Work Text:
:ZANKA:
post chapter 83
"Yo…"
Zanka's very much awake voice grates on the air, deceptively quiet for the way it makes Rudo's heart jackrabbit with panic. Shit- shit.. no…! Why was he awake now!? He'd been so quiet!
Well- as quiet as he possibly could be. Considering he.. you know… didn't currently have full use of his arms.
"If you're injured, dumbass, ya should go wake Eishia up. She'd understand."
The rustling of fancy fabric cuts through the night air, presumably as his very much still injured mentor pushes himself into a sitting position, "Instead you're going around waking up the… Rudo?"
Shit shit shit!
"Uh- you're dreaming!" he tries, before the cabinet he'd been trying to open with his chin slips shut again- throwing him into the material with a thunk!, "aCk-! Dreaming!"
"…clearly."
More rustling, cut with a grunt of pain.
Rudo needs a second to catch his breath.
"Hey," Zanka grits out, somehow sounding nothing but vaguely pissed off, "I don't have my choker, so if you're bleeding out over there, you're shit out of luck."
What-?
Oh-
Right.
He's in the medical room, on the floor, obviously rifling around for supplies after the main- er.. only? medic turned in for the night. This is not.. unsuspicious behavior…
Oh, yeah, and his breathing is all weird. It's shallow and pitchy and threaded with-
A whimper slips out of him as he tries to use his head to lever himself up to a stand- or, at the very least, a squat. His gloved and barely bandaged hands were dragging on the blessedly cool tile, which was somewhat of a relief until.. until his foot caught the tip of his fingers.
Then it was just agony.
And it's pathetic, the way even the smallest pressure- on the smallest part of his body- makes him hit the ground like- like-
"Rudo!"
There's a thud, he thinks, maybe a foot or two away. What sounds like socked feet on tile and then knees and then a body.
He can't breathe enough to check it out- because it hurts, it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts it-
Hands- a hand, a hand is shaking him by the shoulder, and it's cold and it's thin and familiar as it slaps carefully at the side of his neck and his cheek. As it- the thumb of the hand- brushes at his lashes next.
Gentle.
Something ragged in his chest slows, just a little bit.
"Hey- hey, why are you crying?"
Is- is he?
That was embarrassing.
Zanka was- Zanka was right there. He couldn't, he shouldn't cry in front of his teacher! He hardly ever even cried in front of Regto. Not if he could help it, not unless it was really bad.
Not unless it-
"…hurts.."
"Yeah- yeah, I know!" Zanka snaps at him, and the hand from before moves down to his ribs and stomach with new urgency, "You have to tell me where-"
The accompanying hand slips under his head, cradling and jostling him and searching for a fatal wound that won't be there. Searching for a wound that's not even fatal, because as much as it feels like it- he's not dying.
He's just- just..
"Okay-? Rudo!" those- he had thought kind- hands give him another hard shake, "Okay? You have to… you have to tell me where you're hurt. Do you hear me!?"
Rudo sucks in a breath like it'd been years since he could.
The pain doesn't recede, not really- it never seems to ever fuck off completely- but it quiets. Just a bit, just enough for him to realize who he's curling into. Just enough to remember what he was supposed to be doing.
And how he was supposed to be quiet-
"S-sorry," he slurs, into what he's 80% sure is Zanka's knee, "I was trying.. not to wake you…"
And look how that panned out.
Regto had told him, once when he'd come down with a really bad infection, that it was important to rest when sick or injured- and that you couldn't heal otherwise. Rudo didn't want Zanka not to heal… the literal opposite, actually, would be preferable.
Ideal, even.
Fuck, his arms hurt.
"Your- arms." his teacher repeats, as he props up the smaller teen's head on his lap, "At least we're getting somewhere.."
…did he say that out loud?
A familiar sigh rustles through his fringe, "Yeah… yeah, you did, scuzzball."
Zanka's hand, still cold and still familiar, cautiously brushes over his pointy elbow- as if nervous to actually touch any further. And wasn't that hard to imagine- his teacher, the coolest person he knows, nervous about something.
Though it would make sense in this context, his arms were ugly just to look at- he wouldn't touch them either if they weren't literally attached to his body.
"Hold still." the older teen has a harder edge to his voice now, and the hand still on the back of his head twitches as if it wants to clench into a fist. He's familiar with the feeling.
"Where am I gonna go.." he grumbles anyway, burning too much to care if it results in a mean tug of his hair.
It doesn't, surprisingly it doesn't, surprisingly- the hand seems to relax. Even gives the shorter strands a little pet.
"Smartass."
And, with much more confidence, Zanka takes his wrist. But he takes it like it might run away, as if it wasn't limp at Rudo's side, and it
hurts
so
much
worse.
His gentle surroundings fizzle into static in an instant. He might scream, or sob, or both- everything is burning too much for him to care. The pain that had barely been manageable a second ago surges with a vengeance.
Rudo tries to jerk his limb away away away from the cruel clamp of fingers holding him hostage, but it's too weak. Too weak to be anything more than a twitch of pure agony.
Zanka still nearly drops it like a feral animal.
"Shit- what? What the hell-!?"
He doesn't let go, but his grip loosens enough that Rudo can feel the way his fingers flutter and tremble on and off his pulse point. Can feel the way he goes from grabbing to simply supporting.
"Why did ya- I was just tryin' to-"
His teacher's thumb, from the hand in his hair, brushes his lower lashes again- a little shaky, but just as gentle as the first time.
He can feel something drape over his stomach, and it takes a disconcertingly long second for him to realize it's his own arm. Zanka had laid it down with more care than even Regto ever had, and then moved up to take his shoulder in his palm and shake-
"Rudo! Open your eyes, damnit-!"
Open his…
Were they not already-?
It takes nearly everything he's got left, but the smaller teen cracks open bleary red irises- chest still heaving with lingering pain. Everything is… blurry..
"Because you're crying, genius," Zanka scoffs at him, though he sounds.. relieved too?
But why?
Rudo was.. fine, mostly-
"Ya call this fine!?" the older teen snaps at him, abrupt enough to drag him back into the present, "Yer nearly catatonic on my lap, babblin' like an idiot, and cryin'. What part of this, tell me, is fine?"
Oh.
Had he still been talking out loud?
"This just.. this happens sometimes," he tries to explain, cringing at the absolutely pathetic state of himself and his voice, "I need.. to- to rewrap the bandages… that's all."
Well- mostly all. They'd still, without fail, hurt enough to keep him awake. Hurt enough to make him considering chopping them off. But that was drastic and they'd feel a bit better soon, enough to think clearly- hopefully.
Maybe.
Just barely.
"Ran out of them.. in m'room… sorr-"
"If you apologize one more time-"
"I only apologized the once, turdface!"
"Yeah, well, it made my skin crawl! Scuzzball."
Zanka makes to turn towards the cabinets still behind them, where this whole mess had started, only to suddenly grunt in pain. He practically folds himself over Rudo's head, clutching at where… at where he'd-
Oh…
"Zanka…" the smaller teen starts, swallowed by an almost overwhelming wave of guilt, "You-"
"Shut it." his teacher scowls, pissed off again but steely, "It ain't nobody's fault but my own. Ya got that?"
But if Rudo hadn't-
His hand actually does tug at some of the baby hairs behind his ear this time, though it's nowhere near as rough as what he's come to expect. No, it's more of.. it's kind is the best word he can think for it.
It stings, just a tad, just barely.
It shuts him up.
"If ya tell anybody this, I'll kick yer ass… but you seriously.. freaked me out."
…huh?
"What?" the smaller boy balks, nose scrunching as some of the lighter strands of Zanka's hair brush at its tip, "But you haven't even seen-"
"Not your arms, genius," he cuts off, "But I guess.. that's part of it too."
Something cold sluices down his sternum, something pathetic and sludgy and suffocating that fills up his lungs and stomach and guts just like the waste those traffickers had forced down his throat.
And somehow a million times worse, because he couldn't lose this. He didn't think he could take losing this. The bickering, the easy companionship, the safety-
"Hey- dumbass- breathe."
Was he really gonna lose it all again? Once Zanka saw his scars and burns and- and- everything, was he gonna leave too? Call him cursed or disgusting and shove him back onto the cold tiles?
"Yo-"
His chest felt tight again- overbearingly closed off from air like he was trying to breathe through a whistle.
"Rudo-"
Probably sounded like he was trying to breathe through a whistle too, all wheezy and high pitched. All scared.
"Damnit, brat, listen to me-!"
And then suddenly he can't breathe at all. Something clamps over his nose and mouth, firm and unbudging and tight in a way that reminds him painfully of a muzzle.
If- muzzles smelt like medicine and felt like callouses.
Rudo shakes his head, unable to paw at the offending hand with his arms still limp at his sides. Thankfully, his teacher doesn't make him attempt it.
"You- asshole," he sputters, when Zanka easily lets him go, "What was that for?"
"You were freaking out all over the place, I was calmin' you down!"
"By SUFFOCATING me!?"
"That's how my family always dealt with it!"
"Your family sucks-"
Zanka stares down at him, deadpan with judgment. It's practically a stand-off, blue vs red in a battle of wills. A battle that the older teen seems to slowly concede defeat to, as he hangs his head with a sigh.
"…yeah."
Oh-
Well.
Rudo hadn't actually expected him to agree.
…now what?
He still can't move his arms, probably won't be able to until the next day, but he can still.. the smaller teen tips his head to the side- where his teacher had let his offending hand settle.
It's calloused, from his endlessly hard work, and cold from recovery, but familiar all the same- even as it moves to cautiously card through his student's messy two-toned hair.
"…mine too," Rudo gets out eventually, when he feels the awkward air settle a little bit, "At least.. the one 'm related to."
"Is there any other kind?" Zanka asks him, absently.
His fingers pull away the fringe sticking to his forehead.
Regto comes to mind immediately, with his warmth and soft edges and large hands that were always so careful with him. They weren't related, and the only blood they shared was the kind spilled on knuckles and swords and bricks.
But they were… he was still his dad.
Zanka wasn't warm- his hands were chilly on a good day and straight up glacial on a bad one. All of his edges were sharp, stabbing through his soles and palms whenever he tried to find a foothold. He was prickly, trying to defend a squishy center that wasn't in danger anymore.
They weren't related.
And yet they've bled for each other.
So they were still-
"Yeah," Rudo says, opening his eyes to meet his teacher head on, "I think there are."
He knows Zanka gets it- then. Knows it in the way his eyes widen just slightly, and the way his ears turn pink at the tips. Knows it in the way he turns away with a swish of his tassel earrings.
"Tch… shut yer trap," he huffs, and reaches down to pinch Rudo's nostrils shut.
Again.
"ACK- turdface, cut it out!" the smaller teen yelps, struggling to squirm away from the heinous attack on his breathing privileges, "Ain't anybody tell you it's dirty attacking someone that can't fight back-!"
Zanka lets go abruptly, "Oh yeah.. I completely forgot about that."
Bullshit… Rudo can't help but scowl up at his supposed mentor, especially as he shifts his hand lower to pat at his cheek.
"Be a good student and show me your hands."
Ugh.. he was using that voice. His weird- not really all there voice.
He shoves down his initial panic at such a demand.
His customer service voice, Riyo called it. Rudo didn't like it, whatever it was. Didn't like the way the older teen seemed a million miles away whenever he used it, despite being right here.
flick
Zanka snaps out of it pretty quick this time, though, fast enough to jab at the crease forming between his brows.
"And be real, Enjin told me you bit a man's fingers off."
"Not off," Rudo protests, barely managing to swallow back what might be fear as his teacher reaches down to take his hand, "He still had the bones."
The older teen snorts.
"Can't fight back my ass."
"I can't move my arms-"
"That why ya gotta ask for help, genius," he says, and it stops the smaller teen cold, "Nobody here's gonna hold it against ya."
Zanka doesn't pay him anymore attention, somehow endlessly cautious as he supports his student's hurting limb by the palm. It's almost like he's studying it, trying to figure out what exactly is wrong without exacerbating it again.
"Can I take yer gloves off?"
"…huh?"
"Yer gloves."
Rudo swallows, again, but it's thick and dry and a lot less like swallowing down fear and more like salt.
"But… they're gross."
"You threw literal shit at me the first time we met," Zanka reminds him, flatly, "I think we're past 'gross' by now."
He can feel his face burn with embarrassment at the reminder. It was true, but it was mortifying.
"Th-that was different.."
"You've seen my organs." he tacks on next, like it wasn't a highly traumatizing event.
"Not by choice!"
This stand-off lasts longer than the first, sitting heavy in the air like a boulder on a string waiting to snap and crush them into goop. The teacher won't deprive him of a choice and all options are a death sentence.
Rudo concedes defeat.
"What if.. you don't wanna be my trainer anymore?"
It's barely a mutter, a crackle, in this suddenly suffocating environment. It's scared and desperate and absolutely pathetic and Rudo want's nothing more to take the words back and run away.
Run all the way back to his room and cry because he won't be able to open the door. Run into a No-Man's Land and let a Trash Beast swallow him whole because then the end of everything will be his choice-
"So that's where your head's at…"
Zanka's sigh ruffles his fringe again, and it almost sound disappointed.
"Come on, sit up."
His teacher sets his arm down- so so so careful- to probe his student into an upright position. He helps, with steady hands on his back, when Rudo can't pull himself up- guides him to a sit by the cabinet neither had managed to open yet.
And it's quiet.
It's quiet , when Zanka asks him if he's alright- if anything hurts where he's positioned. It's quiet when he answers the mirrored questions.
And then…
"Good." the older teen tells him, where they're both as comfortable as they possibly could be- with Zanka's punctured middle and Rudo's burning hands, "Then answer somethin' for me…"
His teacher grabs him by the collar, and yanks their foreheads together with a thunk!
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YER BRAIN?"
…huh?
"DON'T TELL ME YA SERIOUSLY THINK I'M THAT SHALLOW," Zanka practically spits at him, "I don't give a flyin' fuck what yer hands look like!"
Huh??
"If you ever insult me like that again and I will drop you as a student! Understand?"
HUH!?
"B-but you said…" Rudo is dazed, either from the hit to his cranium or by the situation- he's not sure, "You said my hands freaked you out!"
"I said that was only part of it, you- freakin' moron!"
…oh..
"Then-?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm not having this conversation if I have to look at ya!"
…well, now he's even more confused.
But Zanka, now free from having to twist, clears it right up when he pushes Rudo back and turns to dig around in the god forsaken cabinet. Bandages are finally retrieved without incident, while his teacher stares at him expectantly.
The smaller teen doesn't know what he's waiting for, at first, still reeling from pain and loud voices and-
"…ask for help, genius."
"Can I take yer gloves off?"
Oh.
Ohhh.
Oh no.
He gets it now. He wishes he didn't.
"Will-" a swallow, "..will you-"
He can't do this.
This was… not what he signed up for when he snuck in here. No one has ever.. not since Regto. Was this.. really okay?
His tongue feels thick in his mouth.
"…do it scared," Zanka says, quietly, coaxingly, "-the rest can come later."
Do it scared…
He can't do this.
But if he doesn't… then didn't he just wake up Zanka for nothing? Practically force him into comforting him- for nothing? Like a child?
Do it scared.
"Don't tell me ya seriously think I'm that shallow!"
"Will you please… help.. me?"
Rudo shuts his eyes.
The silence stretches wide, a blade poised to cut fragile thread- poised to leave his guts on the tile between them.
And then cold hands are taking his. First the left, to gently remove the glove, and then the right- to repeat the process.
More silence.
The bandages go next, crusted with blood that never stops on days like this, and old.
Zanka's hands are blessedly chilly against the hot needles trying to make a home in his bones, almost soothing- as his thumbs shakily press against his knuckles. It's featherlight, a barely there, nice, sorta pressure.
It's kind.
And it gives the student enough hope to crack open his eyes.
Only to find his teacher looks murderous.
He's wide-eyed, staring at the patterns carved into limbs that look too skinny in his willowy hands. But his grip doesn't tighten, or hurt.
"These don't seem like normal burns."
blink
blink blink
Rudo doesn't.. understand.
Well- he understands. The fury, the rage- he understands that. Understands that his burns had made Regto angry too, evidenced by the tightness around his eyes and the long hug he'd always get afterward.
He doesn't understand why they make Zanka angry too.
"They're not," he finally gets out, through the the steadily increasing waves of pain and incredulity, "…just a- good ole' parting gift from my shitty dad."
He thinks it was a parting gift anyway- it's the only thing he remembers from the guy, really, so… it could've happened beforehand. Theoretically.
Most likely not.
"…and here I was bitchin' about my own family disinheriting me." Zanka borderline sighs into the late air, examining the damage a bit closer, "Do these need like- ointment or somethin'?"
Ointment?
"Regto never used any," he answers, because- well, they couldn't afford it, "Dis- disinherited?"
That word… feels vaguely familiar. The smaller teen could probably puzzle it out with a little time, a little less pain, but his teacher is sighing again- and this time through his nose.
He lowers his student's hands back to his lap, "Wait here a sec."
His outfit of fancy fabric rustles as he strong-arms himself into a stand, and it's nearly loud enough to cover up his bitten down grunts. Guilt sours Rudo's stomach- while he can do nothing but watch.
"Means disowned, basically" the older teen tells him, braced on the counter to dig through a taller shelf, "Threw me out when I became a Giver."
….what?
Who-
What!?
"Why!?"
Zanka grunts again, settling back down on the floor with a bottle of- something.
"They ain't too keen on the whole 'codependent' thing." he barely even explains, and the click of his mystery item's lid is sharp, "Thinks it makes people weak. This might sting a bit at first, but it should help. At least a little."
"That's stupid."
"That's how medicine works."
"No-" Rudo scowls, and he'd shove the older teen's shoulder if he could, "Stop changing the subject."
All he gets is a grumble, a faux wave of surrender, in return. Well- that, and Zanka taking his wrist again to squeeze some of the bottle's contents on. Rudo watches quietly, almost hypnotized by the steady way his teacher massages it in.
It feels.. nice. Numb.
Soothing.
"I meant your family," he eventually says, once his teacher starts wrapping the crisp white bandages, "-they're stupid. For throwing you out."
"Is that right?"
That- stupid voice again.
Rudo hates that empty voice- like Zanka doesn't believe him. Or worse- like Zanka actually believes he deserved it.
"Anybody that thinks you're weak is stupid," he huffs, "And doesn't deserve you anyway."
Maybe it's the pain, or the very late hour, that's making him bold. Maybe it's the fact that for the first time since ever his hands don't feel like they're trying to kill him. Maybe it's because, deep down, he's selfishly grateful that it happened- because it meant they got to meet.
Because it meant Zanka was his teacher, and it meant he was rude and didn't hide how his accent got thicker when he got worked up and it meant he was actually living instead of being a stupid patrol drone.
A cold hand latches onto his scalp, jarring him out of sticky thoughts by shaking him around.
"You-! Seriously! PISS ME OFF!" his teacher practically screeches, deciding one hand isn't enough to get his point across and using his other to keep his head psuhed down.
"I WAS JUST TELLING THE TRUTH-" his student squawks back.
"THAT'S THE PROBLEM, SCUZZBALL-"
"WHAT!?"
Eventually, it's too much. Zanka's wound, miraculously healed as it is, is still too fresh for all this activity. Rudo's hands still ache, even if it's vastly improved.
It's still late.
And now they're both completely worn out.
Rudo doesn't want to trek all the way back to his room, knowing he won't be able to open the door without aggravating everything again. Doesn't want to lay in bed wondering about what could've happened if they hadn't gotten Zanka to Eishia in time.
Doesn't want to fall asleep and see everything happen again.
So he helps Zanka up, hovering just close enough to his side that he could probably catch him over the shoulder if he needed to, and dawdles only once the taller teen is resettled in his medical bed.
"Th-thank you," Rudo makes sure to stutter out, even if it's just prolong his stay.
He doesn't look up.
.
.
.
"Tch… yo. Rudo. Stop acting like a kicked puppy already."
That gets him.
"I am not," he bristles, shoulders up to his ears as he finally raises his head to… see..
Zanka lifting his blanket up.
It's not a demand- it's barely even an offer, when they both are too hurt to verbalize it. But it's open, it's an invitation.
"I don't.. wanna hurt you-"
"Yer 50 pounds soaking wet, be serious."
He wants to- god, he wants to. But what if this is all a trick? What if he goes for it and Zanka laughs at him? Then what?
"Goin' once."
Is it worth the risk?
"Twice…"
Would his teacher trick him like that?
"Thre- oh."
Turns out, it's just his hands that are cold all the time. Zanka's chest is warm where Rudo's shoved himself [lightly] into it- thin as the rest of him is, and yet sturdy too. The smaller teen's braced himself.
For a hit never comes.
No, his teacher pauses for all of a second- and then nudges him sideways into laying down. He doesn't shove, doesn't really do much of anything besides adjust the blanket with his foot- his arm slung limply over skinny biceps.
His student's hands end up between them, curled into the small space left between their chests.
"You tell anyone 'n I'll kick yer ass." Zanka says, once he's settled his nose into the smaller teen's fluffy white hair, "..you need your gloves off?"
He had put them back on for him after the re-bandaging process, though most likely only out of courtesy. And now, the buckle was pressing into him.
"Are they uncomfortable..?"
"Nah."
Mm.
Rudo didn't always sleep with them on- usually really only when there was no other choice, or if he was in a new environment, or if he was missing.. Regto.
"I can put 'em next to Lovely, if you want." his teacher offers, idle, like this was some everyday conversation.
Like he was only offering a hand up a ledge.
"Would you.. mind?"
To answer, Zanka worms the arm he had slung over his shoulders down between them- carefully peeling the old things off and stacking them neatly on top of the other. He treats them with the same reverence, well- maybe a little less, as he does his own weapon… carefully laying them down in front of where his stick's been propped against the wall- on a med table.
And then he curls himself right back in- right around Rudo. Easily.
"All good?"
And all Rudo can do is nod.
"Good. Go to sleep."
"…night, Zanka."
"G'night, brat."
And it's so warm here.
+=+=+
*-post Doll Fest-*
Zanka wakes up to slamming doors.
Not a new sound, admittedly, but it's jarring either way. There's a weird pressure on his wrist, like old fabric that's been stiffened in the sun and softened through wear. There's a not so weird pain through his middle.
Shuffling, angry mutters, those are familiar too.
Less so is the way that unfamiliar pressure rests on his pulse point before easing away, less so is the way small.. bandage wrapped fingers replace it.
"Your family sucks, Zanka," Rudo says, quietly- raggedly, like he'd just won a battle that he wasn't supposed to fight.
Less so is the way he sounds like he's gonna cry again.
Something twists in his chest.
That wouldn't do..
It takes most of his energy, which is pathetic for such a menial task- for a Nijiku- but the teacher twitches his fingers. Tries to, anyway, tries to squeeze the ones keeping track of his heartbeat.
He barely manages to brush them.
"…only.. the-" a wheeze, a cough, "-the one.. m'related to."
But maybe it's enough.