It took a few more days of planning, interspersed as usual with mindless games and arguments and conversations that at times got a little too personal, but they had a solid plan. And it was a good thing they did, as Zanka's infection was quickly progressing.
He could tell his heartbeat was permanently a bit faster than normal, though sometimes it was hard to tell if that was the infection or Jabber's influence, or maybe both, and he always felt both too hot and too cold, sweating and shivering at the same time. There were occasional moments when everything became hazy, and his thoughts would be hard to hold on to, sometimes drifting away mid sentence. Jabber hid it well, and would probably never admit it, but Zanka could tell he was getting worried, even going so far as to insist they move their plan up by a few days, even if it wasn't the most optimal time to strike.
Zanka refused flat out. They needed the extra time to make absolutely sure the guards wouldn't suspect anything, and they had to be sure about the sedative refill schedule, something he'd been monitoring carefully by feel since his first attempt, and apparently so had Jabber. They refilled Jabber's every two days, and his own every four, and the plan was to do it on the morning of the refill, when it would be weaker, if only by a bit. If everything went to plan they wouldn't need it, but if it didn't, a couple extra seconds of consciousness could be the difference between life and death.
He wouldn't fail again.
Still though, his degenerating health wasn't the only thing they had to worry about. The experiments with their vital instruments were getting more extreme, and while such a breakthrough discovery about Jabber's instrument had pacified them for a while, essentially making them start over as they redid all their experiments with his new claws to compare, Zanka wasn't so lucky, and the tests on Lovely Assistaff were getting harsher by the day; larger cuts now marred the body of the staff and a ugly black burn now scarred the very bottom. A lot of the damage was likely –hopefully, it had to have been or Zanka didn't know what he'd do– negated by the lacquer he'd built up over years of obsessive protective care, and he knew as things stood now he could still fix her once they escaped, but all the same he'd still lost his voice for almost a whole day after the visit where they took a flame to the bottom.
He could tell they were getting to the point where they'd soon switch to testing their instruments to see just how far they could go before breaking them entirely. And after that happened, it was unlikely they'd have any use for the two of them for much longer beyond that point. There was a reason all the other cells were empty, after all. (Though if that happened, if he lost her, Zanka knew he probably wouldn't have the will or the want to keep going anyway.)
...
Zanka sat in the well, waiting to die.
They'd been shocked. They'd asked him if he was sure. Why had he been so sure?
Hyo had chosen a katana. Hyo had chosen a reasonable, practical, actual weapon. And he'd chosen a stick. Why had he tried to be different? Why had he been so desperate to subvert expectations that he'd taken a chance on hoping that there was something special about an object that was exactly as average as it appeared? (He knew why.)
It had been his last chance, his last opportunity to live up to what he was supposed to be, and he'd ruined it. It was a mistake. It wasn't even supposed to be there. It wasn't some test, wasn't some grand trial he'd seen through. It was just a stupid oversight, an error that had led to something worthless being mixed in accidentally with the other items that were actually useful.
Maybe that was why he'd grabbed it. He'd needed to believe there was something special about it, because if there was it meant that there could still be something special about him. That he could still prove his family wrong, prove himself wrong. It had to be more than met the eye, it just had to. But it hadn't been. And in a single moment of thoughtless, reckless hope, he'd destoyed a lifetime of grueling hard work for a stick.
Honestly though, he couldn't even blame the stick itself. He never had a chance, not really. There were geniuses and then there was everyone else. And it didn't matter how badhe wanted it, it didn't matter how hard he tried. He would never be a genius. And now he couldn't even maintain the illusion that he was one. He was the worst kind of faker, the most pathetic version of an average joe, to think he could possibly be different than everyone else. To have the audacity to believe just working hard enough could eventually grant him what he'd been denied by fate itself.
Everyone wanted to be special, thats exactly what made it the most mundane wish in the world.
He should just die. Why was he still holding on? The cold cobblestone floor of the well was harsh and unforgiving, and the metal bars of the cell dug into his back as he leaned against them. Why had he taken the stupid stick with him when he'd run away with his tail between his legs? Why did he cling to her so desperately?
Something tried to pull her away, but he held on tight. He couldn't seem to let go, whether it be from life itself or from the symbol of how he'd ruined it. The tugging continued as the guard tried to wrench her out of his grip. He wouldn't let go, he couldn't. She was all he had left. He tried to move his arm to get more leverage, tried to get a better grip, but he was bolted in place, wrists bound to the chair.
She slipped through his infuriatingly weak fingers, ripped out of his grasp, and he lost himself. Enjin watched on with pity and dissapointment in his eyes as Zanka pulled fruitlessly at his bindings.
The old man slowly ran his hands up and down her appraisingly and it made Zanka want to throw up.
"Don't you fucking touch her! Get yer filthy godamn hands off her, you're DEAD!"
He felt the touch of the guards hands on the back of his neck and the nauseous feeling doubled.
A fire started below Lovely Assistaff, at the area where her engravings glowed when she was transformed. The scientist–no, it was the taller guard now– kept touching her, Zanka feeling each violating touch as he brought her closer and closer to the flames that were licking up towards the wood.
"STOP! I-I'll tell you anything, I'll do whatever you want, just-" His voice broke. "Please! PLEASE!"
His pleading, his begging, much like Zanka himself, simply wasn't enough, and all he could do was watch while his Lovely Assistaff errupted into flame entirely, cracking and popping as it blackened and burned.
He felt his shoulder tear out of its socket from how hard he was pulling against his bindings, thrashing and crying and screaming himself hoarse.
The lab, the well, the academy, shook around him like an earthquake as he was jostled, disorienting him, and it was all he could to keep his eyes on her, watching his treasure burn like an ember under the light of the flames as he screamed and sobbed uselessly.
Another jostle of movement and he heard someone calling him but he couldn't go to them, couldn't abandon Lovely Assistaff even as she turned to ash in front of him, couldn't rip his eyes away.
He watched, injured and powerless and alone, feeling a more intense pain than everything he'd ever gone through before combined. A feeling that only got worse as his shoulder started to hurt even more as he was shaken by it, a firm grip moving him back and forth.
And then he woke up.
His eyes shot open with a gasp that wrenched its way out of his throat, and through blurry, unfocused vision, he could see Jabber, kneeling with his hand through the bars and on Zanka's own shoulder. At the sight of Zanka's eyes opening, Jabber moved his hand from Zanka's shoulder down to the side of his arm to give it what might have been a grounding squeeze, but the memory, the feeling of hands on him had him ripping his arm away and scrambling back.
"Don't fucking touch me! Don't-"
His voice was raw and it broke as he yelled in a way that he hated, and he was still heaving out heavy breaths, everything sounding muffled. He could feel dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Fuck.
Jabber was saying something but he couldn't hear, couldn't make it out aside from a small part of his brain distantly recognizing it wasn't Jabbers usual tone of voice.
It was a nightmare. It was just a stupid goddamn nightmare. Assistaff was fine- well, not fine. But not broken. (Not yet.) The fire, the guards, Enjin–for some reason–it didn't happen. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.
Anger and shame filled him to bursting and as soon as he got his knees under him again he slammed a punch into the rough concrete below him, feeling the skin of his knuckles break immediately at the impact.
"DAMN IT! God fucking-" His voice cracked and he took another breath. "Damn it."
He folded over, forehead almost brushing the concrete as tears stung in his eyes and he tried to keep them from falling. Pathetic.
Jabber was quiet for a moment longer, then started talking again, and Zanka could hear it this time, his teasing voice softer than usual, but just barely. Zanka hated it.
"C'mon now tough guy, don't go and mess up the one good arm ya got left, you're gonna need that in a couple days."
"Fuck off." His voice was still scratchy and he tried to put as much bite into it as he could.
"There he is."
Zanka could hear the smile in Jabber's voice, but there was something else hiding underneath. Maybe relief, or maybe something worse.
"That seemed like a real rough one, you wanna tell me ab-"
"Fuck no."
Jabber just laughed.
"Yeah, figured. Worth a shot though."
Zanka hated this. Hated him. It wasn't fair, none of it was fair. He was weak, and Jabber was a constant reminder of that. A constant mirror held up to himself to remind him just how inadequate he was. Now even in mental stability it seemed Jabber was beating him, the one area where Zanka was supposed to have the upper hand. It was infuriating.
"You're doing it again. C'mere."
"Fuck off."
"You did that one already man, we gotta get you some better material."
He really hated him. At least the humiliating urge to cry was gone now though, and he took another breath before looking up to glare at Jabber.
Jabber stuck his arm through the bars again, reaching his hand out for Zanka.
"C,mon. You wanna hurt somethin so bad then go for it. Share some of that anger with me."
They stared off for a moment, not breaking eye contact. Two different emotions in their eyes that should have been opposites but instead felt near identical.
Zanka came back to the bars. It was easier to pretend Jabber was doing this soley for his own wants. And the fact that Zanka knew in his heart that wasn't fully true just made him angrier.
He threaded his fingers through Jabber's and squeezed harshly, using his hand as a stress ball, imagining cracking the bones beneath his grip.
Jabber sucked a breath in through his nose, pleased.
"There you go. That's better, huh?"
It was.
"I fucking hate you."
"Yeah, yeah."
Jabber was looking at him with clear adoration. Zanka just squeezed harder, digging his nails in to the back of Jabber's hand until he felt them break skin.
At the feeling, Jabbers smile only grew, showing his teeth to Zanka while he made no move to hurt Zanka back, just letting it be inflicted on him. Indulging in it.
Zanka readjusted slightly to get a better grip and did it again, digging his nails into the already open, crescent shaped wounds. He felt blood bead up around his nails and just barely wet his fingertips, warm and slightly sticky.
Jabber breathed out a sound that made Zanka's stomach flip.
"Yeah, that's it. Just let go."
Being close to Jabber always felt like touching a livewire.
After a minute, gradually, Jabber coerced their joined hands over to his side of the bars, so Zanka was the one reaching through. Zanka moved with him, not letting go or letting up for a second. Jabber kept eye contact as he brought their joined hands up near his mouth and pressed his lips to Zanka's ring finger on the area between Zanka's second and third knuckle.
Zanka felt like he was on fire. He dug his fingers in harder and felt Jabbers breath rush over his hand as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
Jabber got a glint in his eye and moved his head an inch lower, tongue darting out to taste the blood where Zanka was digging into him. The feel of his tongue, hot and wet against his fingers, had Zanka ready to do something stupid right then and there.
In a shocking display of restraint though, Jabber lowered their hands back to center, giving Zanka one last squeeze before letting go, and Zanka did the same, almost in a trance.
"Feel better now? Got it all outta your system?"
Not nearly.
Zanka just looked at him, trying to figure him out.
Jabber just grinned, and brought that same hand through the bars again and up near Zanka's face, tucking a piece of stray hair behind his ear. As he did Zanka could see the bloody marks his nails had left on the back of Jabber's hand. He hoped they scarred.
He swallowed, throat feeling dry.
Jabber brought his hands back over to his side and raised his eyebrows and Zanka realized he was still waiting for a response.
"Feel better now?"
Yes. No. He didn't know what he was feeling. He focused on the second part instead.
"Got it all outta your system?"
He took a breath.
"...Yeah. Yeah, I think so."
Jabber just gave him the same smile he always did when he knew Zanka was lying.
"Good."
...
The night before they made their final move was thick with tension, anticipation and anxiety rolling through them –or at least Zanka– in equal measure making it hard to sleep, despite knowing they'd need all the rest they could get.
In the quiet, laying on their backs side by side, with pinkies just barely touching in the space between the bars, Zanka found the strength to ask the question he'd been wondering for a while now, knowing he might not get another chance.
"So what happens after this?"
There was a moment where Zanka wondered if Jabber actually was asleep before he heard the familiar deep timbre break the silence from next to him.
"What, after we clean house and burn this dump to the ground?"
Zanka felt a corner of his lip twitch up despite himself.
"Yea, after all that."
Another second of silence. He knew Jabber understood what he was really asking, but wondered if he'd choose to intentionally misinterpret his question and make a joke in lieu of showing any actual vulnerability, a trick Zanka had long since caught on to.
Maybe it was because he knew he couldn't get away with it, or because it was their last night, but Jabber didn't pretend to not know what Zanka meant.
"I dunno. What do you want to happen?" A familiar teasing tone Zanka could tell was being used to disguise a genuine question.
He didn't know. Obviously he'd go back to the Cleaners, and he knew Jabber planned on going right back to the Raiders. Meaning they'd be enemies again.
"I don't know, kinda feels weird to just...go back to how we-...how everything was before this, ya know?"
"Who says it has to?"
At that he looked to the side, and saw Jabber already looking over at him, eyes always locked in on Zanka and nobody else.
Zanka scoffed.
"And what, we'll have sleepovers and braid each other's hair while our coworkers try an' kill each other?"
"Nah, we'll try and kill each other too. You know damn well fightin ain't fun unless you're really puttin your heart into it Zan-zan."
"I'm serious, this isn't- ...Once we leave here, we're enemies again."
"Okay, we'll be enemies then. Big deal."
"Yer fucking impossible. Are ya just allergic to taking anything seriously?"
"Nah, I think you just take everything way too seriously. Who cares if we're on opposite sides, who cares what people think? Worryin about that stuff is all so boring. When are you actually gonna start living your life how you want, huh?"
That did hit a nerve.
"Well if its so easy, why dont ya illuminate me on what youwant then?"
"Simple, I wanna fight you. I wanna fight you over and over again til you can rock my shit easy. I wanna see you get stronger, really let loose on me. And trust me, I'd love to say the rest of what I wanna do, but I think you'd consider that breakin a certain deal we have."
"I can't fucking stand you."
"Liar. Now stop dodging the question. Forget about everyone else. What do you want, Zanka?"
The sound of his actual name coming out of Jabbers mouth instead of that same stupid nickname made him shiver, and he knew Jabber knew it.
What did he want? He used to have such a clear idea, now everything was so complicated. He sure as hell wasn't gonna let Jabber keep holding it over his head though.
"...I wanna get stronger. I wanna be strong enough to beat yer genius ass into the dirt with Assistaff. And I..." He hesitated. Fuck it. He could always blame it on the fever. He linked his pinky with Jabbers, locking them together. Like a promise. "...I wanna keep seein you, alright? Keep talking with you. Even though yer infuriating. And fucking insane. I wanna keep finding different sides of you. I want you to keep bringing out different sides of me. I just...I need to rip you open bit by bit and find out what makes you tick."
Jabber's cheeks were pink, visible even in the permanantly dim light of the cell.
Jabber swallowed, and his voice was breathy.
"Let's do it then. You and me."
He really was a maniac. He hated him. He hoped he never stopped hating him.
"You and me." Zanka responded. "Ya freak."
"Takes one to know one."
"As if. All it takes is two working eyes fer anyone to see ya and know."
Jabber laughed, not the usual manic sound, but something more mellow that turned partway into a yawn.
They really did need to get some rest.
Jabber made himself comfortable on the ground again without issue, rapidly returning to the state of half-sleep he'd been in before their conversation started, nodding off at a speed Zanka was jealous of.
"G'nite Zan-zn" He mumbled as he quickly approached unconsciousness.
Zanka stared at him for a moment longer, just taking him in.
"Night."
He closed his own eyes, and let sleep take him.
...
He woke to Jabber shaking his knee. He groaned, rolling out of reach.
"C'mon sleeping beauty, it's go time."
He raised a middle finger towards Jabber's approximate location and kept his head in the crook of his other arm, holding on to blissful darkness for a moment longer.
"You're the one who told me to wake you up early man, don't be such a drama queen."
He had told Jabber to wake him up before breakfast arrived, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
He let out another big groan and rubbed his eyes. His body wanted more sleep, but he needed to be fully awake and alert for their escape. He also needed to eat, since whatever got delivered would be their last meal, either in the facility or in general, depending on how things went, and they needed all the energy they could get.
...
In the brief period between finishing breakfast and the guards arriving again for Jabber, Zanka went over everything in his head. He'd long since memorized the map to the best of his ability, and while they waited they both stretched, making sure their bodies stayed limber.
At the distant sound of the door opening at the far left end of the hallway, they both shared a look.
It was time.
Jabber gave him one last grin from his place at the bars before turning around, and Zanka spoke before he could stop himself, speaking quietly but urgently.
"Wait!"
Jabber paused and turned around, confused.
Zanka put his hand through the bars and on Jabbers cheek. Jabbers eyes widened at the action.
Don't die on me.
"Don't be fucking stupid, okay?"
Jabber's grin returned, and he leaned into the touch.
"Kay, I won't. Promise. Now come on."
He nodded and they broke apart, returning to their planned normal positions with time to spare before the guards came into view.
When the guards arrived at the cell door Jabber got up, faking a stretch of sore muscles as he sauntered over towards the back of the cell.
He stood there patiently, hands behind his back, just like he'd done every day for the last week. Lulling the guards into a false sense of security. At first they'd been suspicious, but both Jabber's consistent lewd comments about the cuffs and the fact that it was more work to pick him up off the floor than cuff him while standing had apparently convinced them that the behavior was just part of his normal weirdness, and, more importantly, that they didn't need to sedate him until the cuffs were already on.
Zanka stayed tensed in the center of his cell, a position that wasn't unusual for him and didn't bring any unwanted attention, and waited. The shorter guard, outside the cell, had his hand hooked in his pocket near the remote but otherwise looked bored. Good.
When the taller guard came up behind Jabber the seconds seemed to stretch on forever. He got close, and reached behind him, grabbing the pair of cuffs, and that was when Jabber struck.
Jabber moved almost faster than Zanka could see, whirling around and slamming a hit into the man's stomach, while at the same time grabbing for his gun. In one motion he got it out of the holster and threw it at Zanka at max speed, weeks of practice allowing him perfect aim through the bars, even with the irregular shape. The same practice let Zanka catch it with ease, clicking the safety off as he quickly raised it with both hands and fired two shots into the chest of the shorter guard outside the cell without hesitation.
When they'd first made their plan he'd thought about going for the head, but he hadn't shot a gun in a long while, and with his injuries he could be somewhat shaky at times. It seemed he needn't have worried about his marksmanship though, both bullets ripping right through the center of the guards heart, exactly where he'd aimed.
The shorter guard collapsed onto the ground, hands spasming, seemingly incapable of deciding if they wanted to move to the remote, gun, or his own wound. Zanka didn't give him the chance to choose, leveling his aim and sending a single shot through his forehead to finish him off.
He turned then, to where Jabber was still wrestling with the taller guard while holding Zanka's remote, and after waiting just a moment to make sure he wouldn't shoot Jabber by mistake, he let loose another shot that connected through the side of the mans shoulder, the shock and pain of it allowing Jabber to kick him off of him. Now with a clear shot, he put the gun in between the bars and fired once more into the guards head, killing him instantly.
They took a second to breathe, the sound of the gunshots having caused a ringing in his ears, and even through the adrenaline he could tell the recoil had been hell on his shoulder. He'd done it though. They were dead.
"Damn, you weren't kidding. You really are good with that thing."
Jabber's voice was slightly muffled, but cleared up quickly. He looked excited, eyes wide and grin absolutely feral, and Zanka pointedly did not look down to see if any other part of him was "excited".
Even with their breather, it had been maybe 10-15 seconds since the entire thing had started, and Jabber didn't waste any more time, grabbing the cell key and keycard from the body of the taller guard and moving over towards his door, Zanka's remote in one hand and the key to the cell in the other.
After a moment of finangling from the inside Jabber managed to turn the key and get the cell to open up, walking free into the hallway for the first time. He stepped over the shorter guard's body and moved in front of Zanka's cell.
For a moment, Zanka's brain reminded him that Jabber could technically just leave him here now that he was free. Maybe before all of this he might have. But now, Zanka knew with absolute certaintly he wouldn't, a fact that was proven right when Jabber unlocked and swung open the door to his cell.
"Guess I'm like your prince charming, huh?" He joked, backlit from the lights of the hallway.
Zanka thought about retorting how he was the furthest thing from charming, or how he'd been the one to actually take the guards out, but instead he just looked at Jabber standing in front of him, taking him in without anything in the way.
They'd stood much closer in the prior week, but without the separation of the bars the space between felt different, more intimate.
Jabber was looking right back at him, eyes looking up and down Zanka, always coming back to linger on his lips, never one to hide what he wanted.
He wanted it too.
Zanka wasn't sure who moved first, but they met in the middle, mouths crashing together as they did.
He dug his fingers in to the skin at Jabbers waist with a bruising grip while Jabber slung his arms around the back of Zanka's neck. It was uncoordinated, and messy, and good. He felt Jabber grin slightly against his lips as he used his grip to pull them even closer.
They broke apart after only a couple seconds, Zanka pulling back first with Jabber chasing his lips for a second, breaths fanning over each other. Jabber looked as messed up as Zanka felt, face red and looking maybe higher than Zanka had ever seen him, which was saying something.
"Damn, you been holdin out on me, Mr. Bad Attitude. We gotta do that more often."
"Later. We're gettin outta here."
At the promise of "later", Jabber's crazed smile only grew. Still, Zanka couldn't bring himself to regret his slip of the tongue.
"Lead the way then."