Chapter Text
Givers had a tradition. Though it wasn't known to many, no matter if they knew about it or not, Givers would come around to it eventually.
When a Giver fell in love with someone, they would let their lover use their most precious vital instrument—hoping it could keep them safe. They'd let their most cherished person handle their most cherished item.
Not all became Givers, but in the best cases, some partners would grow to love the object all the same and both would be able to summon and use the vital instrument.
With that said, all vital instruments had their side effects. Only those who have held others could tell you that. The original user of the instrument couldn't tell, because throughout the process of their instrument getting a soul, they would have had plenty of contact with it and their bodies would have grown acclimatized to any adverse effects.
The side effects varied greatly. Ranging from physical to mental, anything was possible. For example, if anyone but Rudo wore 3R, then they'd get irritant contact dermatitis. Or if someone tried using Enjin's Umbreaker, their arms would feel muscle strain and fatigue.
It all depended on the instrument. Headphones could cause hearing loss, artistry pens or pencils caused carpal tunnel.
The side effects only lasted the amount of time the new user was trying to handle it—or if the new handler is able to conquer the instrument—as soon as it's let go of, it disappears.
Because vital instruments had a soul, the anima radiating off of it would cause more damage in a much shorter time.
Zanka never expected that Mankira would have a side effect like this—or maybe, this was exactly how he thought things would go down.
It all started three hours ago. Zanka made a single slip up—which in the aftermath—he had to get rescued by a certain secret Raider boyfriend.
As stupid as it sounded, he boosted himself into the air, soaring high above the trash beast. All was fine and well until…his finger slipped. He fumbled his hands before ultimately hitting Lovely Assistaff in such an angle that further launched the staff down than if he had just done nothing.
So there he was, tens of meters in the sky, his only weapon tumbling down into a trash beast’s gullet. As he plummeted he closed his eyes, scrunched his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He put his hands together as if praying.
I'm such a fucking chud.
A mistake this dumb was nearly unheard of for Zanka. With Lovely Assistaff trapped within a trash beast there truly was nothing he could do. He didn't have a spare gun in him like Ryio did, and he couldn't exactly hand-to-hand combat a trash beast.
He neared the trash beast's mouth, only he never met the rows of trash teeth. Wind no longer assaulted his eardrums and his back hurt as if he’d just hit the ground. Under his back, just below the shoulder blades and under his knees shot a wave of aching. He hacked as his diaphragm spasmed and all the air in his lungs escaped him.
“I’m sorry princess, but it was either me or the jaw.” Zanka opened his eyes to see a familiar face. His wicks fluttered behind him as they soared through the sky. Zanka's heart couldn't help but beat a little faster. He couldn't believe that he'd been so stupid in front of Jabber of all people…how utterly embarrassing.
Jabber’s arms were carrying him in a bridal carry. Other than being humiliating, it fully explained why those two particular spots hurt like hell. It was also the reason for his pulsating head, he must've pulled around 20-g’s when Jabber “caught” him.
Zanka was glad they were together now but there was still a pretty big problem; they were still falling. A massive smile was plastered on Jabber's face. “Horr’on to me girl.”
He never really understood why Jabber always called him girl but also, didn't really care. He actually found it quite enduring.
Zanka swung himself from Jabber's arms to his back, wrapping his arms around his neck and fastening his legs around Jabber's waist.
With his boyfriend being tightly secured, Jabber spread his limbs apart to make the surface area of his body larger—increasing wind resistance and further slowing his fall. Jabber's parachute-like, baggy clothing also contributed to their slow falling.
Mankira's claws extended from its rings, trace amounts of light from the sun penetrated the Ground's thick smog, producing a blinding reflection.
At the last moment he extended his legs in front of him as if he were pencil diving into the beast's maw. Zanka was horrified as he screeched. “What the hell are ya’ doin’!—” The jaw closed.
What followed was silence…a carpet of dead stillness blanketed the surrounding area, no sound outside other than the heavy thumping of the trash beast's footsteps. Suddenly, the crumpling of trash was heard as the beast's head was cleaved off in a perfect circle. Jabber had twisted himself and struck it with Mankira's claws from within its throat, making himself into a sort of blender.
The mound of trash collapsed beneath their feet, sweeping them away until they finally, finally found themselves on solid ground.
Jabber delicately helped Zanka stand upright. Without another word, he used telekinesis to bring Lovely Assistaff back into his palm.
“That was pretty dangerous,” Jabber crossed his arms, looking less than happy. Less so than he usually would've been after a life threatening fight. “You almost done got yourself killed. How could’ya die to anything other than me?”
“I had things under control—”
“No, ya didn't.” Zanka gave him a deadpan expression.
“It was just a dumb mistake, my hand slipped, that's all.” He tried justifying himself. “I still woulda been able to beat it.”
“Say wachu’ want, it was that dumb mistake that almost gotcha killed.” Unfortunately, the Cleaner couldn't argue against the facts.
Jabber flipped a switch within him and turned on the theatrics, dramatically putting his hands over his chest. He leaned over, shoving his face next to Zanka's. “What would ya do without me? How could’ya live with me gone?”
Zanka pushed his face away. “It was once. Just let it go.”
The thing was, Jabber didn't really want to let it go. He couldn't have Zanka die on him, who would fight him then, or more importantly, who would love him? He thought for a long while—at least it felt that way to Jabber.
But Jabber never really had to think long when it came to Zanka. He always knew what he wanted with him.
“Listen…my love, I want you to have one of Mankira's rings,” Jabber started. “So you can have a weapon that’s attached to you, so you can protect yourself better, and so that somethin’ like today won't ever happen again.”
Jabber took his hand and slipped his thumb ring on Zanka's ring finger. Since Zanka didn't wear gloves, it fit perfectly on the base. Once he finished admiring one of Mankira's rings on his beloved finger, Jabber looked up to see Zanka's bewildered expression. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened in disbelief.
“You just— you— how can you just—,” He said so much yet conveyed nothing at all. At that moment, Zanka's mouth shut up but his mind ran a mile a minute.
Who the hell would lend such a precious item on a whim? No, he didn't lend it, he gave it to him. No one ever let people touch their vital instrument, unless it was someone who they cared for deeply…like a lover, a husband. Zanka's checks flushed at the thought.
Zanka and Jabber had been dating for almost two years now. Jabber confessed first in the middle of one of their many fights, and that was when Zanka realized that maybe he liked him too.
He always actively sought him out whenever the Raiders and Cleaners had conflicts, not because he despised him but because he was…excited? At the thought of being about to fight him again.
But now, this was different. Jabber had basically just proposed to him with his most precious possession—something he loved and cared for so dearly he'd managed to give it a soul. Did that mean that he loved him on the same level as his vital instrument? He felt himself get even hotter.
The ring felt heavy on his finger, and he was suddenly very aware of its presence. His eyes were drawn to the ring with an attraction so great he couldn't tear them away if he wanted to, until a thought struck him.
“Wait a second,” he recalled what Enjin once told him once, about what happened when someone other than the original Giver held someone else's instrument. “Ya just put it on? Aren't there some sort of precautions we should take? What would Mankira even do to m—”
The side effects hit him like a cauldron of cold water, except that water was mixed with the most exotic, homemade hard drugs one could possibly get their hands on.
He always wondered what such a unique instrument would have as a side effect. And truth be told, he kind of expected something like this. But he wasn't able to keep his composure for long as his brain scrambled.
A small pathetic puff of air escaped his lips before legs went weak and he crumpled to the floor. He landed with a forearm covering his face.
Jabber was startled, he obviously didn't have anyone to teach him about the side effects—or maybe he was never interested enough to care. Zodyl could've easily told him…probably, on second thought, maybe Cthoni would have been a better option.
Jabber quickly reached out to help Zanka. He tried moving his arm to see his face but was met with a feeble attempt to smack his hand away. It did the job anyway because the attempted smack still brought his arm away from his face.
Jabber's hand burned after making contact, not the cute, metaphorical way, but the most literal way possible. He felt like he had just touched a lit stove.
Zanka's hand—no longer over his face—was now over the collar of his shirt, clumsily fumbling with the zipper. His cheeks were two tones redder than they normally were and his breath was ragged. His eyes had a sheen over them, as if they were covered by a thin, liquid wall of glass. Unable to bear the heat anymore, Zanka reached out to Jabber's sleeve, tugging at it helplessly.
“Take it…” His brows knitted as he struggled uselessly at his clothing, desperation clear in his voice. “Take it off.”
Anyone could tell at this point that he was totally out of it. It was also incredibly confusing to Jabber who still had no idea what the hell was happening to Zanka.
Even though he probably should have been panicking at that point in time, he couldn't help but admire the view in front of him. There was no denying that in his eyes, Zanka looked hot as hell in that disheveled state.
“Yo, Zanka you good man?” Despite Zanka looking like a snack and a half, for one of the few times in his life, he felt awkward. “Lemme take ya’ like…I’on know, somewhere I guess—somewhere that ain't here.”
Jabber—a man that was unable to handle things gently for the life of him—somehow managed to lift the Cleaner over his shoulder without downright chucking him. As they left the polluted area, Jabber could feel Zanka's uneven breath on his neck, small whines escaping his lips, once again complaining about the heat.
He nuzzled his face in the cleavage of Jabber's neck. The next second, Jabber was met with a small lick and teeth biting into his neck crevice.
Jabber's pace significantly increased, his face a blushing mess of deep red. He needed to get home before something between his legs became a real problem.
But Zanka didn't stop, he couldn't. He needed any and all liquids in his system before his own body betrayed him and cooked him alive. He bit down harder—until the Raiser's neck was bruised and bled, secreting thick red liquid from his wounds.
Jabber had to bite his lips to keep himself grounded. They'd finally arrived at the Raiser's den, in other words, a hotel shitty enough that it wouldn't keep records of its occupants. The Raiders had to constantly move around, so lodging like this was ideal.
It was…a little shabbier—would be the nicest way to put it—than the Cleaner HQ, and definitely worse than Zanka's childhood home, but times were hard and this was all Jabber had to offer at the moment. Besides, now was no time to get picky when there were other issues at hand.
Jabber tried laying Zanka down on the bed, but the cleaner was reluctant to let go. He suddenly had enough strength to cling on to Jabber, strong enough that even he couldn't pry him off, Zanka wrapped his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist and stubbornly held on.
Jabber didn't know what to do at all. If sober Zanka were to see how he was acting he'd probably strangle him and then himself.
First, he had to figure out what the hell was going on with Zanka. He sat down on the bed and for the first time since earlier—fully assessed Zanka’s condition.
The way his body temperature hadn't changed, and his occasional, involuntary muscle twitching told him that he was in the midst of experiencing hyperthermia.
Jabber grabbed his jaw and tilted Zanka's head back to inspect his face, his glossy, unfocused eyes, dilated pupils, and his slightly agape mouth told him that he was high.
“Damn, not a single thought behind them eyes.”
Zanka was still adamant about not wanting to let go, but after a while, he seemed to be getting better—better enough that he could speak.
“Fuck…What the hell was that side effect?” Zanka's voice was slightly mumbled because of the awkward position his mouth was in, buried in the dip above Jabber's collar bone. “Shit, imagine I had all ten on…I would’ve died.”
“You sentient enough to answer some questions?” Zanka tiredly nodded. “D’alright, first, the hell was that?”
Zanka went on to repeat Enjin's teachings. “If someone other than yourself makes contact with your vital instrument, they'll experience side effects. Which was what just happened to me.”
Jabber pushed him off his lap and Zanka was sober enough at that point to let him. But found it a little out of character for him since he was always the one who couldn't let go.
“And how do you know that?” Zanka saw that Jabber looked conflicted. “Did someone else give you their instrument? Did you act like this with them too?”
Oh. So that's what it was. Jabber was jealous, and Zanka found that kinda cute. “Well…” He dragged out his words, making the Raiders wait with baited breath. “Enjin explained it to me, and gave me his vital instrument to show me an example.”
Zanka could see the change in Jabber's face as he seethed in envy. He grinded his teeth but forced a smile. “So, what was the effect?”
The Cleaner couldn't help but snicker at his actions. “Don't worry, it was nothin’ like yours. They vary based on instrument, Umbreaker just causes muscle strain and more stuff like that.”
His strained face muscles visibly relaxed. The hands that were clenched on his thighs unfurled and he leaned backwards, using his arms as support.
A calloused hand ran through his locs. “Man, I thought I was tripping mad balls.” He lifted his arms and collapsed on the bed. “I mean, when will I ever see y’act like that.”
“Yeah, to me you felt like a massive coolin’ pad—very soothin’” Zanka just shrugged. “Now you gotta answer me a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why didn't ya just pounce on me then? Ya knew damn well I couldn't do nothin’ in that state.”
“Well I ain't tryna to do it with a high person, besides, I want you to be sober for that.” He winked. “Unless…” they both knew what he was insinuating.
“Besides, now I got a way to win against’ ya…in that aspect.” He laughed. “All I gotta do is slip another ring on your finger and watch you crumble to the floor.” Took up Zanka's hand and gently kissed the ring.
Zanka swung his leg and landed on top of Jabber's body. Seductively placing a hand on his chest. “Careful now,” He leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. “Ya’ only got nine chances left.”