Chapter Text
Late into the night, under the strange starry trash-filled sky, the Cleaners’ base was quiet. Everyone slept soundly.
Everyone except their medic.
Eishia sat hunched in the chair beside the bed, dark bags heavy under her half-lidded eyes. She looked like she hadn’t eaten properly in days, barely drank, running on whatever scraps of strength her brother and the others forced on her. Her cheeks were raw from tears that had dried and started again for nearly a week straight.
The patient next to her—the one she blamed herself for putting here—breathed steadily now. Unlike the first couple of nights, when every shallow gasp had made her flinch.
His gloved hand twitched. A low groan slipped out. “…Ei… Eishia?”
Her head jerked up. Eyes widening slowly, lips trembling. Fresh tears welled up, but she didn’t let them fall yet. “…Rudo?” Her voice came out hoarse, throat too dry and raw to manage much else.
Rudo pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking as he scanned the dim infirmary. “Why the hell am I in here?” He reached up to rub the side of his head, wincing a little from the leftover fog.
Then he paused. Through the constant, burning pain that had been his shadow since he was a kid—the one that never let up—he felt something… different. It didn’t vanish. It still hummed there, low and familiar. But it felt… muted. Almost numb in a weird, cooling way. Comfortable, even.
He yanked the glove off without thinking and stared at the bandages. They looked thicker, cleaner, soaked in some kind of gel that gave off a faint chill. Like dipping his hands into cold water that actually helped instead of just stinging.
He brought the bandaged hand up to his face and pressed it against his cheek, rubbing slowly. The thick layers felt different under the pressure—rougher texture where the fabric overlapped, the coolness seeping through more clearly when he held it there. His damaged hands had never had much feeling, so he always did this when something is different: pressing them to his face to really take in the sensation through his skin.
He flexed his fingers once, testing it, then pulled the glove back on. The numbing chill sharpened a little as the Vital Instrument, the watchmen series, his 3R gloves hummed faintly, focusing the effect.
His eyes flicked to Eishia, wide with confusion. “What… happened?”
Eishia closed her eyes for a second, drawing in a shaky breath. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, the way she always did when she wanted to disappear. “What… Do you remember?” she asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.
Rudo frowned, thinking back. “I got back from the mission. You fixed my arm. Then I was in my room, and…” His expression shifted as the memory slammed back in. “You said you wanted to try something. On my hands. With your…”
A broken sob finally slipped out of her. She hunched forward, shoulders shaking. “You were out for five days… in a coma.” Her words came between quiet, hiccupping breaths. “I’m sorry, Rudo. I thought… I thought I could help. But I messed up. I’m so sorry…”
She didn’t lunge dramatically—just moved up from the chair to the bed.
She leaned in until the side of her head rested lightly against his chest, tears soaking into the thin fabric. Her hands stayed clasped, like she didn’t dare reach out.
Rudo sat there, staring at the top of her head. The shirt over his stomach grew damp from her tears. He wasn’t great with this kind of thing—words, comfort, any of it. His hands (still humming with that strange new coolness) flexed inside the gloves.
He remembered the last clear moment: her worried face, the plug of her Vital Instrument, the crackle of electricity she channeled with that pure-hearted focus of hers. She’d wanted to ease the pain he’d carried forever. The pain that made even simple things hurt.
“…Hey,” he muttered, voice gruff but not angry. Awkward. “Stop that. You’re the one who looks like trash right now.” He paused, then added quieter, “It… doesn’t hurt as bad. Whatever you did. It’s different.”
Eishia lifted her head just enough to look at him, eyes red and glistening. She still looked ready to apologize again, but something in his blunt tone made her hesitate.
The infirmary stayed quiet around them, the weird starry sky visible through the high windows, full of floating debris like always.
Rudo thinks back to the last mission he went on, before he made it back to Cleaner HQ.
~~
It was supposed to be a routine patrol—just a handful of oversized trash beasts causing trouble. Nothing the team couldn't handle.
Except one of them got the better of Rudo.
He'd grown overconfident, pushing too hard in the fight and ignoring the surroundings.
Zanka's shout barely reached him in time. The beast charged, horns slamming into Rudo and ramming him hard against a crumbling wall.
One horn tore straight through his shoulder, dislocating it with a sickening pop and ripping the joint out of the socket.
Rudo let out a sharp, involuntary shriek, pain exploding through his arm.
Zanka and Gris moved fast. Gris used his raw strength to pin the remaining beasts down, muscles straining as he held them in place.
Zanka rushed in with precise, devastating strikes from his staff, finishing them off cleanly.
Once the debris settled and the area was secured, Zanka turned to Rudo. His expression was calm, but there was a faint flicker of disappointment in his eyes—not anger, just the quiet kind that came from seeing a teammate get sloppy.
Rudo noticed it immediately. He braced himself, clutching his bleeding, useless arm with his good hand, jaw tight.
Zanka walked over, studying the injury for a beat before letting out a soft sigh. "...How's the arm?"
Rudo blinked, surprised by the even tone. He glanced down at the mess of blood and torn fabric. "It's nothin' I can't deal with..."
Gris let out a low, genuine chuckle as he approached, his masked face somehow conveying a warm smile. "A dislocated shoulder we can fix right here. But that wound's gonna need Eishia's touch when we get back." He extended a steady hand. "Mind if I handle the pop?"
Rudo hesitated, then nodded, trusting the big man's grip. Gris leaned in, one hand on Rudo's upper arm, the other steady on his shoulder. “Okay, on three—”
He popped the joint back into place with a firm, effortless motion.
Rudo yanked away instantly, biting back a yell that came out as a hissed curse. "You fuckin' turdface!" He rolled his shoulder gingerly, glaring, though the relief was already starting to sink in.
Zanka gave a short chuckle, arms crossed. "Lesson for next time—stay alert, yeah? Ain't no point pushin' like that if it leaves ya worse off."
Gris grinned under the mask, clapping Rudo lightly on his good shoulder. "See? Already movin' better. You'll be trash-talkin' at full strength again in no time."
Just then, Tomme pulled up in the vehicle, Follo slumped in the back looking exhausted from support duties. She leaned out with a kind smile. "Come on, boys. Time to head back home~ Eishia’s gonna want to take a look at that arm right away."
Rudo grumbled something under his breath but climbed in without much protest, the team's familiar rhythm already easing the sting.
~~
Eishia stayed hunched over the edge of the bed, her forehead still lightly pressed against the sheet. She didn’t lift her head right away, even after his awkward words. Her gloved hands remained tightly clasped in front of her, knuckles pale.
“I… I didn’t do anything,” she whispered, voice thick and shaky. “Couldn’t… do anything right.”
She leaned up just a little, enough for him to see her face—eyes red, cheeks still faintly puffy from days of crying. She sniffled once, trying to steady herself. “I only changed the wraps… every eight hours. Kept the cooling gel fresh. That’s all I could manage.”
Rudo kept his gaze on her for a long moment, then let it drop to his own bandaged hands. The strange, numbing hum was still there—cool and steady, easier to focus on than the usual burning ache he’d carried forever. It felt… different. Not gone, but bearable in a way it had never been.
He tried to piece together the hazy bits from when he’d first gotten back to base. Gris helping him inside, the blur of voices, the sharp sting as someone cut away the torn sleeve… then nothing.
Rudo swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He looked back at her, trying to soften his usual blunt tone. “Hey… you did more than that. You stayed here the whole time, right? Fixing the wraps, keeping everything steady… That’s not nothing, Eishia. I’m still here because of you—”
His voice caught on the last words, cracking just a little as the weight of it—the five days, her exhaustion, the guilt in her eyes—hit him harder than he expected. He cleared his throat, but the tightness lingered.
Eishia’s eyes widened slightly. Without a word, she stood up quickly, reaching for the glass of water that had been sitting on the small table beside the bed. She held it out to him with both hands, steady despite the slight tremble in her fingers.
Rudo took the glass, his bandaged fingers brushing against hers for a brief second. He drank slowly, the cool liquid easing the dryness in his throat. When he lowered it, he gave a small, grateful nod. “Thanks… that helped.”
The hazy fog in his head still lingered, making the memories feel distant and fragmented. He stared at the glass for a moment, then looked back at Eishia, who had sat back down but still looked ready to jump up again if he needed anything.
“…Can you tell me the rest?” he asked quietly, voice still a bit rough but gentler than before. “What happened right before I went under? After Gris popped my shoulder… I remember bits, but it’s all fuzzy.”
Eishia hesitated, her hands clasping together again in her lap. She took a slow breath, eyes glistening as she prepared to fill in the gaps for him.
“I— I was in the infirmary when you came in…”
~~
Tomme pulled the vehicle into the dusty parking area in front of Cleaner Headquarters. The massive, worn-down building loomed under the hazy orange sky, its graffiti-covered walls and twisted central tower looking as battered as the team felt.
The small group hopped out, masks finally pulled down. Rudo stepped out last, clutching his torn shoulder with a soft hiss. Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandaging Follo had applied in the field. The older boy had done what he could to clean and disinfect it, but the deeper damage would need Eishia’s touch.
Gris came around the side of the vehicle and held the door steady, offering a steady hand. “Mind if I take you straight to her? Eishia’s probably already waiting.”
Rudo grunted, trying to wave him off with his good arm. “Gris, I’ll be fine on my own—”
The moment he tried to jump down, his damaged arm brushed against the doorframe. Sharp pain flared through the joint and torn muscle. He bit back a low hiss, jaw tightening.
“…I appreciate it,” he muttered, looking away. His face flushed with embarrassment, ears burning under the mess of white hair.
Gris let out a soft, warm laugh and reached over to gently pat the top of Rudo’s head, careful not to jostle the injured shoulder. “There’s no shame in it, kid. We’ve all been there.”
Tomme smiled kindly from the driver’s seat, already gathering her notes. “Go on ahead. I’ll let the others know we’re back. Follo, you come help me unload the samples.”
Follo nodded quietly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he followed Tomme toward the entrance.
Gris stayed close as they walked across the cracked courtyard toward the side entrance that led to the infirmary wing. Rudo moved slower than usual, every step sending a dull throb through his shoulder. The cool evening air carried the familiar smell of dust and distant trash heaps.
Inside, the infirmary lights were already on. Eishia stood near one of the beds, her tall hat slightly tilted as she finished laying out fresh supplies. Her Vital Instrument — the long black power cord with its heavy plug — hung ready at her side, the cord coiled neatly but clearly prepared for use. She turned as soon as she heard footsteps, red eyes widening slightly at the sight of Rudo’s bloodied arm.
“Rudo…” she breathed, voice soft with concern. Her gloved hands clasped together for a moment before she moved forward. “Sit down. Let me see it.”
Gris guided Rudo to the nearest bed, helping him ease down without putting pressure on the injury. “He got rammed pretty good out there. Shoulder’s back in place, but the horn tore it up bad.”
Eishia nodded quickly, already reaching for the cord. She plugged it into the port near the bed, the faint hum of her power starting to build. “I’ll clean it first… then try to close the deeper tears. It might sting a little.”
Rudo sat there, still flushed, but he didn’t argue. He watched as the electricity began to crackle faintly along the cord, ready for Eishia to begin her careful, precise work.
Eishia worked quietly and carefully. She applied some rubbing alcohol over the wound, and with gentle precision she guided the current through Rudo’s torn shoulder and arm. The electricity coursed lightly over the wound — not painful, but warm and tingling — knitting the deeper tears together and sealing the ragged edges left by the trash beast’s horn.
Rudo sat still, jaw clenched at first, but gradually relaxing as the pain dulled into a manageable throb. The faint scent of ozone filled the air.
When the cord’s hum finally faded and Eishia stepped back, the worst of the damage was closed — red and raw, but no longer bleeding freely.
Rudo rolled his shoulder experimentally, then gave a short nod. “Thanks,” he muttered in his usual gruff tone, though it came out a little softer than normal. “Feels… better already.”
Gris, who had stayed leaning against the wall nearby, flashed Eishia a warm thumbs-up, his face crinkling at the eyes in a clear smile. “Nice work, as always.”
Eishia’s cheeks flushed faintly under her tall hat. She clasped her gloved hands together in front of her and shook her head slightly. “I’m just… happy to help,” she said softly, barely above a whisper.
As she began tidying the used supplies, her eyes caught on Rudo’s forearm. The bandages he always wore were slightly askew from the treatment, revealing a glimpse of the strange, damaged skin underneath — old, heavy scarring that looked almost like burn marks, twisted and painful even at a glance.
She hesitated, concern flickering across her face. Her mouth opened to ask — gently — what had caused them…
But before the words could form, the infirmary door swung open with a casual creak.
“Oi, Rudo! There you are, ya little trash gremlin,” Enjin called out, leaning in the doorway with his usual relaxed grin and a cigarette dangling from his lips. His spiky blond hair was as wild as ever, and he had that easy, confident swagger even when half-distracted. “We’re starting a round of cards downstairs. Zanka’s already grumbling about you slacking off. You in, or you gonna keep playing patient all night?”
Rudo blinked, the haze of the healing still lingering a bit. “Cards…? Yeah, sure. I’m not staying cooped up in here.”
Enjin jerked his head toward the hallway. “Then move it. Gris, you coming too? We need someone who doesn’t cheat as obviously as Follo.”
Gris chuckled and pushed off the wall. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Rudo stood up, still favoring the arm a little, and followed Enjin out with a quick glance back at Eishia. “Later,” he said simply.
Gris paused at the door and turned to Eishia with a kind nod. “Thanks again for patching him up. You really are the backbone around here.”
Eishia gave a small, shy bow of her head, but her eyes drifted once more to where Rudo had been sitting — to those strange burn-like marks still fresh in her mind.
Gris noticed the distant, questioning look on her face. “Hey… something on your mind?”
She startled slightly, then quickly waved her hands in front of her, cheeks reddening again. “N-no, it’s nothing. Really. Go enjoy the game…”
Gris studied her for a brief second, but when she offered nothing more, he didn’t press. He gave her another warm smile and a small wave. “Alright. Don’t stay up too late yourself, yeah?”
With that, he excused himself, the door clicking shut behind him.
Eishia stood alone in the quiet infirmary for a long moment. Her gloved hands twisted together tightly as she stared at the empty bed. Those old scars… they looked so painful. Like they had been there for years. What could have caused something like that on Rudo’s arms?
She exhaled a shaky breath, the question lingering in the back of her mind like an unresolved ache.
~~
Later that evening, the mess hall buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays. Most of the Cleaners had already eaten, leaving only a handful of tables occupied under the warm, flickering lights. The strange starry trash-filled sky was visible through the high windows, drifting lazily overhead.
Eishia stood at the serving counter, tray in hand, mechanically picking out a simple meal. Her mind kept drifting back to the infirmary — those twisted, burn-like scars peeking from under Rudo’s forearm bandages. They looked old. Painful. The kind of damage that didn’t just happen once.
She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear the voices calling her name.
“Eishia! Over here!”
She startled, nearly dropping her tray. Across the hall, Riyo waved enthusiastically from a corner table, her wild red hair catching the light. Beside her, Amo sat with her usual sweet smile, though her green eyes sparkled with curiosity. The two had claimed a small round table near the window.
Eishia hesitated, clutching her tray a little tighter. She wasn’t great with groups, even small ones, and her thoughts felt too heavy to share. But refusing felt rude — especially to teammates.
After a moment, she nodded shyly and made her way over, sliding into the empty seat across from them.
“Thanks for joining us,” Amo said brightly, tilting her head. “You looked like you were somewhere else entirely.”
Riyo leaned forward with a playful grin, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, you’ve been spacing out since we got back. Rough day in the infirmary? How’s Rudo doing, anyway? I heard he got himself rammed by a trash beast again.”
Eishia managed a small smile, poking at her food. “He’s… okay. I closed the worst of the tear. He should be fine by tomorrow if he doesn’t push it.” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, but the conversation flowed easily enough after that — light chatter about the patrol, the beasts they’d encountered, and Amo’s latest complaints about how “boring” the base could feel sometimes.
Riyo teased her gently about her dramatic sighs, and Amo laughed, the tension easing into comfortable team banter.
Eventually, Amo’s expression softened as she studied Eishia more closely. “You still seem a little out of it, though. Something on your mind?”
Eishia froze for a second, her gloved hands tightening around her spoon. She glanced between the two of them — both part of the broader Cleaner circle, both people who had known Rudo longer in different ways. Team Akuta felt close-knit enough that maybe…
She took a quiet breath. “Actually… do either of you know anything about Rudo’s hands?”
Amo furrowed her brows, tilting her head in genuine confusion. “His hands? What do you mean?”
Riyo’s playful energy dimmed slightly. She leaned back, crossing her arms as she recalled something. “Ah… yeah. I stopped by his room once. His gloves were off while he was washing them, and I saw… they were all blackened. Looked really bad. He tried to hide it, just said they hurt sometimes.”
Amo’s eyes widened, her sweet demeanor cracking into open concern. “Wait, seriously? That sounds awful. Has he always been like that? We should tell someone — maybe get Eishia to look at it properly, or—”
Riyo waved a hand lightly, though her tone stayed kind. “Easy there. It’s something he’s been dealing with since he was a kid, from what I’ve gathered. Chronic pain, I guess. He doesn’t like making a big deal out of it.”
Eishia listened quietly, the pieces clicking into place almost immediately. The constant ache he carried, the way he downplayed everything… It wasn’t just today’s injury. It was lifelong.
Before she could spiral deeper into her thoughts, Amo’s voice pulled her back. “Why are you asking? Did something happen when you treated him earlier?”
Eishia blinked, cheeks flushing faintly. “Ah… yes. When I was finishing up, the bandages on his forearm shifted a little. I saw the scars underneath. I didn’t realize it covered his whole hands too…”
Riyo nodded thoughtfully, then gave a small shrug. “If you’re really worried, you could just ask him about it. He stays up pretty late most nights — probably still playing cards or sulking in his room right now.”
Eishia considered it for a moment, her fingers twisting together under the table. The idea made her anxious, but it also felt… right. Still, she wasn’t ready to linger on it yet.
She offered a small, grateful smile and gently shifted the subject. “Maybe… Anyway, how was your day? I heard you two were on support duty earlier.”
The conversation moved on from there — lighter topics, shared laughs, and the quiet comfort of being among teammates — but the question about Rudo’s hands stayed tucked away in Eishia’s mind like a quiet worry she couldn’t quite set down.
~~
The mess hall had mostly cleared out, but one large table near the back was still loud with laughter and the slap of cards. Two teams faced off under the warm lights: Rudo, Fu, Follo, and Tomme versus Enjin, Gris, Bro, and Zanka. Guita, in her oversized monster onesie, scampered excitedly around their side of the table, peeking at her fellow teammates’ cards with boundless energy and running back and forth like a hyper little messenger.
Unknown to the opposing team, Fu sat with his cards held close. Up on a high shelf in a shadowed corner, his Vital Instrument — the small doll Hii — quietly watched the enemy hands from its hidden vantage point. Fu listened to Hii’s telepathic whispers, then passed the crucial info to Guita whenever she bounced over to him. She’d scamper around their side only, whispering the details to Rudo, Follo, and Tomme with tiny, excited hops.
Follo and Tomme worked like a well-oiled machine. Follo made his cheating attempts hilariously obvious — leaning too far, “accidentally” brushing cards, even pretending to drop one under the table. It kept Enjin, Gris, and the others constantly distracted, their eyes locked on him with a mix of amusement and suspicion.
“Oi, Follo! We can see you trying to palm that card!” Enjin laughed, pointing with his cigarette.
Tomme smiled sweetly, playing along. “He’s just excited, Enjin. Don’t be so mean.”
Meanwhile, Rudo kept his own cards tight, expression focused but with the faintest smirk trying to tug at his lips every time Guita darted past with new intel. The little monster girl was having the time of her life, running back and forth like their secret weapon.
The game built to its final round. Bets were placed, chips pushed into the center. The tension was thick.
Rudo glanced across the table at Fu. Fu met his eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Both teams laid down their final hands.
For half a second the mess hall went quiet.
Then Rudo’s team exploded into cheers. Guita jumped up and down on her clawed feet, pumping her arms wildly. “We won! We won!”
The opposing side let out a dramatic groan that echoed through the mess hall.
Fu stayed calm as ever. He looked over at Enjin with a small, expectant tilt of his head. “Enjin… pass me Hii.” He points up to the shelf.
Enjin’s groans are loud and more theatrical. “Are you kidding me?! Hii too?! You had a scout up there the whole damn time?!” He reached up to the shelf, grabbed the small doll, and tossed it over with mock disgust.
Fu caught Hii gently and patted the doll’s head with quiet affection. “Thank you, Hii. You did great.”
The doll seemed to wiggle happily in his arms as the winning team celebrated and the losers continued their playful complaints.
“No way—!” Zanka slammed his palm down, eyes wide with realization. “Guita! You little cheater! You were runnin’ back and forth the whole time, feedin’ ’em information, weren’t ya?!”
Guita froze mid-jump, turned toward Zanka with the biggest, most innocent eyes imaginable, then burst into bright, squeaky laughter. She clearly wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
Bro slumped back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, running a hand over his face. “I knew somethin’ felt off… We got completely played.”
Enjin groaned even louder, running a hand through his spiky blond hair. “You guys are the worst. That was straight-up coordinated cheating!”
Gris, on the other hand, threw his head back and laughed heartily, clapping his big hands together. “That was actually impressive. You had us watchin’ Follo the whole time while the real work was happenin’ behind the scenes.” He gave Tomme and Follo an approving nod, still chuckling warmly. “Well played.”
Zanka pointed dramatically at Guita again, though the corner of his mouth was twitching like he was fighting a smile. “And you! Actin’ all cute while relaying info for your team! Traitorous little monster…”
Guita just tilted her head, still giggling, clearly enjoying every second of the chaos she helped create.
The mess hall filled with warm, rowdy laughter long into the night.