for the uhh v-day drabble thing,,,, i think i would enjoy a 2bhank,, i think they deserve a little festiveness to distract them from their laundry list of mental health issues

Hank always appreciates being left to their own devices.

Days where 2BDamned didn't have a laundry list of things for them to do were few and far between. They'd taken it upon themselves to leave the base they shared with him and the others, traversing the Nevadean wasteland as if they were on some kind of mission after all. They weren't. (Unless buying a hot dog from the stand down the way and venturing into random abandoned buildings in search of nothing in particular was a mission, which it wasn't.)

They return to base a few hours later, however they don't immediately make their way indoors. Instead, they stalk the building's perimeter as if it isn't their own residence. Now that they think of it, they've never really looked at this place closely from the outside before. Drab, bulky, grey. Huh. It kind of looks like them.

They continue circling, like a shark that's picked up the scent of blood in the water. Hank stops when presented with a large set of windows. Leaning in only slightly, they peer inside, despite knowing for certain what they'd see within.

2BDamned sits at his office desk. He's got all of his attention at his computer, tapping away at the keyboard deftly. He doesn't appear to notice they're there.

For someone who touted so proudly that he knew everything before anyone else ever could, he's paying a risky lack of attention to the spot they currently occupy. The agency or worse could burst through this glass and gun him down, and he would be entirely unprepared for it. Unless his office is rigged so that glass breaking automatically deploys some kind of crazy arsenal onslaught that'd kill anybody responsible. Yeah, that sounds like Doc.

Hank feels daring. They rap the back of their knuckles on the glass, then immediately slip out of sight. There's no hearing what happens inside of the base, seeing as it's as soundly secure as anywhere in this environment can be. It leaves them wondering what he could be up to in retaliation, hands shaking in excitement as the options run through their mind. They lay in wait for a few minutes. No sign of 2BDamned is seen or heard.

Trembling fingers rest gently against the glass. 2BDamned almost looks as though he hasn't moved. He seems a bit more alert, sitting up straighter, yet he might not have even taken attention away from his screen.

They tap again, then lower themselves down. They crouch beneath the window and press their back tight to the wall. Immediately showing up guns blazing isn't like him, but neither is doing nothing at all. Maybe something is wrong with him? If it is, he shouldn't be unguarded. How dare he not be as alert as he should be at a moment like this? Hank thumps their head against the concrete so hard it makes them dizzy for a moment, and this time it isn't in plea for his attention, it's in frustration. They'll show him what'll happen if he slacks while they aren't home, they'll break into his office themselves just to show how easy it is to do it and teach him a lesson--

Their communication device vibrates in their pocket. It snaps them out of their spiral, if only for a moment. Reading the message they've received makes all tension drop.

2BDAMNED: WILL YOU STOP SCREWING AROUND? I CAN SEE YOU ON THE CAMERAS. GET YOUR ASS INSIDE ALREADY.

Right.. the cameras. That's why he wasn't responding. Of course.

Seeing back in, 2BDamned is looking at them now. He waves his hand in a circle as if telling them to get on with it.

They press their hands against the glass harder than they had previous, threatening. His hands, in turn, rush to type them another message.

2BDAMNED: IF YOU BREAK THAT GODDAMN WINDOW I WILL STITCH YOU TOGETHER BACKWARDS.

Hank wonders if that's a promise. They watch him closely, squinting, desperate to catch a glimpse of his eyes widening beneath his goggles.

oh..! those eyelashes are comically large, you weren't kidding.

mister cowboy, huh.. sheriff is one of those characters i think i would be much more focused on if i took more time to study him. i do want to get around to him eventually, as i do with everyone in this nevadean nightmare, i just had a few other projects to shove at before i found the time. OTL even now i'm not 100% on all his little details, but you asked for my thoughts, not for me to do research. i do have some of those!

funnily enough, when i think about the sheriff, i actually think about him most before all of the nexus and jebediah mumbo jumbo. my favorite concept of him is when he was in his mattress man days, i really love this vision of this big hairy guy in the cowboy outfit with the boots and the hat talking about how you better get on down to sheriff's mattress ranch for deals that can't be corralled! or, uh.. something like that. it's super cute to me. i've made a post here or there about watching his ads on a little crt tv.

i do believe he was very into this concept and was proud of what he'd made of that business! back then he was such a gentle man, the kind that would give you the shirt off his back if you asked him for it and wouldn't assume you'd do him wrong. you can't afford the entire cost of this mattress today? "aw, no problem partner, i'll knock 50 bucks off it for ya, how's that sound?" what a dear. if only he could've stayed that soft.

dealing with nexus changed sheriff in every way imaginable. that generosity was his downfall in a sense, being that it's some of what led him into giving assistance to jebediah, but i think he also had this feeling that if he didn't help out the world spiraling downward would be his fault. mister officer i am so sorry about the way that accepting jebediah's offer still did not absolve you of that guilt and you felt that way anyhow.

he can act much more prideful than he is, placing on this confident bravado that sits nicely with the star-shaped badge on his coat, although it doesn't sit very nicely in his mind when he's only sharing company with a bottle of whiskey. sheriff is actually acutely aware that he is not cut out to lead MERC or to lead much of anything beyond a small business, he just has no choice otherwise and hasn't since jebediah approached him. in the world he lives in, you cannot appear unsure of yourself, especially in such a powerful position, unless you desperately want to end up dead. (and he considers that he might, sometimes. if he empties that bottle and really sits with it.)

i wouldn't exactly call him a coward, sheriff does make attempts. he's not the bravest man around by any means of course, however he does feel a strong sense of justice and responsibility for those under and around him. the catch is that he's also just selfish enough now to send them in his place when he can.. even if the shame and remorse crushes him in the aftermath, he still feels scared to die, so scared that those other emotions are conceptually easier to deal with.

"but didn't you just say he might want to die sometimes two seconds ago?" yeah. it's possible to simultaneously be suicidal and scared of death, sheriff is a man that can do both. nevada is probably the least sensible place to be afraid of dying, when coming back is so easy, but going through the other place or your own personalized hell to return is also pretty scary! sheriff would rather handle the burden of leadership and feel miserable about it than go through that. i can see that making him pretty hesitant to even attempt recovering any of his fallen men, especially after he did die and have to experience his greatest fear. it didn't make him any less terrified, if anything it justified those nerves.

he's such a contradictory do as i say and not as i do type of person and that's what makes him so interesting. he's lost his certainty these days and can't confidently know what to say or do to begin with. riding that horrible metronome makes him motion sick and he hates it, he just can't get off the ride (and even if he tried, he'd be glued there anyhow). he's a shell of what he used to be, and he knows it. he misses his old self and his old life. he'll stare in the mirror at the way he's dropped an uncomfortable amount of weight and his hair has thinned and feel so many complicated things. he doesn't know what to do with himself.

of course it's not to say he's nothing but a pathetic meow meow, sheriff does have his skills! he's a fantastic gunman! he does take exceptional care of his men (aside from the sacrifices to save his own skin)! he's far from the best leader, but he's really not the worst either. he's exhausted but he will press on. he's functionally miserable, but he will defend himself. there's still a lot to admire about him, and he does earn the respect of others through it. it gets on my nerves just a little when sheriff is reduced to this one-note scaredy cat doormat character, or when he's portrayed too powerfully.. he walks the line of those things.

In hindsight, Deimos probably should listen to people who choose the courtesy of warning him about frightening appearances. He doesn't consider himself someone easily scared by any means, not with everything he's been through, but that doesn't mean seeing a guy with eyes like that isn't.. jarring, to say the least.

Jebediah Christoff has a thousand yard stare. His eyes look less like eyes and more like holes that were blown into his face, red as the sky and deeply unsettling. What Deimos feels isn't exactly fear, moreso plain discomfort, and despite wearing that on his face where Jebediah can (assumingly, at least) see it clearly, he still tries his best to salvage this conversation and not make himself look like a prick. Jebediah overhearing his surprised cursing and meeting him with a completely serious correction doesn't set that mission off on the right foot at all.

"No, man, uh," Deimos stammers, still unable to wipe that look of unease off himself, "You're.. you're good, dude, it ain't that bad."

Jebediah's brow furrows. Deimos momentarily frets if he's been found out. When Jebediah speaks, it's uncharacteristically soft. "Is that so?" Deimos immediately nods at him, movement overloaded with enthusiasm to compensate.

"No, yeah— no big deal bud, don't even sweat it. You're fine, but, uhh.. don't it hurt to look 'round without your shades? I mean, ya always got 'em on from what I seen, ain't it bright out here without 'em?"

Pauses in conversation with Jebediah feel like they last hours every time, even if in reality they are mere seconds. Eventually, he makes a little "hmph" noise and slides his sunglasses back on. "Yes. It does cause some strain." Deimos relaxes at that, relief washing over.

"Hey, they make ya look cool n' secretive n' allat shit. No harm no foul."

Jebediah scoffs, "I care not for if they make me look any certain way.."

Clearly he does, if he was worried about being unsightly. Deimos doesn't say that to him, though, he'll let the man hold some dignity.

In turn, Jebediah doesn't say anything about the peculiar feeling that spreads through him after what he finds vile within himself isn't met with horror. It's uncomfortable and sits in his stomach, heavy as a rock. He does momentarily wonder what that is supposed to mean, not entirely disliking the sensation yet not welcoming it either. He listens as Deimos continues to chatter about other things, taking in his words quietly as the warmth settles into his bones.

Jebediah Christoff awakens in the company of one of his most hated acquaintances. He's disoriented, uncomfortable, and vaguely pissed off. Vaguely shifts to moderately at best when the first sound he registers is the incessant clattering of a keyboard, immediately making his pounding headache shoot from a 3 to a 7 on the pain scale. He doesn't recognize this place, and it's near impossible to with how dark it is-- seriously, was 2BDamned lying when he talked about being so wealthy? Can he not afford overhead lighting?

Sitting up to survey his surroundings better causes a searing ache to rip through his abdomen. He grits his teeth and chokes down a noise, exhaling deeply and glaring daggers down into.. what should be his clothes, but isn't. The concept of 2BDamned using him like a dress-up doll is vomit-inducing, and he's sure he will throw up about it later. He's got half a mind to keep thinking about it until he does, just so 2BDamned has to deal with more inconvenience.

"Good morning to you, too."

Jebediah does not want to look at him, not ever, but especially not now. Against his better judgment he does twist to do so, making him splutter out another strained sound. 2BDamned isn't even bothering to return the sentiment, still boring holes into his computer screen.

"Doc." hissed with as much vitriol as he can muster in this state, "What.. absolutely foolish excuse for a situation is this? What have you wrought now?"

That catches 2BDamned's attention enough for him to spare Jebediah a glance. "You looked like you needed a hand."

"Oh, is that so? Did I ask that of you? Did I ask you to take me to your hovel that you call a base and lay those filthy hands upon me on your underground operation table, you boorish son of a--"

"You were dead." 2BDamned says it so plainly, as if he were talking about the weather. "You were dead, and now you're not. Congratulations."

A tidal wave of emotion hits Jebediah so hard he nearly falls off of the table. 2BDamned is nothing if not calculating, his actions are nothing if not evil. Being revived by him surely registers as some sort of debt in his mind, a move that deserves repayment. Anything he would want from Jebediah, Jebediah would rather die than give to him.

He moves to sit up, and then to stand. His body roars in agony and he refuses to listen, planting his feet firmly on the ground and turning his back to the medic that saved his life without permission.

"You will never lay hand on me again, Doc."

"Are you saying you'd rather I left you to die?"

"Yes."

2BDamned shrugs, eyes moving back to his monitor. "Okey-dokey. Next time I see you collapsed unmoving in a puddle of your own blood, I'll keep walking."

Jebediah refuses to dignify that possibility with a response. Somewhere he desires to come to his own defense, ensuring that such a circumstance would never and could never happen again, not to him, but an awareness of how little that'd do to plead his case keeps his mouth closed.

Part of him almost feels as though he should thank 2BDamned for his efforts (heavy on the "almost" of course, he's nowhere near a good enough man to express gratitude in that way). Even with deep dark intentions, him being alive is sort of pertinent to his goals. Inadvertently, it did serve to assist him.

Doc doesn't deserve credit for anything he's ever done, he reminds himself as he trudges towards the exit with staggered heavy steps.

"You're welcome, Jebediah."

ahh.. these two.. i think they really prove to me that there is no such thing as a straightforward regular relationship among anybody in sq, if not in the entirety of the state of nevada. if you know where i can find one.. don't bother showing me, i like whatever is wrong with these guys more.

sq is a group of people that holds connections that bloom over time, there is no immediate sense of camaraderie or understanding among them.. sanford and deimos came closest to obtaining that at their first meeting, but that doesn't mean they were there, you know? they're all kind of thrust into these various situations happening to involve one another, and for a long while that coincidental time spent together is the only thing tethering them at all. it's ages until they tolerate (much less like) the others they're holed up with. hank and sanford aren't any different.

fostering a connection between the two of them is especially difficult, probably the most strained of all aside from sanford and 2b.. and that's only because sanford has a burning hatred for 2b that lasts eons, but we'll touch on that later. sanford and hank are both naturally quiet and standoffish people. yes, i hear you, "but sanford is so chatty and rowdy in mpn!" i think that's a side of him that comes out in time when he is comfortable. ahead of when it does, he's a very get in get out kind of guy. and we already know about hank.. if you put these two in a room together they'd probably just stare at each other silently for a while. you remember that part in mpn where hank asks if sanford is the funny one? imagine that's the tone of every interaction. it's awkward and clunky and neither of them enjoy it.

if they were to have spoken to each other more in those early days, i think they would have got on well. they know how to do their jobs and mutually respect one another for that. sanford would probably have seen traits of deimos in hank, their snappy quips and so on.. for a while, their relationship was strictly we work together. you kill stuff good. nice job not being a fuckup.

remember how i said we'd touch on sanford and 2b later? i think if hank weren't the direct sort of.. victim(? that feels like a strong word) of 2b's selfishness, they would have had at least a slightly easier time getting along. it takes sanford some intense time to not view 2b as someone outwardly bad; not that he's all sunshine and rainbows either, he tortures people, but at least that holds purpose, he doesn't do that because he wants to or because it fulfills some particular weird goal of his.. most times. still, when it is because he wants to, they deserve it. and he has the decency to kill them at the end of it. he wouldn't make hank walk around with a scrap jaw they can barely use. it's uncomfortably inhumane, and things have to be a special kind of fucked up for him to feel that way.

but hank, the poor sap, they don't see things in that logical sense. in order for them to do that they'd have to perceive themselves as a human person deserving of humane treatment, and that's already been long impossible for them even before they lost their jaw. unfortunately as it is, by the time they're being seen for regular checkups for that jaw, they've already taken a liking to doc. 2b doing these checkups, giving them that prosthetic at all.. it's a new special level of care to hank, and they don't fully understand why sanford would be upset about it. yeah, the metal scrap really fucking sucks, but all of this really fucking sucks. it doesn't make much difference. at least they can say 2b tries for them. (leave it to him to mess up connections he's not even a part of. you impress me every day, doc 2bdamned.)

eventually, when sanford does see more to 2b, it does inadvertently lead to him seeing more to hank as well. hank doesn't view themselves as someone done wrong and it isn't out of naivety, it's because of the life they lead. being with 2b seems to do some strangely good things for them, malpractice aside. he still can't say he wholly agrees with what 2b has done to them, he probably never will, but if hank doesn't have an issue there it's.. maybe not his business? he doesn't really know. starting to like doc puts him at an even weirder position with hank that he just has to try not to read too hard into. he'd rather try his own hand at doing what 2b fails to, and that's treating hank like a person. he'll treat them like he cares, because he does.

hank is like a zed. unless you land an awfully lucky shot just the right way, they will get up and kill. sanford is similarly hardy and that makes hank see a lot of potential in him. they like working with him on the field, the two of them make a pretty unbeatable team. that aside, i think hank has sanford and deimos on the same tier in their mind that's very.. "you are the closest things to friends life has ever allowed me." they feel care for others in really strange ways and are bad at expressing it. they show feelings by way of what are "normal" actions to regular well-adjusted people, things like listening when others talk. it's actually really hard for me to put to words what they feel, because unless it involves 2b, hank struggles to feel. i think they want to do it, though, for the guys they'd never be caught calling friends but who effectively fill that role in their life.

Jebediah Christoff is not one who knows how to handle his mistakes. He's made an unhealthy habit of walking away from them, ignoring the elephant in the room when he does have to come face to face with anyone he's wronged.

It's unfortunate for him when the elephant escapes its enclosure and becomes not only capable, but deft when it comes to picking him out of a crowd.

"Christoff! Christoff!" he tries to ignore the noise to the best of his ability, stomach already forming tight knots as it always did upon hearing the clown speak. If he listens hard enough he knows he can still hear his old companion through the mangled vocals. He doesn't dare to try. "Aww, c'mon, Christoff, this is a good one!"

Against his better judgment, Jebediah stops in place. He looks up at said clown, Tricky perched atop some nearby ruins with its trusty stopsign clutched in its hand.

"You know what rhymes with "savior", but suits you way better?"

Jebediah gives it a tired look, frowning deeply. "This is a piss-poor setup, Hofnarr." the name burns as it leaves his tongue, as it tends to when ascribed to a metal hockey mask and large unkempt tufts of orange.

"Traitor!" Tricky laughs uproariously at its own joke, at Jebediah's expense. Jebediah's hands curl into fists at his sides, the halo atop his head crackles. "Did that make you angry? You wanna play, Christoff?!" Tricky holds tighter to its signpost, still laughing between words.

No. I want you to go away, and come closer, and stop talking nonsense and talk until my ears bleed. You make me sick. I miss you.

oh.. you mean this guy?

ehe.. i like this guy. i like this guy quite a lot. something about the sharpness it adds to him, literally and metaphorically.. 2b has some edge to himself on a regular day, this MAG design really puts that front and center and i'm kind of obsessed. it's like that commanding feel he possesses took the driver's seat. swoon..

i find it interesting how similar he looks to his normal self.. of course hank's very fucked up MAG experience isn't the usual, but it's a fun duality between them. it really is very much so 2b but enhanced. giving him that one sharp horn (?) is such a good touch, you just know he'll impale somebody on that if they fuck with him. i love his mohawk being longer, and the somehow even fluffier collar!! mr. k really said make him softer!! gap! i love a good 2b gap..!!!

clears my throat. anyhow.

the characterization in this image is so near and dear to me.. maybe even a bit more than the design itself, because i'm a freak. him having not one but two hanks, having gone to the effort of tying their tassels together so he can hassle both at the same time. he's reeling back to launch them halfway across nevada! it's like he got MAGnified then went.. how can i get back at this little shit for all the hell i go through for them? it's so funny and accurate to him, he's ridiculous like that.

Sometimes, Deimos does things that make him accidentally feel like the biggest jerk in the entire state of Nevada purely by the grace of his own stupidity. Today, that thing is being just dense enough to not understand Hank's attempts at communication. He's still working on learning sign for them, having 2BDamned teach him what he can when he can, but he's far from fluent.

When they make a few signs at him, he blinks at them stupidly, cigarette hanging from his mouth even when his lips part to make an equally stupid response of "Uhh.. don't.. think we got to that one yet, big guy."

Hank doesn't seem too perturbed. Instead, they hold their fingers up to their mangled jaw, appearing as if they're mimicking his smoking. "Oh, shit-- is-- does it bother ya? I can put it out.." Hank exhales in a low growl, shaking their head. They point to themselves, then repeat the motion, vocal chords crackling to life the best they're able.

"Give.. ci--ette."

"Huh?"

"Cig--ar--ette."

Deimos is silent for a few moments as the gears turn. Eventually, he perks up. "Oh! Oh-- fuck, dude, you want one?" Hank nods at him, holding a large hand out and making a come hither motion with their fingers. Deimos obliges, shuffling through his pockets until he finds his pack, pulling one out and placing it in Hank's palm. "Ain't even known ya smoked, bud.." Hank shrugs a shoulder as if to say they didn't know either. "Ya gonna need a light?" They nod.

Hank leans down after placing the cigarette between the jagged spikes of their lower jaw. Deimos makes a motion not unlike snapping his fingers, Hank's eyes locked on the flame licking at his thumb as he reaches close enough to light them up. He shakes his hand as he pulls back. They inhale and exhale slowly.

"Oh, that?" Deimos asks, noticing where their attention had gone. "Heh, don't worry 'bout that. Just a little party trick, y'know? Ford was sayin' if he had this kinda thing goin' on half a Nevada would be ash by now, n' I believe him!" he snickers, huffing out smoke. Hank nods again, their way of saying they don't doubt it either. "Seriously though, all ya had to do was ask."