Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Cherri was hauling his last water jug from Tommy’s store to his truck, he nearly walked headlong into Poison. 

“Watch yourself,” Poison snarled, sidestepping with an uncanny elegance. 

“Hello to you too,” Cherri said. He heaved the jug into the truckbed and closed the tailgate. Poison was usually more civil, but he was in full public persona mode right now and crackling with an aura of standoffish, dangerous energy. Cherri glanced around for the rest of the Four, but the ringleader of the Fabulous Four was alone today. 

Poison brushed entirely imaginary dust from his jacket. “What’s got you in such a rush, tumbleweed? Waveheads can’t wait five more minutes for their care packages?”

Okay, that was uncalled for. Not that Poison was wrong, exactly—there were a few surfers still kicking outside the trailer park in Three that needed their water restocked. Cherri couldn’t help going back time after time, hoping he could rouse some sense into the poor sun-addled souls long enough for them to take to the shade. Granted, he had a miserable success rate, but just enough of them had listened over the years to keep Cherri from losing all faith in his usually futile efforts. 

“Just leaving for Three,” was all he said. “Gotta run if I want to be there by nightfall. Oh hey, before I go. I have stuff for Kobra. You don't mind, do you?" 

Poison shrugged one shoulder, effortlessly conveying with the gesture that he couldn’t care less but would deign to be so gracious as to allow it, and followed him into the store. 

Cherri brought him into the back room and pulled out a good-sized box from a locked truck. Tommy let him store a few things here so long as they didn’t take up too much precious inventory space, but Cherri didn’t trust him not to sell any of it unless he literally couldn’t get into it. 

“This should do him for reading material for a while,” Cherri said, setting the box down. “And some other random stuff.” 

Poison riffled through the pile, careful disinterest quickly masking his face as he came across a few issues that caught his eye. “The comics I get, but what is all this shit?” 

“Just things he’ll like.” Cherri had been doing some reading lately—looking for more information on PTSD actually, because it still got bad sometimes in spite of all the meditating and shit—and had gotten sidetracked, with the end result that he’d connected some significant dots about Kobra’s often unusual behavior. “I’ve had ‘em lying around for ages, didn't know what to do with ‘em. I should've realized before that they were just the thing.” 

Poison cocked his head at him, like he had no idea what Cherri was getting at. Which, Poison didn’t need to pretend like he didn’t know, but it was understandable, him feigning ignorance. Cherri got that he wouldn’t want to acknowledge anything to anyone outside the crew about his sibling that might be perceived by some as a weakness. Kobra had never mentioned it either, so clearly it was something of a sensitive subject. 

Then Poison scowled outright in confusion as he brushed aside a pair of earplugs and a few pairs of sunglasses for Kobra’s collection (with the lifestyle the Fabulous Four led, Kobra went through a stupid amount of sunglasses) and tried to heft a grey velvety blanket that was much heavier than it looked. “Oof. What’d you put in this thing, fuckin’ sand?” 

“It was like that when I found it. Maybe sand, I’m not sure.” 

Poison pulled something else out. “The hell does this do.” He turned the multi-colored cube over in his hands. 

“Puzzle,” Cherri said. 

Poison pulled outward on a corner, trying to open it. He tapped the pads of his fingers over the different squares of color to see if they were buttons. 

“You turn the rows, I think,” Cherri said, but Poison had already lost interest. 

“Hm.” He tossed it back in the box. “Really?”

“He’ll like them,” said Cherri. 

Poison scoffed. “Three carbons he turns around and tries to sell the lot back to Tom,” he wagered. 

“Five,” Cherri said firmly. 

~

The next time Cherri ran into Poison, he had a much more friendly air about him. At first, anyway. 

“Hey, Cola.” Poison looked up from his paints when Cherri let himself into the diner. “The crates are ‘round back.” The Four did a lot of scavenging and raids, so they usually had a decent haul of stuff they wouldn’t use themselves for the bimonthly orphanage drive. “You just missed K and Sunshine, they’re mailin’ letters,” he added, when he noticed Cherri peering around. 

“Thanks,” Cherri said. He spotted a heap of gray fabric on the couch. “Kobra like the stuff?” 

“Oh, fuck you. We can hardly get him out from under that thing.” Poison rummaged around in a pocket and came up short by two carbons. He filched a couple more from the swear jar on the counter and slapped them into Cherri’s hand. (Poison may’ve been a sore loser, but at least he paid up. Unlike most of the people Cherri had to collect from for the derby betting pools he ran.) “Lucky guess.” 

Not that lucky. Kobra liked being squashed half to death, at least if the way he pulled Cherri on top of him every opportunity he got was anything to go on. “It’s no surprise, really,” Cherri said, heading to the back door to get the crates. “What with him being on the spectrum and all. It just took me a while to realize...” 

Poison glanced over his own shoulder with a frown, like a new racetrack he hadn’t heard of before had popped up behind him when he wasn’t looking. “Kobra went to the what?” 

Okay, was that not a term people used anymore? “I just didn’t realize he was autistic, that’s all. He never actually said anyth—”

Poison leapt to his feet, suddenly radiating that terrifying energy again. “The fuck did you just call him?”

“Excuse me?” Cherri took a couple hasty steps back. 

“Listen, soldier,” Poison spat the word like a slur, “If you’re implying my brother belongs in some kinda loony bin or some shit, you’d better think very carefully about where you’d like your grave to be and start diggin’, cause by the time I’m done with you—”

“Whoa, did I say that?” Cherri demanded. Had he actually said something wrong, was that an insult now or something? 

Zonepups might like to think the desert was some kind of enlightened paradise free from the influence of Batt dogma, but anyone who’d been out here for any length of time knew that many so-called ‘joys could be just as cruel and close-minded. If Poison’s only context for this was other people referring to it with negative connotations, Cherri could forgive him for misunderstanding Cherri’s intent, even though Poison really ought to know by now that Cherri would never insinuate anything like that about his best friend.  

His immediate concern, however, was keeping Poison from shoving his paintbrush down Cherri’s throat. 

He quickly moved to make sure there was a table between him and the livid killjoy. “Poison! I didn’t say that.” 

Poison’s hackles didn’t go down. “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” 

Did Poison really not know? 

Wait. Was Kobra not diagnosed? 

Oh saints. Cherri had made a massive overstep. 

He swallowed hard. “You know what? I made an assumption; clearly I was wrong. Genuine misunderstanding, I apologize.” 

Poison narrowed his eyes at Cherri, the pointer finger of his right hand tapping an irregular rhythm on the barrel of the blaster at his hip. Not like he was going to draw it. More like he was just thinking. An unconscious nervous habit, maybe, or a deliberate intimidation tactic. (Which, if it was, it was definitely working.) “Right.” 

Cherri had to get out of there. “I’ll take these crates off your hands, then,” he said lamely, feeling not unlike a kicked dog. “Uh… keep runnin’.”

Poison smiled at him, all sharp teeth. 

“I think you ought to be the one more concerned about that than me,” he said, and showed Cherri the door with a cold flourish.

Chapter Text

It was a while before Cherri got up the nerve to visit the diner again. He’d run into Kobra at the races a few weeks later, though, and Kobra had mentioned needing a bike part Cherri had just now come across, so he decided to drop it by. He wasn’t about to let the grudge Poison was surely nursing keep him from seeing the others. 

Not that he didn’t deserve Poison’s hostility. He still felt bad about the incident, though he was glad it hadn’t been Kobra he’d accidentally brought it up to and offended. Thank goodness for that at least. 

The weird thing was he was so sure he’d been right, until now. It was glaringly obvious if you knew what to look for. It all added up—the fidgeting, the sensitivity to too much light or noise, the frequent inability to find the words for his complex thoughts or the outright bizarre things he thought were appropriate to say sometimes, the aversion to direct eye contact, his laser-focused interest in certain stuff. And those were just the most noticeable things. 

Yet Cherri had apparently been reading way too much into it. Some people just had more quirks than others, he supposed. 

Speaking of, Kobra was the only one in the common area when Cherri came into the diner. 

The kid jumped and spun on his heel when he heard the bells on the front door jangle. 

“Hi,” Cherri said. “Just me.” 

Kobra didn’t reply; just gave him a tight nod. It looked like he’d been trying to work on some kind of coding—there was a computer on a booth table open with a bunch of gibberish on the screen—but he wasn’t working on it at the moment, too busy patting around in his pockets, uncharacteristically frantic. The cigarette carton he pulled out was empty. 

How many had he gone through today already? Cherri frowned a little. He really wished Kobra would ease up on those. 

He put the gear he’d brought on a table. “Figured you still needed this for the—” 

BANG. 

A distant explosion set everything in the old restaurant shaking. Cherri included.

Shit. He’d been bracing himself to face Poison’s wrath, but he hadn’t been expecting to walk into a war zone. What was that, a grenade launcher?

A faint chorus of cheers followed, including Poison’s familiar whoop and a delighted shriek from the Girl. Sounded like everyone else was out back enjoying the show. 

“Goodness,” he managed, hand straying instinctively to his beads. Couldn’t they do that farther away from the diner? “How long has Ghoul been at it?” Hours, if the way Kobra had flinched was anything to go on. 

“All morning,” Kobra said shortly. He started savagely tearing the empty carton into shreds with little, aborted movements, pieces fluttering to the floor unheeded. 

He really didn’t look good. Cherri saw now that his nails were already bitten down to stumps, and his brows were drawn together slightly in a constant wince. 

As much as he was trying to hide it, he was obviously upset. What was he still even doing here if this was bothering him so much? Why hadn’t he just left?

“Car out of gas or something?” Cherri said. 

Kobra gave him a pained glance. “Loud.” 

Ah. Of course. Unless he wanted to walk, there was no quiet method of escape. And Kobra looked like he was in no shape for that. Cherri scanned the common area. “Where’s your earplugs then?” 

“Lost.”

“Headphones?” 

“Broke.” 

Shiny, this was not ideal. “Well, jeez, Kobra, why don’t you go tell them to stop?” 

“Can’t,” Kobra insisted, voice rising a bit with frustration at the onslaught of questions he didn’t have good answers for. “Clients.”

“Oh. There’s people out there now?” Demonstrations, right. That would explain all the unfamiliar vehicles in the yard he’d seen when he parked his motorcycle. 

Kobra nodded again and started toward the kitchen—probably on his way to raid one of the others’ stash of cigs—when another blast sent him cowering against the doorframe. 

“Mother of God,” Cherri gasped as the shockwave rippled through him, something between a curse and a genuine prayer. 

In a herculean show of restraint, Kobra bit his lip and put a fist gently to the kitchen doorframe, head ducked like he was angry with himself for knowing it was coming and still not being able to anticipate it. He looked minutes away from throwing all pretense of composure out the window and curling up into a tense huddle in a corner somewhere. 

Cherri could sympathize. He felt his own shoulders creeping up toward his ears as he subconsciously steeled himself for the next blast. Sometimes, something as commonplace as a car backfiring was enough to set Cherri off, and this was so, so much worse. 

Yeah, time to go. “Okay. Let’s—” 

A bigger explosion rocked the diner. For several seconds, Cherri couldn’t hear anything. 

When his ears finally started ringing, he tried to raise his head and banged it on something. Ow. He looked up to see the underside of one of the tables. 

How in the hell...? 

He uncurled his hands from the back of his own neck and shoved aside a chair. Someone was laughing, a high, panicked giggle. What about this was funny? He wished they would shut up, there was already too much going on. 

Oh. It was him. Cherri clamped his mouth shut. 

This was ridiculous. From under the table he locked eyes across the room at Kobra, like, We make quite a pair, don’t we. 

Kobra, still hunched in the doorway, shot him a look in return like, No shit.

A fourth artillery blast made Cherri’s heart rattle in his ribcage. 

Shiny, now there was a ‘crow a few paces away, palms clamped to the sides of its head. Where had it come from? Cherri scrabbled for his gun and came up with a radio transmitter instead. What had happened to his—? 

No. This wasn’t right, ‘crows didn’t wear yellow. That was Kobra. Fuck. 

He needed to get to him, but he knew there were mines dotting the already pockmarked sand between him and Kobra. That wasn’t right, either. Cherri clamped his eyes shut. When he opened them, Kobra was still there. 

So was the battlefield. 

Kobra was doing a little better than him over in the kitchen, it seemed like. At least he wasn’t ducking under the furniture. Just trying to count his fingers. He was also shaking so badly he kept losing track and having to start over. 

If the two of them could get to Cherri’s bike, they could both make it out. First, however, Cherri would have to get out from under here. 

Swallowing back more curses—he really didn’t need every deity he could think of getting pissed with him now, too, on top of everything else—he tried to force himself to move.  Eyes front. Eyes front, soldier… 

No, dammit, still not right. He wasn’t a soldier anymore, he wasn’t, he was a...a…

He couldn’t remember. 

Then Kobra was in front of him, concern creasing his brow even more. How the hell had he gotten past the landmines? 

He bent down and yanked at Cherri’s sleeve. 

“Kobra—” Cherri said, trying to warn him, get down get down. Somewhere out there, way past the buzzing in his head, he could hear the telltale hiss of a rocket going up. 

Another teeth-rattling explosion. They both ducked, hands over ears. 

The echoes were still bouncing off the walls when Kobra hauled Cherri up and dragged him out from under his shelter. “Come on.” 

He was trying to shove Cherri outside, but Cherri couldn’t let go of his arm or he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to stay upright, so they grappled in a panic in the doorway. Another giggle escaped Cherri. This really was pathetic, he was losing his grip. 

“Go, go,” Kobra was insisting. 

“You too,” Cherri said, trying to tug Kobra with him. “Kobra, there’s a place. Fifteen, twenty minutes out.” 

“Can’t. You go.” 

“It’s quiet,” Cherri said. 

Kobra hesitated. 

“It’s fifteen minutes away, I swear, if you can just manage till then...” If Kobra wouldn’t come, Cherri would have to leave him here in the firefight, and that was unthinkable. 

Kobra set his jaw and grabbed his helmet off the wall, and together they made a dash for Cherri’s bike.

Chapter Text

The blur of the road, solid and familiar, was thankfully steadying. Cherri felt almost normal again—almost—by the time they pulled up to one of his hideouts, the garage entrance to the basement of a tiny house engulfed by a dune. 

He was still rather proud of this find. Unless you knew exactly where to look, you’d drive right past the residence none-the-wiser. The main and upper levels were uninhabitable, crumbling and full to the brim with sand, but the basement garage was still intact. 

He killed the engine, dismounted, and helped Kobra climb off the back. Kobra stood there, hugging himself tightly despite the sweltering heat. 

Cherri waved ineffectually at the dust cloud they’d stirred up as they’d skidded to a stop, and coughed. In the sudden silence Kobra flinched at the sound like Cherri’d dragged his fingernails down a chalkboard. 

“Sorry,” Cherri said, biting back another cough. He fumbled with the padlock on the garage door. “I’m going to open this now. It’s gonna be loud, okay?” 

Despite how gently he tried to ease it up, the metal slats still grinded together and shrieked in protest. Kobra flinched again. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Cherri guided Kobra inside. “Once more.” He slid the door back down. 

Whew. That would be the last of the loud shit for a while. Cherri let out a long exhale in the musty, cool dimness, trying to collect himself. 

He was glad he was with Kobra, and not for entirely unselfish reasons. It was when he was on his own after getting triggered that things tended to go Costa Rica. Having someone besides himself to worry about was actually a nice distraction. He couldn’t collapse into a shivering ball of uselessness yet; he still had to make sure Kobra was going to be okay. 

He’d taken the chance that Kobra would be better off here, but now he wasn’t sure it had been worth the toll the trip had obviously taken on him. He desperately hoped it hadn’t made things worse. On the other hand, things would have certainly gotten worse if they'd stayed, and they were here now, so agonizing over the decision would be a pointless exercise. 

“How you holding up, Kobrakid?” he said. 

No reply. 

Cherri rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to adjust faster. Last time he was here he was pretty sure he’d left a battery-powered lamp in the near left corner. He fumbled around for it and found the switch. 

“Light,” he warned, and flicked it on. “This okay?” 

Kobra still didn’t answer. He was leaning forward into one of the basement’s support columns, pressing his forehead to the cool concrete with his eyes shut, panting shallowly as possible, like the sound of his own breath in his ears was almost too grating to bear. 

Well, that wasn’t good. “Uh. Hey. Hang in there.” Cherri turned the lamp toward the wall, making the light as indirect as he could while still being able to see enough to get across the cluttered space safely. He really needed to organize all this crap sometime. 

Now what. There was a sofa sort of thing against the far wall,  leaking stuffing. It only had a few piles on it. Perfect. 

Cherri went over to gingerly transfer everything to the floor, making as little noise as he could. 

He stole a glance over at Kobra, who was still practically hugging that concrete support. What the hell was his deal? Could that really be comfortable? 

Cherri set down his last box and navigated through the maze of junk to get to him. The other day, he’d taken Poison’s word for it that there was nothing going on with Kobra, but now, seeing the way he was acting, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He took Kobra’s arm. “Made a spot for you. Come over here?” he murmured, pulling Kobra toward the cleared-off sofa. He put his hands on Kobra shoulders to push him down onto it, gentle but firm. “There you go. That’s it.” 

Kobra curled up instinctively, drawing his legs up underneath him and crossing his arms tight around his torso again, ducking his head into the top of the back cushion to block out the light. 

Cherri kept his hands on Kobra’s shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting grip. Contact usually helped put Kobra at ease, if it was the right kind. Kobra always got skittish if you tried to touch him too lightly, but he’d usually lean hard into a firm hand, with eyes half-lidded like he couldn’t get enough of it. Cherri’d never met anyone quite so paradoxical as him—he was simultaneously so touchshy and touchstarved the combination had to hurt, poor kid. He was also fairly certain Kobra didn’t really realize this himself, and that was one of the reasons he could get so restless or miserable without seeming to know why or what to do about it. (At least his brother, another safe person, was aware of what Kobra liked too, so Kobra wasn’t reliant on only Cherri for this, but Poison didn’t always want to be touched himself, so if he wasn’t in the mood and Cherri wasn’t around, Kobra was pretty much out of luck.) Right now, however, with Kobra as high-strung as he was, this might be too much. 

Cherri took it as a good sign when Kobra didn’t squirm away, but he was still trembling all over with pent-up distress. Cherri berated himself for not having the presence of mind to grab any of Kobra’s stuff as they were leaving the diner that might’ve been useful here. Typically he’d offer Kobra his dog tags as a distraction when he was starting to get antsy, but he had a feeling they were a little bit past the point where that would have any benefit. 

At a loss for what else he might be able to do to help ground him, Cherri took away one hand momentarily to grab a nearby throw pillow and wedge it in front of Kobra, who latched onto it gratefully. 

“Stay here, Kobrakid,” he said, low, hoping the sound was tolerable. He replaced his second hand slowly.  If the only way Kobra could regain control over a situation was by making it worse, he would; he’d force himself into a dissociative state without a second thought if that meant he didn’t have to deal with anything at all for a while. He didn’t know where Kobra went when he got so upset he had to tune out the world entirely, but he didn’t want him to go there. “Stay here, please. It’s going to get better now. You can stay right here with me.” 

He thumbed gently between Kobra’s bony shoulderblades through the thin tank he was wearing, and Kobra jerked. 

Cherri froze. “Stop?” 

Kobra let out a shuddering breath. He gave a miniscule shake of his head without raising it. 

“You sure?” 

A tiny nod. 

“You want me to let go, you tap out. Can you do that?” (They had an unspoken agreement about this already, for when they were just wrestling and horsing around. Both of them had quickly tired of getting outright clocked for accidentally grabbing a no-zone, like Kobra's wrists or one of Cherri's old injuries that still flared up sometimes.) 

Another nod. 

“Mind showing me, please? For practice?” If Kobra couldn’t or wouldn’t talk right now, Cherri needed to make sure he was actually capable of doing it. “Doesn’t have to be on me. Just where I can see.”

Kobra hesitated, understandably reluctant because he’d have to untangle a hand from his pillow to do it, but he slid one hand long enough to thump a finger on the cushion beside a couple times before pulling it back in. 

“Thanks.” Cherri resumed sweeping his thumbs up and down. “I’m going to shut up now, but you have to try and relax, okay?” 

He quickly figured out the amount of pressure Kobra preferred—not gentle enough to make him shiver but not so deep it made him twitch. Kobra’s shoulders were a taut mass of knotted muscle. He couldn’t properly work it without hurting him, or even move his hands around much without making a noise on the fabric of Kobra’s shirt that probably sounded as harsh as sandpaper to him, so he just focused on firm, soothing movements, alternately rippling his grip on Kobra’s shoulders and sweeping his thumbs up and down his upper spine, keeping it slow and repetitive and predictable. 

After several minutes of this, the worst of the knots were still there, but at least Kobra wasn’t shivering anymore. Cherri noticed a muscle in his jaw twitch, though, and winced in sympathy. How long had Kobra been clamping his teeth together like that? 

He swept his palms up Kobra’s neck, into his hair. One of Kobra’s hands darted up to seize Cherri’s wrist. 

Cherri stopped uncertainly. “Kobra?” he ventured. “This cool?” Kobra wasn’t tapping. He didn’t know what to do. Coudn’t tell what Kobra wanted or didn’t like about this. 

Maybe he had just startled him. Cherri cautiously started rubbing Kobra’s temples, poised to halt at the slightest sign of unease. 

Eventually Kobra loosened his grip on Cherri’s wrist and let his hand drop. He left it where it fell, not tucking it back under himself or clutching for something to hang to, which must mean he was starting to actually relax. Good. 

Emboldened to continue, Cherri slid his fingertips down a few inches to trace gentle circles in front of Kobra’s ears where his jawbone hinged. “That’s a great way to get a killer headache, kid. You gotta relax this too, come on.” He kept at it, and Kobra finally managed to unclench his jaw with a small gasp. “There you go.” 

He moved down to Kobra’s neck for a while, kneading at the stiffness there until the tendons in his forearms started to ache from the constant pressure he’d had to exert this whole time, so he slid his fingers back up into Kobra’s hair to massage at his scalp, which didn’t take nearly as much effort. 

Just a few minutes of that seemed to unlock the last of Kobra’s tension, his head even lolling to the side a little as he went completely pliant under Cherri’s hands. His eyes were still closed against the faint light Cherri had kept on to work by, but there was no discomfort in his expression. 

“Better?” Cherri asked, though he wasn’t really expecting an answer. “I’m going to sit down here, if that’s okay.” He simply couldn’t stay on his feet anymore, so he  was going to sit down regardless, though he guessed he could sit on the floor if Kobra needed space. 

Kobra’s dark eyes were open now, watching him, gaze steady and tired. He didn’t shake his head, so Cherri sank down gratefully beside him. 

Kobra reached out an arm. 

“Yeah, come over here.” Cherri helped Kobra shift around to huddle on his side, still holding his pillow to his chest with his head resting on Cherri’s thighs so Cherri could keep idly rubbing at his scalp. “Good?” 

Kobra nodded. He twisted around onto his back to look up at Cherri upside-down, eyebrows furrowed slightly like was just now remembering that Cherri had been pretty badly shaken by the racket, too. He let go of his pillow with one hand. 

You ok? he signed. 

“Me?” Cherri let out a soft laugh. “Shiny.” He was beat, sure, and it’d been a while since he’d had an episode that intense, but honestly? The whole diner thing had pretty much been business as usual. 

Sorry. 

“‘S not your fault,” Cherri said quickly. “We’ll deal with everything else later. Hey, you need anything?” He had to ask, even though he really didn’t want to move to look for whatever Kobra might want. He did have a canteen on his belt though. “Water, food? What did you eat today?” 

Kobra hesitated, then shifted back onto his side. 

“Did you eat today?”

No response. 

“Kobra…” Cherri held back a sigh; Kobra would probably read it as disappointment. Well, he was kind of disappointed, but he was hardly surprised. “Okay. You need to have something when we get back, then.” He didn’t stash anything here except power pup, anyway, and he knew better than to offer Kobra that. He reached for his water flask. “And I do want you to drink something.” 

Kobra clamped his mouth shut tight again. 

“Here, see, it’s not too cold.” Cherri uncapped the canteen and held it out for Kobra to take. Room temperature, nothing that would hurt his teeth. “Just a little.” 

Kobra forced down a few swallows with a slight grimace that made Cherri wonder if it wasn’t the taste, too. Maybe a plastic bottle would be preferable to a metal one. He filed that hypothesis away for later. 

“Sorry. Thanks.” Cherri accepted the flask back and took a measured drink himself—this had to last the two of them however long they’d have to stay here before Kobra was able to venture outdoors—and set it aside. He ran a hand through Kobra’s hair again. “That’s all. Just rest, now.” 

Not five minutes later Kobra was out, with his tousled blond head in Cherri’s lap. 

The transmitter on Cherri’s hip crackled to life. "Cola?"

Cherri snatched it up and cranked the volume down nearly to zero before it could wake Kobra. "Speaking.” He glanced at the screen. Jet's wavelength. 

“Is Kobra with you?"

“Yeah.”

“Shiny,” Jet said, sounding relieved. “Can you put him on?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Oh, okay.”  

“Something wrong?”

“No, no. I just couldn’t figure out where he’d run off to. His bike’s still outside. “

“We, uh, went for a drive. Camping out here for a bit, now.”  

“Okay. And hey, thanks. You’re… you’re really good with him.” 

What, like Kobra was some kind of trouble child or wayward pet? Cherri tried not to be insulted on Kobra’s behalf, because he knew that’s not what Jet meant by it, but still. Gross. 

“Maybe he’s good with me,” he retorted mildly. Hell, if it weren’t for Kobra, Cherri would probably still be huddled under that diner table. 

Static. Then Jet moved on. “He okay?” 

“Neither of us were for a bit there, but we’re doing alright now.” 

Jet sighed, a crackling hiss through the speaker. “Shit. Yeah, the demos. That’s on me. I should have thought to check on him. He’s just so damn good at hiding when he’s upset I usually miss the signs.” 

“This is Kobra we’re talking about, Jet. He’s never going to ask for anything he thinks would be special treatment.” 

“I mean, I do my best with him, we all do. I just don’t know what his deal is, sometimes,” Jet went on, starting to sound more frazzled. “Witch love him, this is the zones, he should be acclimated by now. I know he used to be the baby of the crew, but he can’t expect to be coddled all the time.” 

“That’s not—” Cherri felt himself bristling. He reminded himself Jet hadn’t seen Kobra’s reaction to the commotion and took a deep breath. This wasn’t a conversation for radio, anyway. “Uh, actually? I need to go.” 

Jet sighed again. “Okay. I’ll tell Party he’s with you. Bring him home when you can?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep runnin’.” 

“You too.” Cherri clicked the transmitter off.

Chapter Text

By afternoon the following day, Kobra let Cherri coax him into going back, on the condition that he could go straight to the shed to recoup a bit longer before having to deal with a dinerful of people. 

Cherri made sure Kobra had the rest of their water with him and left him there already eyeing the half-dismantled BL/Ind bike that was scattered about the floor, and went to go find some food to bring back. 

Shiny, Poison was in the kitchen. He turned around when he heard Cherri enter. 

“Oh. It’s you,” said Poison. “Where’s K?” 

“Uh, he’s...around,” Cherri said, crossing over to the cabinets to scour them for something Kobra might actually make an attempt to eat. 

“The little shit,” Poison growled. “I’ve told him, he can’t keep runnin’ off like that without telling anyone. He’s gettin’ a piece of my mind.” 

“He was with me the whole time,” Cherri pointed out. 

“Well you ain’t crew, are you,” Poison said, fixing Cherri with a smile that made a spike of panic shoot up his spine. 

Damn, Poison really wanted to eat him alive, didn’t he. 

Fortunately, however, Cherri was already safely on his way out the door again with a handful of nutribars. He was pretty sure Kobra didn’t hate those. “Suit yourself. I’d give it a few days, though.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Poison said, voice dripping acid. 

Cherri stopped. “Trust me. Just give it a few days.” 

Poison took a step closer, towering over him. Which, given their respective heights, was physically impossible, but he somehow managed it anyway. “Give me one godsdamned reason you think you can tell me what to do with my own brother.” 

Cherri tried to stand his ground. “He got upset, okay? He still can’t really talk  much, yet.” That at least was no secret, as anyone who tried to have a conversation with him would quickly find out. 

“He what? The hell did you do to him?” 

“I didn’t do anything! It was Ghoul’s fucking fireworks show!” 

Poison studied Cherri for a long moment. He was doing that rapid tapping thing with his finger again. Not on his gun this time, just his outer thigh. 

Then he turned away dismissively. “Yeah, he gets like that.” 

Cherri hesitated. Of all the reactions he was expecting, indifference wasn’t one of them. “Poison, I really—” 

“You’re still here?” Poison said blandly. 

Cherri bit back a less-than-complimentary retort. Maybe Poison really didn’t give a shit; maybe he just didn’t want to let down his guard and betray his concern in front of Cherri. 

Either way, this whole brother thing was really none of his business. 

He let himself out.

Chapter Text

Cola had the audacity to stay nearby the diner for the next few days, bringing in and hauling out loads of tech and books and other random shit like he usually did when he was in the area, but Party noticed Kobra mostly kept to himself, burying his nose in a book or tinkering on the BL/Ind motorcycle he’d looted from a clap site a few weeks ago. 

That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. And yet Party also noticed with a nagging sense of unease that Kobra went out of his way to avoid interacting with anybody, and if he had to give anything more than a yes or no response to something, his answers were as short as possible. 

As much as Party hated to admit to himself, Cola might not have been blowing things out of proportion. 

He still wasn’t sure what had gone down, but he knew enough to feel guilty about it: Something bad had happened, and Party hadn’t been there. 

Anyhow, Cola eventually left and stayed gone, good riddance, and some time after that Kobra quit holing up in the shed or his room and actually started hanging out in the common spaces again. 

All afternoon now he’d been hunched over his clunky, billion-year-old laptop that had a green motherboard thingy wired up to it somehow, and was tapping away at some code. 

Party cautiously approached him. “Whatcha working on?”

“Vend-a-hack update,” Kobra said, not taking his eyes off the screen as he typed. “Star Stealer told Blade Runner who told American Pie who told me that the Lobby machines got new chips so the old code doesn’t work anymore, and they managed to get me one to try and crack it. Don’t think it’s too complicated, but I gotta get past this failsafe shit first before I can tell for sure…” 

“Oh. Got it,” said Party, who didn’t. “Doin’ better, huh?” Kobra must be, if he could say all that in one go. 

Kobra’s fingers paused on the keyboard. 

“Compared to what?” he said, suspicious. 

“Uh. Cola mentioned...” 

“Cherri talks a lot of shit,” Kobra lied. 

They both knew that wasn’t true. 

“Really, kid? To my face? Ouch,” Party said lightly. He dragged up a chair and plunked down on it. “Come on, somethin’ happened.” 

Kobra didn’t resume typing, but he wouldn’t look at him either. “Nothin’. I was in the middle of this the other day when the demos started, so I didn’t really notice till…” He shrugged. “I didn’t like it, that’s all.” 

“I don’t get you, K,” Party said, starting to get annoyed. Of all the inconsistent… “What’s with the bike stuff, then? The racing? That shit’s loud, doesn’t that bug you too?” 

“It’s different!” Kobra protested. “Usually.” 

“What’s different about it, spit it out! What fucking gives?” Party shot back. That wasn’t an explanation. He couldn’t figure out how to keep this from happening again unless Kobra actually gave him something helpful. 

“It’s different,” Kobra repeated. 

“Fine, okay. It’s different,” Party said. Whatever. This was a dead-end argument. 

An awkward silence set up camp between them. 

“I’m in here, you know,” Kobra said suddenly. He was drumming his fingers on the top book on a stack the cover of one of the books from a stack Cherri had brought by yesterday. (Kobra might have liked comics best, but he read everything that came into the diner cover-to-cover, regardless of what it was. He retained a scary amount of it, too; he could recite whole sections of computer manuals and lists of cereal box ingredients and whatever else happened to capture his attention, it was wild. One time he’d talked Party’s ear off about the western fence lizard for two full hours before Party could get a word in edgewise.) 

“You’re in what now?” Party glanced at the spine with idle curiosity. 

Oh. 

This again. Fucking Cherri Cola, he was going to punch that guy next time he saw him. 

“K,” Party said. “We all have our breakdowns. Comes with the territory.” He gestured vaguely at the surrounding zones, at their whole lives. 

“It’s all in there. It’s all the same,” Kobra insisted. “It’s a thing.” 

“I know it’s a thing!” Party said. Kobra wasn’t listening to him; it wasn’t that severe. It couldn’t be. If it was, Party would have noticed, wouldn’t he? “But dude, just cuz you freak out one time doesn’t mean—” 

Kobra’s face had gone blank. Armor on, just like that. 

Shit. No wonder Kobra never wanted to tell him anything. Party was seriously fucking this up. 

“‘S not the first time,” Kobra said. 

Party really wished Kobra hadn’t said that. He had almost managed to forget the worse time—there had been other times, of course, more easily ignorable, times he’d chalked up to Kobra simply being moody, until now. But it was a couple years ago, the worst time. 

He still hated thinking about it. They’d been fueling up at a Dead Pegasus, unaware that the attendant had been turned, masked, until Kobra was inside the building. The shootout that had ensued as they tried to break into the locked-down station went on for what felt like weeks. In reality it had been half an hour at most, but by the time they did, the kid was a wreck. They couldn’t so much as strike a match around him for the next two days without him jumping like a scared cat. 

And that wasn’t the only part of this, anyway. Even Party knew that much. 

Early on when they’d started running the zones, every now and then he’d run into some bastard or other talking shit about Kobra and callin' him… well. Lots of things. It didn’t matter now, because Party had made sure they didn’t say it again. (And that they couldn’t pronounce anything the same anymore. Not with several teeth missing.) 

But because of that he’d been so adamant about denying anything could be atypical about his baby brother that he hadn’t been able to see it. Not even when it was staring him in the face. 

“Gods. I should’ve.... Okay,” Party said wearily. “Okay. Not just the Batt shit, then, I guess.” 

Kobra still struggled with that, the longterm effects of a too-fast withdrawal. It was a pretty common thing you saw out here—restlessness, unsteady hands, the itch to seek out other substances to numb the harsh realities of the world. (If Party had known at the time what a hellish experience going off the meds was going to be for Kobra, he would have tried to ease him off them more slowly. He couldn’t help but blame himself for that. Though to be fair, Kobra had been on such high doses that doing it gradual might not have made that much difference.) 

But those symptoms didn’t include half the stuff Kobra seemed to have going on. Even excluding other factors the kid had to deal with—the nightmares, the dark paths his mind took so easily that sucked him into black holes he couldn’t get out of on his own in a way Party would never really understand—there was this, too. 

Knowing about it, at least. Party supposed it had always been there. 

“Guess not,” said Kobra. 

Party tugged absently at a fistful of red hair. Destroya, he wished he could’ve seen it before now. Gotten a glimpse of Kobra’s file from back then or something, even once. The city doctors had never told him a damn thing, not even about his own diagnoses. Just doled out your personalized cocktail of drugs, a carefully custom-designed attempt to medicate away anything about you that didn’t hold up to their bullshit standards of better.  

“Well, the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Kobra?” he said helplessly. “I can’t fix this.” 

Kobra blanched. “It’s not a fixing thing!” 

“I know! I know that.” Bad choice of words. Party rubbed his eyes with one hand. “It’s just...I can’t help you.” 

Kobra tipped his head slightly, contemplating this. 

“Cherri helps,” he offered at last. “You help. You gave me space, this week. That helped. It’s just…till now I...” he trailed off with a self-deprecating laugh and looked down at his hands. Tried again. “Assumed it was like this for everyone. Thought I was just being a wuss about it.” 

Fuck, Kobra was determined to break Party’s heart, wasn’t he. 

“Don’t,” Party said, the taste of regret in his mouth making his voice come out gravelly. It hadn’t been an accusation, but Party had done little to convince Kobra otherwise, hadn’t he. “Don’t say that, K.” He scooted his chair closer. “Anyway, maybe you can manage easier now, knowing.” 

“I was managing fine,” Kobra said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. 

He had a point; he’d figured out a lot of good coping mechanisms on his own. Even without the help he deserved. 

It struck Party for the first time how difficult things must really be for Kobra in a place as bright and loud and dangerous as this. How much he must simply not let it show. How many things he forced himself to do just to keep up because he didn’t think he had any other choice. 

What he didn’t know was where Kobra had gotten the idea that he just had to grin and bear it. 

Except, no, he did know. Dammit. 

Well, good example or not, just because Party tried his fucking hardest to not burden anyone with his own issues didn’t mean he thought anyone else had to do the same with theirs. 

“Guess it’s not always easy,” Party said. 

Kobra scoffed, but a strange expression flickered over his face—a sort of sheepish gratefulness, almost—before he headbutted Party’s shoulder to hide it, unused to receiving any kind of validation like that from anyone, even Party. Especially Party. 

Which, shiny, made Party feel even worse, but he had no idea how to begin to apologize for it. 

He hoped this counted. Hoped Kobra would just know, like he so often did. 

“Maybe,” Kobra allowed, muffled. He ducked away quickly from the arm Party would have put around him and picked up a nearby pen to fiddle with, not actually doing anything. His face was unreadable again. 

There was something else on his mind, then. So Party stayed and waited. 

“You gonna tell the guys?” Kobra said quietly. 

Whoa, what? “Why would I do that?” Party demanded, but the back of his neck prickled. He had the feeling Kobra was getting at something Party wasn’t going to like, because that was a question with way too obvious an answer; he just couldn’t predict what the gotcha was going to be. 

Kobra was impassive, like he'd already assumed he shouldn't expect any say in the matter so he wasn’t even going to be mad about it . “You told ‘em everything else.” 

“You don’t know that!” Party snapped defensively. So that’s what Kobra’s problem was. Fine, the others could have easily guessed; Party had totally snitched, though. And yeah, maybe he had crossed a line there, but Kobra had been damn near suicidal, if not actively so, and had refused to say a word about it, not even to Party. What was Party supposed to do, not rope everyone else into the watch? “K, that was different. Desperate measures.” 

Kobra hummed. “Maybe,” he repeated. 

“Phoenix Witch, I’m not gonna tell them. Give me some credit,” Party said. Not that he had earned any. “But they should know, doncha think?” 

“No meetings,” said Kobra. 

“Oh my gods, right?” Party blurted out. Most awkward conversations in the history of the universe; if Party’d had any say in it he’d have banned family meetings from the diner years ago. “Yeah, no, those are the worst, anything but that. Be good for everyone to be on the same page, though. However you want.” 

“‘M sick of talking about it already,” grumbled Kobra, but he wasn’t disagreeing.

“It’d help, wouldn’t it?” Party persisted. “Get more people in your corner?” 

Kobra shrugged again. 

“Well, until you do, don’t expect ‘em to cut you any slack.” 

“I never wanted—” 

“—I know! I’m just sayin’. Communication and all that good shit.” Poison stood up and dusted off his jeans. “Anyhow, ‘s not that complicated.” 

Kobra shot him a glare like, What the hell would you know about it. 

“I only meant if they try to make it weird, that’s easy. Just kill ‘em,” Party was quick to clarify. “I’ll help,” he added darkly. 

Kobra stared at him for a moment, decided he was joking, and huffed a laugh. “‘Kay.” 

“I, uh. Might borrow this,” Party said, picking up the book. (Fine. Maybe he wasn’t going to punch Cola’s lights out after all.) “Seriously. Think about it. We’ll figure something out, yeah?” 

“Mm.” Kobra was already back to tapping away at his program.

Chapter Text

“Oh, did you two hear the news? You’re dead again,” Cherri said. Various members of the most famous crews died about once a month, according to the zone tabloids and less reliable gossip stations. He waved one of the zines he was sorting on the floor. 

He’d swung by the diner again to pick up a piece of equipment Jet was done borrowing, and had kind of forgotten to leave. It was past sundown now, so he guessed he was staying the night. Unless Poison kicked him out, which, for once, didn’t seem likely. It was only a couple weeks since he’d been there, but Poison didn’t seem pissed with him anymore, for some reason. 

“Dead again!” Poison crowed, bounding over to fistbump Kobra, who was lounged out on the couch messing with his cube puzzle. “Twice in one week. Think it’s a record?” 

“How could we have died again?” Kobra wanted to know, freeing a hand to return the fistbump. “We didn’t even leave the diner.” 

“Well, maybe that’s why,” Cherri said. “Nobody’s seen you, so they have to make stuff up. I’ll set the record straight next broadcast, though Doc’ll probably beat me to it.” 

“What’s it say?” The Girl peered over Cherri’s shoulder. 

“Don’t read it to her!” Jet called from the kitchen. “She should be able to.”

“Alrighty then. You tell me,” Cherri challenged the Girl, handing over the zine. 

She squinted at the headline. “Ven...Venom Brothers...Dusted In He...Herroc…”

“Heroic,” Cherri prompted. 

“Heroic… Clap With Fourteen Ex...Exterminators!” 

Cherri was pretty sure that last one was a guess, but she was right. “Nice job, genius!” 

The Girl wrinkled her nose up. “That’s not a lot. I think they could’ve won.” 

“Let’s hope we don’t need to find out,” Poison said hastily. 

Bored already, the Girl wandered over to the couch. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s s’posed to be all one color on each side,” Kobra said, scrambling his cube up. 

“Why?” 

“I dunno. Because. Time me?” He nodded at a battered sportswatch on the armrest. “I got down to 2:03 last.” 

“Okay!” The Girl pushed some buttons. “Ready, set? Go!” 

Kobra set to work, quick and methodical. 

Ghoul, happening to walk by, stopped in his tracks to observe in total consternation. 

Then he dismissed the feat with a snort and moved on. “You are such a freak.” 

“Thanks, it’s the autism,” Kobra said dryly without missing a beat, making Ghoul stop in his tracks again. 

Cherri blinked. Okay, not how he’d guessed Kobra would opt to bring that up. Poison looked surprised too, but he didn’t say anything. 

Ghoul turned back around. “Not funny, kid—” he began, thinking Kobra was making an off-color joke, and broke off. 

Then he stared blankly at Kobra, because Kobra’s face had gone blank too, like he’d just realized what had come out of his own mouth himself. His fingers froze on the cube. 

“What?” said Ghoul. 

“What?” said Kobra. 

From the kitchen came the sound of Jet fumbling for something he’d almost dropped. 

Ghoul glanced to Poison for help; Poison just cocked an eyebrow back at him like, So?

The Girl was silent, watching the exchange warily, unsure why the room had abruptly taken on such a somber atmosphere. 

Ghoul let out a self-conscious laugh, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him. “Damn, kid. You can’t just…damn. You could have said something.” 

“Just did,” Kobra said, a bit crossly. He probably got that one a lot. 

Touche. Ghoul nodded, and wandered over to the nearest window to look out of it even though it was pitch dark and there was literally nothing to see. He rubbed a tattooed hand over his face and through his grimy black hair with growing dismay. 

“Phoenix, Kobra,” he said with another uncomfortable laugh. “You let me give you so much shit…” 

(He wasn’t just referring to the freak comment moments before; everyone knew that was just Ghoul-speak for being secretly impressed. Ghoul couldn’t give an earnest compliment to save his life; they always had to be disguised as insults or he would spontaneously combust, or something.) 

In the kitchen passthrough window Cherri could see Jet having a similar crisis, dish forgotten in his hand. 

“I know,” Kobra said. He threw his cube at Ghoul. “It’s our thing.” 

The Girl came over to Cherri and he automatically pulled her onto his knee. 

“Are they fighting?” she asked him, not taking her eyes off the guys. “What are they talking about?” 

“Mm. Better ask him, doncha think?” Cherri said. 

Ghoul had been quiet for a long moment, giving the puzzle a few experimental twists. 

“If you say it is, kid,” he said finally, and looked up. “Think you can do 1:50?” 

“You’re on.” Kobra made a grabby hand at him. “Gimme.” 

Ghoul tossed it back, and Kobra started his timer again. 

The Girl slid off Cherri’s lap before Cherri could stop her—he hadn’t meant now —and ran back over to Kobra to whisper something in his ear. 

Kobra’s expression went blank again. “Oh,” he said, mentally floundering for a moment. “Uh. Brain thing. That’s all.” 

The Girl grabbed his face with both hands to inspect his skull solemnly. “Another one? Looks fine to me.” 

“‘S not outside,” Kobra said, patiently submitting to the examination with a hint of a fond smile. 

The Girl’s brows knitted together a little. “Does it hurt?” 

“Girlie, don’t pester ‘im,” Poison warned from across the room. 

“‘S okay, Party,” Kobra said. “Um. Sometimes? But not like...not like regular.” 

“Huh?” 

“Um.” Kobra studied her thoughtfully. “Everything’s too much all at once, sometimes. And some stuff’s harder to understand. That’s the not-nice parts. ’S not a bad thing to be, though,” he added, as an afterthought. “Just… is.” 

“Why?” 

“Itshay, I dunno. Wired that way, I guess. Lots’a people have… unusual wiring.” Kobra stole a glance at Cherri. “Sometimes you get ‘em later, though. Those can be bad.” 

Fair enough. 

“Like what?” the Girl persisted. 

Six-year-olds and their insatiable curiosity. Poison looked like he was about to tell her to knock it off again, or at least loudly change the subject of conversation to another topic, but Kobra just smirked. 

“Oh there’s lots,” he said, looking past the Girl to give Ghoul a pointed stare. “For instance, pyromania—” 

“Ey! Shut it, Snake Boy, or I’ll set you on fire,” Ghoul said, but his laugh came easily this time. Let no one say Kobra couldn’t hold his own and give back as good as he got. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own height?” 

“Whoa whoawhoa,” said Jet with a grin, who had ducked out of the kitchen for a moment to fetch something, and put his hands up defensively when Kobra locked his eyes onto him with a musing, predatory hum. “Leave me out of this.” 

“You better stay on your best behavior, hombre, or we’ll pin one on you yet!” Kobra yelled after Jet as he beat a hasty retreat. It was a running joke at the diner, how suspiciously well-adjusted Jet was. 

The Girl giggled. “You too?” She was looking at Cherri. 

Cherri made a show of considering the question. “Is there one that just means pretty thoroughly screwed up in general?” 

“Ah, that’d be Pretty Thoroughly Screwed Up In General Syndrome,” Kobra said sagely. “Here, done.” He tossed Cherri the cube for him to mess up again. 

“Even you?” the Girl turned her scrutiny onto Poison. 

“Yep,” Poison said cheerfully, hoisting her up. “Haven’t you noticed? Tragic case of Scaredy-Pantsed Little Bitch Disease, right here.” 

“Party!” Jet chided from the kitchen, and not just because of the swear. But he was laughing, too. 

“That’s a jar word,” the Girl informed Poison, nose to nose with him. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Poison shifted her to one hip so he could dig around for a spare carbon. “Can ya make it from this far out?” 

“You know I can.” 

Poison gave the Girl a coin, and she took aim and made the throw. It landed squarely in the jar on the counter, to impressed applause. Cherri came over for a high five. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” the Girl said loftily, giving his palm a loud slap. “I get a lot of practice.” 

Poison chuckled. “You ain’t wrong there.” He pretended to start hauling her toward the bedrooms. “Enough questions for tonight, it’s shuteye time.” 

The Girl shrieked and kicked. “Nooo! Bedtime routine, you forgot!” 

“Bedtime routine?” Poison pretended not to know what she was talking about, even as he started to make the rounds with her still on his hip. “We still doin’ that?” 

Ghoul stood on his tiptoes to give her a kiss on the forehead. Poison walked over to the couch, and the Girl leaned down so Kobra could do the same. 

Cherri watched in fascination. He was still baffled at how Poison's demeanor completely shifted when he was around the Girl, gentle and good-humored. The duality of man. 

However strange it was to see the notoriously tough crew so solemnly performing the domestic ritual, it was a nice tradition, he supposed. Especially when any one of these nights could be the last. 

“Not too old for it yet, huh?” Poison continued with a grunt, boosting her to keep her from slipping down and giving her a loud smooch of his own. Cherri snuck a kiss in too as they went by him on their way to the kitchen. “Almost too heavy, though. Here, Jet, take the whippersnapper, she’s near big as I am. You’re officially on bedtime routine duty after this.” 

Jet accepted her from him easily with one arm and kissed her brown sun-freckled cheek. “Morning comes early, corazoncita. Say goodnight.” 

“Night,” the Girl said gloomily to the room at large, somewhat placated but still none too pleased about having to go to sleep already, even though it was long past her bedtime and the fun was beginning to wind down anyway. 

Jet carted her back across the dining area, passing behind the couch, and in passing placed a big gentle hand briefly on top of Kobra’s head—a wordless gesture of apology and support—before taking the Girl down the hall. Kobra stilled at the touch, and he bit his lip to hide a tiny smile. 

It must be a rare and special habit of Jet’s for it to garner that kind of reaction from Kobra. It was a precious moment, one Cherri would have missed if he’d blinked, and he had to contain a smile himself. 

He caught Kobra’s eye and raised his brows at him a little. Not so bad, huh? Especially for being kind of an accident. 

Kobra shrugged, and Cherri tossed him his cube back.