Kobra and Sandman learn a little more about each other

For what it's worth, Kobra was trying. But trying doesn't mean that you succeed. Trying means failing again and again until hopefully something goes right. Trying is a never ending process of failing.

They tried, but it seemed like they failed every time. Every single time.

Trying to calm Party down? Fail.

Trying to work up the courage to finally ask your crush out? Fail.

Trying to be there when people needed you? Fail.

Kobra had grown up in Battery City with Party. There, he was taught to keep his head down and his emotions silenced. Nothing but pure mind-numbing emptiness. And that stuck with him for what felt like an eternity. The eternity hasn't stopped.

The desert brought freedom. It let Kobra be themself, it let them live how they wanted. But the main obstacle was them.

Kobra was still handicapped by some of BL/ind's programming. Don't raise his voice, don't draw attention to himself. If he was invisible, everyone was happy. Party didn't seem to have the same handicaps as Kobra. They were fine being the loudest fucker in the desert. They lived for attention. Kobra didn't.

It was ironic really. The two siblings who grew up together, the two siblings who seemed like perfect replicas of each other. The two siblings that changed when they ran away. One flaunted their freedom, the other let the desert take its course.

Kobra had always been the better listener. Party was the sibling that had to deal with rehabilitation. One fit the mold, the other had to be forced.

Out in the desert, it was a different story. Kobra was too quiet, too obedient, too... BL/ind. Party was able to shake off the rehabilitation after enough time. Kobra was the one that still had BL/ind orders ingrained in them, and they didn't have to go through the torture that was rehabilitation.

In the desert, Party was the one that fit. Like they were born for the desert. In the desert, Party was confident. In the desert, Party was the leader. They were a good leader too. In the desert, Party had a good facade.

Kobra knew that Party was hurting inside. Call it brother's intuition, call it the ability to read his sibling from years of forced exposure. Either way, something was wrong with them. Yet it wasn't only Party. Ghoul grew increasingly worried, Jet was breaking inside, and The Girl– The Girl was trying to piece them all back together again.

Not that Kobra didn't want to help them, he just didn't know how. He wasn't a feely person; an open emotions, wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve kind of person. He preferred to figure things out on his own, which was expected and enforced in Battery City.

But Battery City was nothing more than a distant memory. A glimpse of a different life, a life that died in the zones. But how much of Kobra Kid was left in the city? How much did they have to sacrifice?

That's what made the desert hard for them. Kobra never learned how to share emotions. They had always learned to keep them locked away for no one to see.

Watching as Jet guided The Girl outside and as Ghoul dragged Party away, Kobra never felt more alone. Melancholy felt like an accurate term for his emotions, but it didn't fit quite right. Nothing ever did.

Rolling his motorcycle out, Kobra glanced over his shoulder at the Trans Am. Party stared right back, pointedly ignoring Ghoul. Kobra risked a glance at the roof, seeing Jet and The Girl sitting on the edge, swinging their feet.

Shaking the hair out of their eyes, Kobra put their helmet on. Swinging a leg over their motorcycle, they revved the engine. Speeding off towards the Suitehearts, they didn't look back.

Riding through Zone Three, Kobra relished the peace that riding brought. They were able to think; the only sounds were the steady rumbling of the engine and the wind whipping past. The darkened sky above granted Kobra isolation from the rest of the desert.

If he stared hard enough, he could see faint lights in the distance: The Suitehearts.

The Suitehearts were well known. Maybe not as well known as The Fabulous Four, but still very well known. But they were mostly known because they were close with The Fabulous Four. The two crews could often be found doing runs together, or just hanging out around The Market.

Donnie the Catcher, Horseshoe Crab, Dr. Benzedrine, and Mr. Sandman. The Suitehearts.

Two of them were outside their little base when Kobra pulled up. Donnie and Horseshoe gave small waves as Kobra parked his motorbike next to the lineup before continuing with their conversation.

"I'm just saying," Horseshoe murmured, "They need a little nudge, the idiots." Donnie hummed in agreement, eyes following Kobra to the door.

Giving the two a nod of acknowledgement, Kobra knocked on the door. They were standing at the door for no more than fifteen seconds before it swung open, a giddy Sandman in the doorway. He jumped at Kobra, tackling them in a hug.

"You asshole!" He shouted, voice ringing through the silence of the darkened desert. "You scared me!"

Snorting, Kobra pushed past them into the main room of their base. "Yeah, like you weren't waiting at the door for me to show up."

"Who says I was?"

"Probably Donnie, if I asked," Kobra mused,

"Well Donnie's omniscient, so that doesn't count," Sandman pouted.

"So you admit it!" Kobra shouted, immediately wincing at the volume. The loud statement rang through the room, slinking it's way out into the rest of the base.

"Oh fuck you!" Sandman yelled back, unabashed.

Kobra wanted to be a flirt and/or smartass and reply with "you wish," but the rebuff died on his tongue. He found himself avoiding Sandman's eyes, gazing solemnly at the door that he had just walked through.

"Ha!" Sandman laughed as he jumped on Kobra, causing them to stumble and lose their balance, resulting in the two of them falling ungracefully on the ratty couch. The two of them sat, awkwardly sprawled, enjoying each other's presence.

Another shout rang through the house. "You fuckers woke me up!"

Startled, Kobra jumped, knocking Sandman's head. "Sorry," they murmured, not sure that Sandman even heard them.

"Oh but you know you love me, Bennie!" Sandman shouted back giving no clue to whether he did or not.

"Fuck both of you! I'm going out!" Dr. Benzedrine blazed through the room, their bright yellow outfit drawing Kobra's attention immediately.

Laughing, Sandman pressed a kiss to Kobra's cheek before yelling, "See ya, Bennie!"

Kobra didn't have time to process before he was being shuttled away by Sandman. Through a different door and into the room the Benzedrine had previously occupied. Inside were two old rickety beds, one of them with sheets that had hastily been thrown off – Benzedrine's – and the other was messily made. Despite the old furniture, the room was surprisingly lively. Knicknacks lined the spot where the walls met the floor, covering up the cracked paint. A mismatch of old, scavenged, and traded paintings lined the walls.

Paintings were the only things left over from the Helium Wars. The rare relics of a time before BL/ind, they were treasured by the desert inhabitants. Some were recreated, but most were lost forever.

Sandman flopped onto the unmade bed, dragging Kobra next to them. Kobra landed on top of the shorter 'Joy, making them let out an unapologetic "Oof." Quickly scrambling off of them, Kobra manoeuvered himself next to the miniscule Killjoy.

"Y'know," Sandman started, staring at the ceiling, "We never really talk."

"We talk all the time." Kobra said stoically, glancing at Sandman.

"I mean talk about our feelings," Sandman amended.

Kobra didn't say anything. It was true, after all; the two of them tended to avoid emotional exchanges in exchange for chaotic happiness. Chaotic happiness that often died out and left them feeling empty.

"I guess not."

The barren ceiling did nothing to calm Kobra's nerves, and Kobra's silence did nothing to dissuade Sandman's words.

"Yeah, like, Bennie? Bennie who stormed out?"

"Benzedrine?" Kobra clarified.

"Yeah, Bennie, Benzedrine; anyways, Bennie's always talking about their feelings, like when they feel alone and that kinda stuff. It helps 'em. To talk about it, I mean. I guess in a 'let it all out' way."

"Does it?" Kobra asked, skeptical.

"It helps them," Sandman shifted, pressing against Kobra. "Although we're all shitty therapists, we make it work for them."

"Is there a point to this." Kobra couldn't work up the courage to put an arm around Sandman, no matter how much he wanted to.

"It's just... just that you never talk about how you feel, and I know for a fact that you don't tell the rest of your crew beca–" Kobra cut them off.

"Hey, I talk to the rest of my crew!" Excuses, excuses. One day they would fall around him and bury him in their depths. Slowly crawling into a hole that Kobra would never be able to climb out of again.

"Don't you fucking dare, no one even knows what you're thinkin' half th' fuckin' time!"

Abruptly scrambling off the bed, Kobra glared at Sandman. "Maybe I don't want people knowing what I think."

Sitting up, Sandman faced Kobra while letting out a harsh laugh. "A lotta good that does you. One day, you're gonna fuckin' die in the desert and no one'll know what the fuck was going on in that secluded head'a yours."

"There are things that I don't want anyone knowing." Excuse.

Swinging their legs off the bed, Sandman met Kobra's glare. "We're friends, right Kobra?"

I wish we could be so much more. "Of course."

"But I barely know anything 'bout you." Sandman ran a hand through his hair.

Abruptly plopping down on the bed opposite Sandman, Kobra tucked their knees up, feet resting on the bed frame. Hugging their legs, they started to speak.

"It's hard," they started, "It's hard because it's who I am. Life with BL/ind is far, far, different from life in the desert."

"You were raised in the city?" Sandman hesitantly questioned.

"Yeah," Kobra sighed, looking over at Sandman. "Battery City, born, raised, and escaped. Nothing like being the perfect child with a Burn Out for a sibling."

Sandman sat a little straighter. "Party was a Burn Out?"

Kobra hummed. "They had to go through rehabilitation."

"Oh shit." Sandman flexed his hands, looking like he wanted to strangle the entire corporation with his bare hands. "And they managed to throw it off?"

"They convinced me to join them in the desert." Kobra couldn't bring himself to meet Sandman's eyes. "But I can't get rid of the Better Living in me."

"Th– the Better Living in you?" Sandman stuttered.

"Their rules, their... influence," Kobra spat, an uncharacteristic amount of venom in his voice. "I was the perfect Battery City citizen because I did what I was told. I hated every fucking second of it."

Kobra ran their hands through their hair, tugging at it. They desperately tried to reign back the tears of frustration welling in their eyes. Noticing Kobra's state of pre-breakdown, Sandman hurriedly jumped off his bed, squeezing onto Kobra's and wrapping an arm around their waist.

"I ran away with Party because I thought that I would finally be able to be me in the desert. I would be free. But it's so hard to be myself. I'm out of Battery City, but the rules of BL/ind are always holding me back."

Kobra gazed at the paintings on the walls, letting the colours calm them. The paintings were fading, colours that were once as vibrant as the desert itself, a nostalgia for times long gone. Looking at the paintings, Kobra was once again reminded of how different the desert was from the city. In the city, the barest trace of colour would be destroyed. Black, white, and quiet was how the city worked. It was a far cry from the colour and noise of the desert.

Sandman hummed, looking at Kobra. "Maybe you just need to find something that ties you to the desert, something that makes you, you."

Bewildered, Kobra tore his eyes away from the paintings. "Wha–"

"Something," Sandman cut him off. "Or maybe someone."

And for the first time, Kobra noticed Sandman's searching gaze.

It felt like that one time Kobra had been reading a BL/ind booklet when he was six. He had been sitting down, the booklet open across the table, when he went to grab his water. In his Ritalin-induced haze, he knocked it over. The water had spilled across the table, drenching the booklet. As the water saturated the ink, causing it to bleed, Kobra had been able to see the colours. The dark green was the first colour he saw. His mother had found him staring in awe at the sopping book, unable to believe what he was seeing. His mother was loyal to BL/ind, and a proud citizen of Battery City, and once she saw the colour on the stark white paper, she immediately confiscated it. A week later, when the next booklet came, Kobra dunked it into his water, hoping to see the colour bleeding onto the paper. But that didn't happen. Kobra ended up with nothing more than sopping paper that was fraying at the edges. His mother had told him never to do that again, so as the good, law-abiding child he was, he never did.

Seeing Sandman felt just like that. It felt like only being able to see black and white, and then suddenly realizing that colours exist. The desert was known for being colourful, but none of the colours mattered now.

Kobra could see the question in Sandman's eyes, but couldn't bring themself to grace him with an answer– not one that mattered at least.

"I guess seeing colours help–"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Sandman's eyes were still searching, looking for answers. 

Resigned, Kobra brought their feet down from the bedframe. "I know." They slumped, tearing their eyes away from Sandman's.

"Destroya," Sandman sighed, flopping back onto the bed, "What's holding you back, Kobra?"

Kobra opened their mouth before closing it abruptly. Sandman, noting their lack of an answer, threw an arm over his eyes.

Kobra had grown up in Battery City suppressing their emotions. Feeling nothing, and doing as they were told. Kobra had longed for the time when they would be able to do as they pleased without BL/ind breathing down their back. But now, being given the choice to do what they want? Kobra almost wished that they didn't have to make the choice.

Almost.

Before Kobra could stop himself, he pulled Sandman up by their wrists. Sandman's eyes were red and filled with unshed tears. Sandman automatically turned away, hiding their face from Kobra's view. Bringing a hand up to flit around Sandman's jaw, Kobra felt tears welling in his own eyes. Not because he was upset, but rather because his emotions felt overwhelming. As someone who tried his very best to keep everything hidden, it almost hurt to show it so openly.

Kobra turned Sandman's head, meeting their eyes. Tear filled eyes to tear filled eyes. The dark makeup around Sandman's eyes had smudged, somehow making their eyes stand out even more.

Before Kobra could even think, Sandman pressed his lips to theirs. Kobra's hovering hand, pressed gently along Sandman's face.

But as soon as it started, it was over. Sandman hastily pulled away, bringing his arm up to dry the tears with his sleeve. Kobra stood in front of him as he did so, still stuck on what had just happened. Their arms had fallen to their sides, their hands awkwardly flitting around with nothing to do.

"Sorry." A quiet voice, so unlike what Sandman usually sounded like.

"Don't apologize," Kobra whispered, gently rubbing the makeup around Sandman's eyes, trying to make it less of a mess.

All of a sudden, there were loud footsteps. Loud footsteps of someone running towards them. Immediately Kobra reached for their ray gun, feeling the familiar grip fall into their hand. Looking at Sandman, they could see that he also had his ray gun held in front of himself, ready to shoot.

As soon the footsteps climaxed, they stopped, and Donnie stuck his head in the doorway.

"Firefight," Was all he said before he turned and ran back.

Kobra and Sandman locked eyes, immediately sprinting after Donnie. The two of them followed Donnie out of the base, where they could see the stark white of Crows and Dracs, a bright, BL/ind, contrast against the freeing darkness of the desert.

From what Kobra could see, there were five Crows and at least fifteen Dracs.

And one Killjoy.

Kobra couldn't see who the 'Joy was, nor what their colour was. Silently damning the darkness, Kobra prayed it wasn't any of The Fabulous Four.

Kobra quickly brought his ray gun up, aiming and trying not to hit the lone Killjoy. But before he could get a shot in, the fight was over.

Horseshoe suddenly ran over to the fallen BL/ind officers, ray gun still in his hand. After checking to make sure that the ones that didn't run off were dead and gone, he started gently removing the Drac masks.

As Horseshoe was walking to the third Drac, he suddenly froze. Donnie, Sandman, and Kobra immediately knew why. All four of them had felt one of their Bad Luck Beads fall off their wrists.

Kobra felt tears rolling down his face, but this time, he didn't feel ashamed. He let himself freely cry, looking at the numerous bodies.

Sandman had stumbled over to Donnie and Horseshoe, all three of them had tears on their faces. The three of them sank to the ground, each one of them gripping each other.

Kobra looked at them, then at the ray gun still in his hand. Disregarding subtlety, he raised it. After shooting once to the stars in memoriam of the dusted 'Joy, he collapsed to the ground. Curling in on himself, he let himself openly sob for the first time since leaving Battery City.

Yeah so Kobra isn't the one who dies.

I wrote both Kobra and Sandman with he/they pronouns and switched between them quite a lot, sorry if it confused you.

Also, for the two or so (or however many of you there are) reading this, do you want a behind the scenes kind of thing when this is all done?