with Zanka, though, I'll do it.”
He wasn't looking at the Boss when he said it; his whole gaze was dedicated to Zanka. He flushed under the attention, and self-consciously retracted his hand into his lap.
Zanka bowed as best he could while sitting to the Boss. “Thank you.”
Corvus nodded back to him with a smile before rising. “We'll get you the proper paperwork soon. Please rest until then.” He paused at the door. “And Zanka?”
“Yes, sir?”
“He'll be your responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
They left, the door clicking shut softly behind them.
Zanka let out a long sigh, and buried his head in his hands. When he pulled them down his face and looked up again, Jabber was so close he could feel his breath on his lips. He didn't know why he didn't pull away. Maybe the curtain of Jabber's locks felt like a familiar escape from the stress of the day. Had it been longer than a day? It had to have been, but his mind was muddled from adrenaline and worry and the subsequent crash.
Jabber leaned ever-so-slightly closer, and their foreheads touched. He was warm.
“You're thinking too much,” Jabber whispered against his lips.
“You aren't thinking enough.” He tried to will himself to back up, to go through all the reasons this was a terrible idea. He needed to think through every possibility, every way everything could collapse beneath their feet. He couldn't afford to get distracted by pretty eyes and warm lips. One of them had to think things through.
Jabber kissed him, and everything washed away.
It was more gentle than they'd ever kissed before. Kissing had been a dangerous indulgence before, but it had made some sort of twisted sense. They fought and they pinned each other against walls and they kissed, biting and bleeding, sometimes fighting more afterwards, sometimes getting close to... more... before Zanka chickened out and said he had to leave.
This was different. Tender. Hesitating. Jabber’s hand hovered over Zanka's cheek before he leaned into it and felt long fingers trace his jaw before carding softly through the hair on his nape.
Zanka found his hand at Jabber's throat, but he didn't wrap his fingers around and choke like he usually did. He let his hand rest gently, enjoying the feeling of the steady beat of his pulse against his thumb.
They stayed like that for a while. When Zanka finally pulled away, he felt short of breath. Jabber blinked languidly at him with a drunk sort of smile. They still weren't terribly far apart, but at least he would be slightly less mortified to be caught like this.
“Are you sure about this?” Zanka asked, his voice soft, and his eyebrows knitted in concern. He knew Jabber was intelligent. He knew he was capable of thinking through things faster than anyone else he knew. He also knew he was a creature of impulse, and not one to be caged.
Jabber looked down, his smile dropping slightly. His fingers were still in Zanka's hair and he twisted strands around and around.
“I don't wanna stop fighting you. I could run. I could fight. But I’ve lived that life... you don't get to stay in one place long. You have to leave where you've been for a long time before coming back. I couldn't just drop in whenever I wasn't on a mission like I could with the Raiders.”
Jabber looked up at him, his eyes wide. He wasn't smiling anymore.
“I won't stay if you don't want me, though. I know I'm a risk to you and your life here.”
Zanka’s eyes widened. This was possibly the most vulnerable and honest Jabber had ever been.
“Of course I want you.” The words were out of his lips before he processed them, but they were true. Terribly, embarrassingly, true.
He liked fighting Jabber as much as Jabber liked fighting him. He liked lying next to each other after a fight and just talking about nothing. He liked kissing him, and if he were completely honest with himself, he knew he'd like more than that, too. The only reason he hadn't crossed that line yet was because he'd been too embarrassed to admit it. Too ashamed that he got off on hurting Jabber as much as Jabber got off on getting hurt.
But it was more than even that. He didn't just like fighting Jabber. He liked Jabber.
Jabber smiled, and met his eyes once more. “Okay, pretty boy. Then I'll stay.”