Blossoms from The Apocalypse

Headache inducing alarms were screaming through the halls of the building. The sound of heavy mechanical shutters made it clear that the entrances were being blocked off. Hurried footsteps only added onto the noise, as agents, soldats, engineers, and, really, any available worker was sent after their working space's invaders.

Sanford and Bank had made easy work of every enemy they’d happened upon so far; of course, this was everyday work for them. It was fun actually! Nothing signaled a good day more than hacking up some jackass that was coming at you with a knife, or landing a clean shot between someone’s eyes as they booked it for you. Hank may have been the most obviously in love with the murder sprees they went on, but god damn, did these two get too much enjoyment out of it too.

Bullets were coming their way as they ran, which were met with bullets in return. Those who attacked from the front were dealt brutal hits of whatever was in reach- knives, batons, pipes, bottles, locker doors, door handles…anything could be a melee weapon if you were strong enough. Making quick and bloody work of the grunts trying their damn hardest to ambush them, Sanford and Bank had managed to escape the horde (at least for now) right as they stumbled upon an empty server room. The IT guys must’ve dipped when the alert was called, which, you know, was pretty smart of them.

The two made quick work to barricade the door, pushing heavy metal tables and chairs and cabinets in front of it, in order to give them a moment to recoup. They may have been experienced workers and more than used to constant activity while out on the job, but no one was immune to exhaustion.

Sanford leaned back against the blocky barricade, folding his hands behind his head as he took heavy breaths. He looked down at Bank, who had crouched down and was now resting atop her ankles, also breathing heavily. “You holding up fine kid?” He asked, after he'd steadied his breath.

“Hah, doin’ fine.”

“You got any big injuries anywhere?”

“I don’t, I don’t think so. Y-You’re fine?”

“Eh, think I got stabbed in my arm, but I’ll live!”

Bank shoved her hand into one of the pockets on her jumpsuit, digging around in it. “I got some, some cuts on my arms a-a-and I got socked in my face, but I don’t feel anything else wrong…” She mumbled, as she pulled out a roll of gauze, and stood up. “Gimme, gimme your aaaaaarm.”

Sanford listened, and stretched his arm out for her, so she could start wrapping up the bloody gash in his bicep. “Have you heard anything from Doc or Hank at all?”

“Hold on a-a second.”

Bank focused on tying the gauze tightly around his arm, and soaking up the blood that was running down it. Once she’d taken care of the wound, she stuffed the rest of the roll back in her pocket, and tossed the bloody scraps behind her. Then, she reached into another pocket, and pulled out her pager. Sanford leaned a little more closely to her so he could see whatever was displayed on it. No messages from anyone…except from one “P1NKD3V1L,” which read, “Are you free to go out on Friday? o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o”

Bank knew Sanford was staring over her shoulder, and Sanford knew that she knew that he was, and neither of them wanted to break the silence cast upon them. That was until Bank snapped her head to the side to look at him, and he quickly looked away, giggling.

“Is that that Shank guy?” He asked, through an amused and definitely not unsettling grin.

“I was texting h-him on the ride over here.” She dryly replied, stuffing the pager back in her pocket.

“Are you guys planning a daaaate?” Sanford teased, trying to stop himself from crumpling into a laughing fit when Bank turned her whole body around and crossed her arms, giving him a taste of a terribly intense stare through her goggles.

“NO, he doesn’t l-l-like me like that, we just, we just like showing off our fighting skills.” She spat, lightly kicking her boot against Sanford’s calf.

He clicked his tongue, a smug smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Well, do you like him like that?”

“No? I’ve only known him for like, like, like two months.” Bank replied, her tone confused. Of course she wasn’t into him, it’s not like people could fall in love just like that, right? Besides, she hadn’t even meant to befriend him in the first place, so dating him? That was just a stupid idea.

“Yeah? Didn’t take that long for me n’ Dei to get all soft for each other, yanno, heh.” He replied, shaking his head as he set his hands over his hips. “The brain works in unexpected ways, lil’ bud.”

“No. Anyway, nothing fr-from Doc, so I guess he trusts we’re getting the, the job done right.” Bank was clearly perturbed at Sanford’s musings, looking away from him while she cracked her knuckles. “This is the place we, we, uh, we needed to wreck, right?”

He frowned when she began talking, but shrugged it off. Of course he knew what his niece was like, so her being resistant to a change in her relationships wasn’t something he didn’t expect. “Ah, I didn’t see any other tech-y places like this when we were gunnin’ it through the halls.” Sanford said, rubbing his fist into his palm. “Let’s get to it!”

At his suggestion, the two split off towards each end of the room, and immediately got to work smashing the servers dominating the space. Using their heavy boots, hardened fists, and the makeshift weapons they’d picked up on their way there, the metal towers of information and technology were beaten and smashed into sharp bits and broken pieces of hardware. Even when each tower had been reduced to smithereens, Sanford and Bank dug through the chaos and disorder, and destroyed every surviving wire, chip, and motherboard they could find, putting their hook and machete to great use. When Doc gave them an order like “Destroy the servers,” they were gonna make damn sure of it.

Once they were sure they’d gotten every scrap taken care of and pulverized, Sanford carefully made his way through the rubble around them, heading over to a corner in the walls. At the same time, Bank began to drag a metal table that was a part of their makeshift barricade out of it, and flipped it on its side. They heard a loud bang from behind the door, stealing their attention- then another bang, and another bang, and another…clearly, more agents had finally arrived. Sanford hurriedly pulled a pack of c4 out of the many pockets fixed to his belt, and Bank crouched down behind the table, covering her head with her hands. The big guy quickly activated the bomb, then ran back towards the table, practically flinging himself onto the floor behind it. He grabbed Bank and pulled her into his chest, acting as a shield that encompassed her, his back facing the table. The banging continued, and kept getting louder, and the furniture piled in front of the door began to budge, and the two anxiously held their breaths-

BOOM!

The mess of metal and wires and scraps and rubble were sent flying towards them from the explosion, the table doing a fairly good enough job of shielding them from any major damage. When things were done soaring, Sanford and Bank cautiously peeked out from behind their shield, checking out how busted the wall was.

A massive hole through the wall had been created, leading directly to the outside. Though the nearest buildings were a bit too far away for them to make a run and jump for, and the building they were in was far too tall to make a survivable jump out of, there were many thick, sloping power cables connecting the building to many of its neighboring structures. Both of them already knew how they’d be making their escape.

“Alright, let’s get outta here before those bozos make their way in!’ Sanford exclaimed, pushing the table aside as he stood up, then readied his hook.

Bank pushed herself to her feet, and unholstered the deagle she kept on her side. She’d been saving the bullets in it for their escape plan. Sanford grabbed her when she ran to him, and picked her up, holding her tightly against him, just with one arm now. Bank threw her arms over his shoulders, hooking one around his neck, while keeping her other arm available to shoot if necessary. Her legs wound their way around his waist, making sure she was securely “strapped” to him.

“It’ll only be a few seconds, just don’t look down, got it?” He said to her, now swinging his hook around in circles beside him.

“I’ll be fine! Just, Just move!” She chirped, as the banging started again.

“Ok! Here we GO!”

Sanford bolted towards the hole, and, as his foot was pushing off of the remaining bit of floor in front of them, he flung his hook forwards, high above them, aiming for one of the powerlines. Just as the hook caught one of the cables, Bank smashed her clothed mouth against his shoulder so her screaming wouldn’t be too loud. Sanford tightened his hold on her.

Though only lasting around 10 or so seconds, it felt like forever before they made it to one of the surrounding buildings. Using his foot to prevent them from fully slamming into the short electrical tower the cable they were riding was connected to, Sanford had successfully gotten them across the gap, with only a small moment of panic from Bank challenging his focus. When they’d come to a complete stop, he carefully lowered her down, then let go of her entirely so she could drop onto the roof. It was only a few feet below them.

“You still doing ok?” He yelled to her, taking hold of the tower with his free arm and legs, in order to safely unlatch his hook from the cables before he dropped down. Bank had already wandered over to the edge of the rooftop, checking out the options below them.

“I’m fine,” She replied, leaning over the railing she’d stopped at to get a better look around, “There’s a convertible below us, a-a-and a fire escape on the wall of, the wall of this building, you can ho-hot wire the car-”

“I’ll wire it, you drive, I’ll take care of anyone coming after us!” Sanford chirped, as he ran up to her. “They’re already on the move, I’m certain.”

Bank nodded, gave him a thumbs up, then joined him as he bolted for the nearby fire escape. Taking every shortcut and jump through and around the stairs and platforms, they made quick work of descending the building, pushing the creaky old thing to its limits from how aggressively they slid through it. Just as it seemed like it was going to detach and fall apart entirely, the two hopped down to the pavement below, and kept their momentum steady as they ran through the dirty alleyway. Once out and on the (barely) cleaner sidewalk, Sanford took no moment to hesitate before he dove into the car Bank had pointed out to him, pushing his way through the front seats and under the driver’s side of the dashboard.

Bank stood next to the car as Sanford got to work, pulling out many of the little tools he kept stored in his belt’s extra pockets. She bounced on her heels anxiously, checking between whatever it was he was doing to get the vehicle going, and what was going on behind them. She knew multiple vehicles would come peeling out of the lot next to the A.A.H.W. site they’d just escaped from, any moment now. The time it took Sanford to jumpstart a car never seemed to be very consistent, so everything was left to chance at this point. And she hated not being able to properly anticipate what was about to happen.

Just as she heard the sound of tires squealing against asphalt, Sanford pushed himself up and into the backseat, grabbing Bank to pull her over the doors of the car. “Hurry!” He shouted, as she scrambled into the driver’s seat and attempted to regain her focus. Once sat, she punched her foot against the pedal, and floored it down the street. Sanford had no problem keeping his balance as she tore their way out of there, quickly retrieving the assault rifle he had strapped to his back.

It didn’t take long for the smoke generated by the car’s squealing tires to dissipate fully, revealing a fleet of 3 cars chasing after them. While Bank focused solely on navigating the road and any oncoming obstacles, Sanford put his gun to use. The moment he saw the head car come into his view, he fired away; first targeting the front wheels and hood, and then the agents inside. Of course, a shower of bullets would rain down on him, but he expected that. Before they began firing, Sanford lurched forward, and stabbed his fingers into the door of the trunk, ripping it off its hinges. Quickly swapping his rifle for his makeshift shield, he guarded himself against the brigade of bullets that was unleashed upon him.

Sanford yelped in surprise when he felt the car swerve; Bank had made a sharp turn onto a connecting street, momentarily straightening out the convertible before she swerved to the side again. She’d caught the entrance to another back alley in the nick of time, obviously meant to be driven through judging by its width, and changed her route accordingly. As they tore through the alley, Bank did her best to avoid clipping as many garbage cans and dumpsters as she could, but she wasn’t perfect. This gave Sanford the extra challenge of trying to keep himself balanced upright while being tossed around, but he’d suffered worse driving before. He kept his rifle trained on the entrance, expecting for the fleet to reappear at any moment.

However, he watched as the agents sped past the alley completely. Sanford let out a loud, “Oh!” from surprise, then was almost knocked out of the car completely when Bank made yet another harsh turn, leading them back onto the main street.

“I’m not hearing gunfire!” Bank exclaimed, her hands keeping a tight hold of the steering wheel. “Did we lose-”

“They didn’t see the alley!” Sanford yelled in response, then cackled, and slumped down into the backseat. “They’re headed off in the opposite direction!”

“See, what’d I tell y'all, I-I don’t need glasses! M-m-mmmy eye is perfect!” She chirped, joining in his laughing fit. The heavy tension piercing her back and arms began to ease up, since she knew they were out of their sights, at least, at the moment.

The sound of the metal door slamming against the edge of the back part of the car’s body startled her for a moment, but she quickly realized that Sanford had just set his “shield” up behind him, obviously wanting to keep his guard up.

“Alright, let’s get to the outskirts of the city before they catch up again, it won’t be hard to find where we left the truck from there!” Sanford exclaimed, shooting Bank a thumbs up from the rearview mirror. “Good job out there, knucklehead!”

Bank returned the gesture, letting out a heavy sigh as her body let itself relax almost entirely. Thank god the Agency had been sending out half baked clones with less than stellar reflexes out into the field as of late, that made things so much easier for her. It wouldn’t be too much longer until they were out of the city’s limits and back into the wild area of Nevada, and though it was entirely possible for that fleet to find them again, she had a feeling that they could consider this job already done.

~

With only a couple surface scrapes and cuts, and some gnarly bruises that would heal on their own within a couple of days, it was yet another mission done successfully. Of course it was- as long as Hank wasn’t along for the ride, there’d be no chance of something going awry. He may have been one vicious killer, but he had a tendency to get too absorbed in the slaughter…as well as just being pretty bad at keeping himself alive in the first place.

Speaking of, Hank had been busy recovering from having his body blown in two- this wasn’t even that uncommon of an occurrence, he’d just been severed in two half a year ago- and thus was relegated to bedrest while his body healed. It’d been a week, so he was able to get up by now, and had been shadowing Doc as he went about his daily business around S.Q. So, while Sanford and Bank were out getting up to the usual bloody fun of killing people because Doc said so, Hank was observing him dissect a cadaver in order to harvest its organs. This was fun enough, at least.

Things had been quiet, dissection was fairly quiet work. Hank was more focused on watching Doc’s efforts to perfectly preserve the organs he was removing, and making sure they were in as good a condition as possible to be harvested. Though he was more of a “see blood by spilling it with no thought” kind of guy, he did admire the thought and precision that went into Doc’s profession…that he wasn’t even licensed for. The guy was just dedicated to knowing how everything in the world worked, and that included the body.

Though, as usual, the silence surrounding the two was interrupted when Deimos barged into the operating room.

“Heyaaaaaa, our favorite tough guys just called, they’ll be home any minute now. Bank’s texts were dryer than usual though, the escape they took musta’ wore ‘em out!” He announced as he strolled in, tossing a rusty slinky between his hands. “How’s the dead guy faring, did I get’cha a good body?”

Doc sighed, leaning away from the table he’d been hunched over. “This guys alright enough. I’ll take what I can get if most of what’s inside is in good enough condition.” He answered, wiping his blood stained hands on a towel set beside him. “You find any rumors about Hank on the ‘net or not?”

That certainly caught Hank’s attention. “...rumors…about me..?” He huffed, tilting his head to the side.

“The little problem that popped up after your last scuffle with the clown,” Deimos began, waving his hand as if to say “shhh,” while he surveyed the corners of the room, “Doc’s been running spy programs online to search around for any talk about it, n’ I’ve been helping him with that. Anyway, nah, still haven’t found nothin’, seems like Tricky hasn’t run his mouth yet.”

“Oh.”

“Sure hope he hasn’t. I told Christoff if word got out, I wouldn’t hesitate to filet both of  them like a fish.” Doc grunted, a hint of relief in his tone. “I still want to keep an eye peeled, just in case. The moment I catch so much as a whisper about it, I’m unleashing hell on this state.”

Deimos snickered, stuffing the slinky he was playing with in his pocket as he approached Doc. “Mm, well, if I were Jeb I’d be sleeping with one eye open. I’m sure you’ve got one heck of a contingency plan ready to go at the drop of a hat.” He set his hands down on Doc’s shoulders, slightly rocking him back and forth. He didn’t seem bothered by it. “You got any idea what that looks like? Cause I know he ain’t gonna tell me or Ford ‘til it happens.” Deimos now asked Hank, looking over at him with a toothy grin.

Hank shrugged. “Hell if I know, I have my own plans.” He signed in response, prompting Deimos to groan loudly.

“Mysterious bastard…”

“Tough shit, I’m not risking any information being leaked. ‘Specially not when we’re talking in a public space. Never know if there’s a mole sneaking around.” Doc mumbled, flexing his arms and shoulders.”...There’s still a lot of organs I can get some use out of in this guy…” He muttered to himself, glancing back down at the cadaver he was operating on.

As Doc picked up his operating utensils once more, Hank stood up from the creaky little stool he’d been perched upon, twisting his head from side to side in order to crack it.

“Where you going, tough guy?” Deimos mused, as he settled into resting against Doc, his arms thrown around his shoulders. Once again, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Gonna meet Sanford and Baby at the garage, wanna know if Baby’s fine.”

“You already know she is, he wouldn’t let her come home with a hair out of place.” Doc said to Hank, already halfway out the operating room’s entrance.

Stalking down the halls, Hank’s presence was always felt wherever he went. Mainly a result of the heavy boots he always wore, and the shuffling of the numerous buckles that covered his clothes…though something about Hank himself seemed to just emanate some kind of aura around him, which alerted people to his presence. Some people liked to joke that this was the embodiment of death following his every footstep, or a particularly nasty S3LF haunting him. Something had to explain the weird vibe others got from him, afterall.

Hank stayed quiet as he made his way through the halls of S.Q, focused solely on meeting up with Sanford and Bank whenever they would arrive. He didn’t really care about whatever was going on around him; people would make space for him even without him telling them to. Anyone who worked at S.Q. never dared get in his way or even say “Hi.” It was too hard for damn near everyone outside of Hank’s immediate circle to get a read on him, and it was probably safer to just assume he was pissed off and wanted to be left alone. At least that’s what Hank figured, since no one would try interacting with him all that often.

The walk from the operating room down to the garage was a fairly short one. Pushing the garage entryway door open, Hank was met with the sight of Sanford and Bank already closing the doors of their truck shut, looking disheveled and tired but not hurt. That was always good.

“Ah, there’s our favorite ninja! How’s the stomach stitches treatin’ ya’ today?” Sanford chirped, waving over to Hank as the three approached each other.

“fine,” Hank growled, nodding his head towards Sanford in acknowledgment, “Bank…”

“I’m all good, I cut my, I cut myyyy hand a little but I’m f-fine.” She answered, rubbing her thumb into her palm. “Doc’s chill wi-with letting you roam around so soon?”

“...Deimos…has him…occupied…” Hank mumbled, resting his head against his shoulder. “...not like he…can stop me…anyway…”

“Mm, sure thing, e-e-edgelord.” Bank sneered, a mean laugh quickly following. That sure caught Hank off guard, causing him to make a strange and confused noise. Sanford looked over at Bank, confused as well. It wasn’t like her to be…snarky?

Bank only stared back at the both of them, not really sure why either looked so perplexed with what she’d said.

“...Uh, anyway, what’s Doc been bugging you with today? Or Dei? What’ve you been doing while you’re stuck here?” Sanford shrugged off the weird occurrence, and instead launched into questioning Hank, as he slung an arm around the masked man’s shoulders.

“be quiet.”

“Yeah, that’s more like it!” Sanford cackled, his hearty laugh echoing throughout the garage. Both Hank and Bank winced at the echo.

Now backtracking through the facility, the only one in the trio who made any noise was Sanford, who liked to whistle simple tunes as he strolled the halls, and greeted anyone he recognized. Though, he’d quickly be intercepted by a group of new hirees that were hard at work in the armory of S.Q- they needed the demolitions expert’s help with assembling more explosives. So, Hank and Bank were left on their lonesome to make it back to the bunker, unbothered by anyone around them.

That was, until, Bank spoke up.

“I need help with so-something.” She mumbled, grabbing Hank’s sleeve.

Hank looked down at her, a small huff escaping his throat. “...You don’t ask for help often.”

Bank looked down at the floor. “I-I know, but, this one time, I need help.”

“With what?”

“Won’t tell you until we-we’re in the bunker, peopllllle can eavesdrop.”

“What-”

“And it’s embarrassing, I do-don’t want anyone else hearing me.”

Now Hank was really intrigued. This was highly out of character for Bank, she normally wasn’t so secretive about things. Actually, the fact she asked for his help with anything was strange, she was incredibly stubborn about doing things herself with no help from others. What was going on?

“...You’re weird.”

“Wh- You’re weird!” Bank exclaimed, yanking down on his sleeve. Hank let out a strained chuckle, as her attempt to knock him off balance was fruitless.

“...you…seem…irritated…” Hank sighed, raising his hand so he could rub her shoulder.

Bank shook her head. “No, I just- OK, hold on, here’s the elevator…” She mumbled, letting go of him so she could skip ahead to the bunker’s elevator. With a press of her thumb into the little scan pad next to the doors, they were opened, and she shuffled inside. Hank soon followed.

As the elevator began to descend, Bank turned to face Hank directly, grabbing the tail ends of her bandana.

“I need help washing my h-ha-hair.” She spat.

Bank stared off at the wall behind Hank when he looked down at her.

“...why…?” Hank mumbled, setting his hands over his hips.

“Because I- fuckin’, i-i-t’s been a week, a week since I last washed my hair, and I, uh, it’s getting to me now, cause m-my head is so itchy all the time and it f-f-feels like there’s bugs crawling on my skin, but I-I-I can’t wash it myself because every time I’ve tr-tried to I just end up, I end up just standing there fuckin’ paralyzed or so-so-something, um, and I can’t, I can’t make my body move to just fucking wash it even th-though I should and I, and I, I, uh, uh-”

“breathe.” Hank grunted, patting Bank’s back as she began to choke on her own breath. He gently rubbed her back, waiting for her to regain her composure. “...you just…need help with…washing it, that’s it..?”

Bank nodded, sliding her hands over the back of her neck. “I don’t style it, or use fa-fancy extra stuff, I just n-n-need it washed out. I, um, I think I can brush it afterwards, I just can’t get my bo-body to wash it, and I don’t know why…”

“...alright…” Hank murmured, focusing on Bank’s hands. The parts of her fingers that weren’t covered by her gloves were covered in fresh bruises and small cuts. “don’t stress…yourself out…it won’t take long…”

Bank grumbled to herself, pressing her dirty fingernails into the skin of her neck. Thank god her father never hesitated to come to her aid, but fuck, did she hate asking for help with something that should’ve been so simple for her.

~

“...is everything…that you use…here already…” Hank asked, shaking the bottles of soap he was holding.

Bank had already rushed ahead of him to get things organized the way she liked it in the bathroom; soap bottles with their nozzles lined up in order of usage, extra soap rinsed off, her hair brush and fine comb placed neatly on the sink counter, headband a few inches away, face towel folded beneath it. She was busy twisting and turning the shower faucet every which way until she'd managed to get it the exact right temperature, which always took a few tries.

“Mhm. Everything's in order. Y-You know how I do stuff…” Bank muttered, stepping away from the shower stall once she'd gotten the water's temperature correct. She then turned around, and walked across the room, so she could yank her big towel off the rack it'd been folded over. “Like I said, I don't d-d-do anything fancy, same shit as when I was little.” She stated, as she draped the towel around herself like a blanket, ensuring her clothes wouldn't get wet.

Hank watched as Bank kneeled down next to the rim of the shower stall, and began removing her goggles and mask. Since he was still standing, and he was much taller than her, reaching over her to grab the shower head wasn't too difficult.

“...are you…ready..?” He murmured, placing his now ungloved hand against the wall so he could steady himself while he crouched down beside her, carefully aiming the shower head away from Bank until she gave him the go ahead.

Bank stayed silent, her palms pressed over her eyes. She was breathing heavily, like she'd just finished running a marathon, and wobbled in place.

“...Is she panicking..?” Hank thought to himself, a little perturbed by how Bank was acting. This whole predicament was not typical of her.

Still quiet, Bank slid her hands down from her eyes to over the deep scars embedded in her cheeks, her eyebrows furrowed in a frustrated grimace. “...OK. OK. Yeah, go ahead, get i-it over with.” She practically grumbled, her jaw clearly tensing as she spoke. Bank flipped her head forwards, so her (honestly quite short) hair was folded over the back of her head and face, allowing Hank access to it without dousing her whole body in water.

Hank outstretched his free hand to her head, fanning her hair out before he covered her head with the water. “No wonder she's so tense.” He thought; you could tell her hair hadn't been washed in a while just by touching it. Greasy beyond belief, it felt like a layer of slime covered his fingers when he pulled his hand away.

But that just made things weirder, because Bank would never let her hair get to such a point. She was very proud of her hair, she took great care of it- or at least the best care she could, given the subpar state of self care standards Nevada afforded to all of its denizens. Regardless, her hair was one of the few things Bank actually gave a shit about concerning her image. Her kinky locks of hair were never left unattended to, and they certainly were never left uncared for long enough for them to flatten into slimy, straight strands.

As Hank rinsed her hair down, he kept thinking about it. Why did she let her hair get to this state? It was so strange.

“Something’s up. That's not like her.”

“...is…everything…ok…with life..?” Hank mumbled, noticing how the wobbling of Bank's body seemed to turn into actual shivering.

“I- what? Life's fine?” Bank replied, her frustrated tone now laced with confusion. “I don't know. Same a-as it always was.”

The water had done its job by now, so Hank set the shower head down on the floor, carefully aimed towards the wall. “...well, some…thing…must be off…for you,” Hank grasped at the bottle of nearly empty shampoo he'd set down earlier, “...you dont…let this…happen to your…your hair…”

Bank thought for a moment, unsure of what she was even thinking. She was too focused on how much discomfort she was in to really think about anything else.

She grumbled uncomfortably when Hank began rubbing shampoo into her hair. “...I don't…I don't know? I guess. Something's felt w-w-weird, I don't know what though.” Bank mumbled, her lonely eye staring off into the space of the shower floor tile.

Hank huffed. He needed to figure out how to get her to open up. He felt like she needed to get something out of her system.

“...whats it…feel…like..?” He asked, hoping that was an easy enough starting point for her.

Bank grunted. “What's it feel like?” She wondered. “Why is he even asking? He always avoids conversations like this…”

She rubbed her fingers against the scars on her face, a weird rumbling coming from her throat as she tried to articulate what she had begun thinking about.

“...It’s…like I’m…pa-paralyzed…I can’t do anything that, that, anything that feels simple. Or I think is sim-simple.” Bank said, through gritted teeth. Her hair being tugged and pulled around as Hank scrubbed soap into it felt like torture to her scalp. “Like I, I, I get this fuckin’...It’s like s-someone is stopping me, uh, st-stopping me, or locking me up. It’s, it’s weird.”

“...why…do you…think thats ha…happening…”

“Wh- I, why do you care so much?” Bank snapped, her fingers digging into the exposed muscle on her face. Hank immediately took notice, and grabbed one of her hands, moving it away from her mouth.

Though obscured by the thick strands of her black hair, as well as the bridge of her nose, Hank could see Bank’s good eye snap to the side so she could look at him. Though she was seldom ever seen in such a state, Hank recognized rage whenever he saw it.

He pressed his thumb against her knuckles, rubbing circles into the joints. “…somethings…wrong…for you…” Hank murmured, setting the shower head down on the tile floor. He used his now free hand to pull the towel draped around Bank’s shoulders over her neck, rubbing it into the back of it. “...did something…happen…today…out there…”

“No, no, I already, I already said no.” She answered, grasping Hank’s fingers. “I’m…not today. Just, um, in general. Shit feels off. I don’t know. I, I, I don’t know.” Her eye turned back towards the floor, unfocused. “It’s felt off f-f-for a while and I do-don’t know whyyyyyy.”

The sound of the water rushing from the shower head echoed around the two. Hank was trying to think of how he was supposed to move forward with this conversation, while Bank was trying to focus on not ripping her scalp off.

“...how…long..?”

“...I, uh, I think…think a few months…or, like, it’s gotten b-b-bad within the past few mo-months…” Bank mumbled, slowly rocking her body to and fro. “...I’ve…I’ve had this…weird fffffffeeling for a while but it hasn’t, hasn’t…hasn’t been bad like this…” She added, weaseling her hand out of Hank’s grasp so she could grab her scarred biceps.

Hank stared down at her, watching how her fingers dug into her skin, and how her body shivered. She looked like a rabid animal in pain.

Without speaking, Hank reached over her, and grabbed the crank attached to the shower, slowly turning it off. He didn’t feel like getting chewed out by Doc for wasting water, and he knew she wasn’t going to be able to stand it for now.

Carefully, Hank set his hand down on her shoulder, and leaned a bit closer. “...is it…like…living…is too hard…” He muttered, gently pushing her.

She took a moment to reply, she needed to word herself correctly. “Uh, I, um, I guess. Like, like, like I’m not saying I wish I w-w-was dead, I don’t wanna die, uh, I just, it’s like, it’s…Everything about living makes me wa-want to kill someone. Everything makes me angry, I don’t know. Does that make sense?” She managed to say, clenching her jaw once she was finished speaking.

Hank…well he didn’t laugh, but he did make some sort of amused noise.

“...ah. happened to me…when i was…your age…”

With that, Bank swung her head to look up at him, splashing Hank with soapy water. “What.” She dryly exclaimed, her furious expression now one of relief.

Hank shrugged. “...heard its…normal…for people…like us…”

“What the- what, like a second wave of, of, of puberty?”

“...who knows…i just…got more violent…”

Bank slumped over. “Well, uh, no offense, but I don’t really want t-t-to get to your level of violent. I’m fine with h-how violent I am now.”

Hank nodded. “...I dont want…you to…either…”

He bumped the side of Bank’s jaw with his fist, making her scoff at him. Her shoulders seemed to relax a bit, and she stopped gripping her biceps so tightly. Now, she began combing her fingers through her hair. “...I like killing and all b-but it doesn’t feel g-g-good being so mad all the time. I don’t want to feel fucked u-u-up like this every second o-of the day, y-you know?”

Hank nodded. “...feels bad…id know…”

“Will I stop feeling like this?”

“...hard to say…”

Bank threw her head back, a loud groan escaping her mouth. “That’s what I keep thinking. But, but…I mean it can’t ju-just be something I can’t prevent, right? It can’t. I don’t think so.”

Hank let go of her, and raised his hands close to his chest. “I don’t know myself, I didn’t think about how much I disliked feeling the way I did. I just let myself get angrier and more violent, and then Doc helped me cool down for a while. And then things happened after you were born, and I didn’t feel like keeping myself held together anymore.” He signed, once again shrugging.

“What, do I need to get a, a, a partner to cool me off? Is that what you’re saying.”

“Not really, that’s just what seemed to work for me-”

Hank looked off to the side for a moment, his fingers tightening around his palms. He craned his neck towards her, and hunched his shoulders.

“...shank…”

“No.” Bank spat, venom dripping from her tone.

He shook his head. “No, no, I was just going to ask if something happened with that guy. You’ve seemed more nervous about him.”

“If you’re i-implying you think he did something-”

“no.”

She slid her hands over her eyes again. “He’s been so nice a-a-and lovely to me. Nothing weird. It makes me mad.” She almost bit down on her tongue before she finished talking, because she immediately regretted it. “Not- no, no, no he doesn’t make me mad, I, I, I…I don’t, fuckin’, something about hi-him intimidates me but I don’t know what it is, and that makes me mad.”

Bank waited for Hank to say something, or do something to grab her attention to signal that he’d signed something, but after a few moments, she got no reaction from him. So, she uncovered her good eye, and focused on Hank, who was moving his hands in the way she knew meant he wanted her to keep talking. She groaned.

“...OK. It’s…He’s so cool and great and I don’t see anything wrong with him but something has to be. No one is a 10/10 kind of person like that. He’s too p-perfect in my eyes and that freaks me out, cause like, what, what, wh- like what is his fuckin’ problem? He’s too sweet to me. I think I’m freaked out by how nice he i-i-is.”

“...sounds like…a crush-”

“I DON’T FUCKING LIKE HIM.”

“I know. Haha…”

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, Bank clearly perturbed, while the raised stature of Hank’s shoulders suggested he was amused. She could just tell.

“No, it’s like- I feel like he’s hiding something. I don’t know if he actually i-i-is but, but, but you know better than anyone else that no one in this state is just, um, that much of a good s-samaritan.” Bank mumbled, pressing her fingers against her mouth’s scars. “I’m, ah, I don’t know. I want to tr-trust people that aren’t just y-y-you and Doc and Deimos and ‘Ford but I, I…I don’t know. He’s nice and sweet and funny a-and we’re into the same stuff, but he must be hiding so-something. I have a f-f-feeling.”

Hank kept staring down at her, watching how her body slowly relaxed as she kept talking. She must’ve been dwelling on this for a while now.

“Sucks that you have to be so careful about who you trust,” Hank began to sign, his fingers wiggling anxiously as he tried to articulate himself, “Anyway, you still haven’t known him for too long, and you don’t make friends with people in the first place. You could just be nervous about befriending someone.”

“...I f-figured it was something like that…” Bank mumbled.

“...But still, it’s better to trust your gut on this kind of stuff. You don’t wanna give anyone an opening that could lead to you getting hurt, you know that.” Hank continued, showing Bank he was done with his thought by giving her a thumbs up.

She grimaced a little, like what he said was discouraging to her. When she silently looked back at the tile flower, Hank’s heart skipped a beat, like watching that made him panic. Of course, Hank didn’t feel anything, and he certainly wouldn’t panic over something so trivial, oh no no no. He just didn’t say the right thing, was all.

“...Or, or…” He wheezed, grabbing her attention again, before he continued to sign, “...Or…you can try to just enjoy the nice time he helps you have. You’ll be able to notice if something about him skeeves you out, I’m sure of that. Soak up the good times while you’re able before shit eventually goes south, yeah?”

Bank looked back over to Hank, now just confused. “...That…co-contradicts wh-what, what you just said..?” She muttered, scratching her jaw. “Like, I, uh…what, so I just, just, just say ‘fuck it’ and try to ignore how anxious I-I feel since he’s not, um, obviously doing anything that seems weird right now?” She asked, sliding both of her hands around to the back of her neck, rubbing her skin.

Hank stared back at her. He could feel the blood in his veins pumping harder now that he realized his contradiction. God, he was bad at this.

“...Do whatever you think makes more sense?” He said, as he let out a small wheeze and shrugged.

They both sat in silence as they looked at each other, the sound of water dripping from the shower faucet echoing around them. Hank felt his skin becoming more unbearable the longer he felt his blood pulsing through him, and Bank kept scratching at her neck and jaw more viciously.

“...M-my head is so itchy, can we get this o-o-oooover with, uh, already…” She murmured, dipping her head down as she flipped her hair back over her face, clearly exhausted.

Hank didn’t reply, but he did reach over her to turn the water back on. Silently, he picked up the showerhead and resumed scrubbing and rinsing shampoo out of her greasy (and now slightly brittle) hair.

“Well,” He thought to himself, “At least she isn’t trying to rip her hair out now…”

~

Now that her hair wasn’t a supremely greasy mess of slimy locks, Bank was able to relax a little, and quickly retreated into her bedroom once she was done getting help from her dad to fix her hair up. She’d spent the rest of the night lying in bed, combing her fingers through her hair while she went through her collection of old VHS tapes. She didn’t really have it in her to do much of anything else after forcing herself to get her hair washed.

Well, it was ridiculous that washing her hair put so much of a strain on her in the first place, but who’s to judge.

She didn’t leave her room when dinner time rolled around, she just kept lying down. Too much on her mind to budge. Thankfully, Deimos came by to bring her a plate of steak and macaroni, and didn’t stay too long to chat with her about much other than what she and Sanford got up to earlier in the day. Maybe he could sense she wasn’t feeling good? Regardless, she ate her dinner quickly and went back to sulking in bed. She didn’t even get up to take care of her plate; yet another out of character act for her “obsessed with cleanliness” ass.

Bank only found herself snapping out of her catatonic trance when she heard her phone vibrating against her bedside table.

Almost like she’d been commanded to, she quickly scurried to the edge of her bed, and snatched at her little flip phone. She already knew who had texted her, and felt like she would die if she didn’t read their message right that moment.

P1NKD3V1L: Just got home after a gun run got botched,  got my shit rocked lol. Hows ur day been? ( ´ ▽ ` )/

She began typing the second she finished reading Shank’s message, but felt those anxieties she’d been complaining to Hank about well up in her chest.

“Should I even talk to him?” Bank wondered, tapping her phone against her chest. “If I don’t think I trust him then should I even keep talking to him? I should just stop. He’s too nice, he can’t really be like that, I don’t trust it. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this.”

The message she’d begun typing was quickly deleted, and she fell back against her mattress, her phone tumbling beside her leg. Bank stared up at her ceiling, folding her hands over her stomach. Her legs felt twitchy now.

“...It’d be rude if I stopped talking to him out of nowhere, wouldn’t it…” Another thought crossed her mind, making her legs twitch more. Her hand flapped beside her thigh, searching for where her phone went. “I don’t want to piss him off in case he is secretly fucked up…”

Once she found her phone, she rolled over so she was lying on her stomach, and held the flip phone screen close to her face.

bloodypop: I blew up an agency office today and got into a car chase. It was kind of exciting. How’d you get hurt?

Bank’s head fell against her pillow when she was done typing, her mind now swirling with contradictions.

“I should just tell him we should stop talking when our conversation is over…But I kind of don’t want to…But I think that’s the easiest way to deal with this. Something’s up with him…”

Another text came through.

P1NKD3V1L: My pretty face got all bruised up from a fist fight, the dudes we were delivering to jumped us :/ but I got to cave the guys head in w a lead pipe so that made up 4 the black eye lol

“...He has real nice eyes, that sucks.”

Now that she was focused on thinking about what his face might’ve looked like all banged up, it was like her reservations hadn’t existed in the first place. The image of Shank’s face was too captivating for her scrambled mind to care. So, she settled into her bed, and focused on continuing their conversation.

bloodypop: good, he deserved that. shouldn't have let him get away after messing up a face like yours

P1NKD3V1L: O? A face like mine? Whats that supposed 2 mean hehe („ಡωಡ„)

bloodypop: well its not like many people out there have their faces still intact like you do

P1NKD3V1L: Aww ur such a sweet thing. Ur pretty too <3

bloodypop: you dont even know what my face looks like?

P1NKD3V1L: Yah but ur a cool chick and know how to dress, sooooo

bloodypop: that makes me pretty?

P1NKD3VIL: Yes! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

Bank snorted when she received his message. She could feel her face warm up, which was strange…but it felt a little nice. So she could ignore it for the time being. She was too focused on responding to him so she’d be able to read more of the stupid shit he had to say.

“...I’ll ask Deimos and ‘Ford for advice on this, sometime soon. They’d know what to do…”

Maybe she could try to ignore her anxiety surrounding him, if he kept entertaining her like this…