lana-writes-04

[lana-writes-04]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

a/n: i don't have any other explanation than he smiled when the gun was to his forehead and the rest is history. i have a thing for sad unhinged men. and apparently seeing deadpool and wolverine was the stepping off point for a new fixation. so enjoy my mindless rambling and possible borderline obsession.

summary: logan was familiar with death. he understood why it happened, what could cause it to occur, and finally how to accept it. so when his family - the people he cared for most - died...he thought he could handle it. only you didn't die. you left. now he's found himself in a new universe with a person who wears your face, yet doesn't hold your memories.

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader

each chapter has it's own warnings, but the story is 18+ only!!

INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST

MAIN STORY

➛ in dreams we rest

➛ lost in time and space {COMING AUGUST 18TH}

➛ bridge over troubled water {COMING SOON}

➛ TBA

EXTRAS

➛ earth 1400

WADE'S WORLD

➛ let's discuss

[lana-writes-04]

deadpool & wolverine - heart memes

[lana-writes-04]

holds them gently

[lana-writes-04]

The Mandalorian chapter posters. Finally completed! <3

Prints | Smartphone Wallpapers

[lana-writes-04]

just like old times • captain rex and arc echo

SUMMARY: As the war went on, Rex would let the weight of the galaxies rest on his shoulders and walk like it wasn’t there at all. Echo was there when the weight would come crashing down, he could do that again when his older brother needed him most. words: 1900+ masterlist

From the moment he met Rex on that Rishi Moon, spine taught as a bow with fresh eel blood against his breastplate, reeking of rotting flesh, Echo had known that this man was the epitome of strength. 

He walked with purpose, a purpose further than the ones engraved into their brains on Kamino, greater than protecting their Generals at all costs. Captain Rex fought for more than the Republic, he fought for the men in his company. He drew is twin blasters to live to see another day, and jumped in front of explosions for others to see the sunrise with him. More than that, he was compassionate. That compassion was his strength–and his weakness. 

That compassion was a double-ended blade that sat deep in his bleeding heart. As a captain of one of the most decorated battalions in the GAR, Rex has had to make hard decisions more than most. When those times came, when he had to decide to save the lives of the many with the price of the few, that compassion would dig deeper and deeper until he would lock himself in his quarters. Oftentimes it would be Torrent coaxing him out of the room, other times it would result in Fives hardwiring the door’s lock to let him and Echo in, but eventually, they would bring the Captain out of his own head and to the barracks. It took annoying him until he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them, or maybe waiting him out until he could collect himself with a bit of silent help. Still, as the war went on Rex would let the weight of the galaxies rest on his shoulders and walk like it wasn’t there at all. 

So when Rex stormed from the medbay radiating red hot anger Echo could feel as if it were his own, he knew the next steps to take to bring Rex from his head just like old times.

He followed the captain to the large gash of the hall, where the remainder of where the barracks would be is hanging by a thread attached to the hull of the ship. There, Rex stood staring into the vast shipyard, helmet in his hands. If he listened closely, Echo could almost hear the creaking of Rex’s fingers against the sturdy plastoid.

“Can’t say I’m surprised you ended up here of all places, Captain.” Echo drawls, stopped behind Rex with a few feet between them, arms crossed against his chest. Rex flinches lightly, ringing loud bells throughout his skull. Rex didn’t flinch, not even when enemy bombs were dropped just a few clicks from the temporary base they had tented on an unfamiliar planet. He was the embodiment of sturdy, never phased, he wouldn’t– couldn’t flinch at a brother's voice. “It’s almost like you listened to what we said when we dragged you by your blacks to Torrent’s bunks.”

Rex doesn’t respond, his grip on his helmet shaking him to his shoulders. He heaves silently, the constant feeling of anger pain sorrow flares enough to make Echo twitch, taking a second to calm his own heartache. This was new and overwhelming, but nothing was more important than completing his job as a little brother– Manda knows he rarely gets the chance anymore with the batch to look out for. 

“But here you are, sulking by yourself just like you always do, and I’m fairly certain I remember Kix saying something along the lines of ‘isolation’ and its ‘negative effects on well-being’, so maybe you weren’t listening.” Echo shrugs and risks a step closer. His heavy, metal legs stomp against the durasteel beneath them. This time though, Rex doesn’t flinch, so he takes that as a success. With a few more rumbling strides, he stands shoulder to shoulder with his older brother. Rex is taught as a bowstring, gazing hard as he focuses on the unmoving horizon of starships. Echo sighs softly, stifling another wave of emotion that wasn’t his own, and nudges his shoulder against Rex’s. “What’s going on in that head of yours, ori’vod?” Echo mumbles, a frown on his face. Rex shuts his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and shakes his head. 

“You said–” he stops short, eyelids fluttering as his head swivels to face Echo. He searches his face, for what Echo can’t say, but he does know he feels something so entirely Rex in every one of his senses for just a moment. “Do you feel any different, Echo?”

“I guess?” Echo starts, frowning. “Things are a little brighter, I suppose.” 

“Like everything is the brightest it’s ever been, you can finally see after years of being blinded. Like every emotion you have is turned up to eleven..” Rex rattles, hooking his helmet to his belt, that familiar anger brewing beneath his dark gaze. 

“How…” he pauses, watching as his older brother squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his face roughly. “This is normal for getting this chip out?”

“I don’t know! ” Rex shouts, throwing his hands to the side. He finds Echo with his eyes again, wild and frantic. People who didn’t know Rex would count this as hostile, they would see this shout and be on the defensive. But Echo has known Rex for years, he’s grown up striving to be half the man Rex was. He’s seen this outburst before in his quarters, he’s brought the beast down before it boils over to the men in his command.

This isn’t anger, not entirely. Rex is scared , and he’s letting the guilt of the past few months, maybe even years, overcome everything in his mind. 

“Isn’t it funny, Echo ? ” He growls, face scrunched. He turns his head away again, staring into the wall numbly. “We fought in this war for nothing. Our brothers died for nothing. We fought for a Republic that will never see the light of day again, and are enslaved to an Empire that we would never choose to follow.” 

There’s a silence that Echo couldn’t bring himself to break, something thick and syrupy in the back of his throat. It’s a familiar feeling, one he’s felt since coming from that cryostasis on Skako Minor with only Rex, Jesse, and Kix left. The guilt builds from his throat to his tongue.

“We would never choose to be part of a force made to be feared. We would never choose to turn on the brothers with their own minds, we would never– ” He pauses, voice nearing a roar as he speaks. With a shuddering breath and a couple of steps backward, Rex turns back to the horizon of Bracca. “We would never turn on the people who treated us like more than cannon fodder.”

“Rex–” Echo swallows, but Rex is past the point of hearing him.

“And you know what’s worse?” he gasps, a wild, humorless grin coming etching his face. “We could have changed things! We have this new–new thing in our heads that could have stopped bombs , and lifted tanks in the air! We could have saved them! ” 

His breathing comes harsh now, the thin veil of control the Captain tried to keep dissipating with his words. The grains of dirt on the ground hover, rusted bunks rattling. Echo can feel the anger from his older brother, pulling the air from his lungs in one swift move. 

“ I could have saved them.” He whispers. “I could have stopped the massacres on Teth, on Christophsis, on–on Umbara… ” Rex, sturdy and perfect Rex, curls around himself, willing himself to be the smallest he’s ever been. His hands come to the wild curls on his head, scrunching his hands into fists. Echo couldn’t remember a time his Captain’s hair had been an inch above regulation. Rex’s chest heaves as his fingers tug at his scalp.

“Sir–” He tries again, desperate to pull his brother from the darkness in his head. 

“I could have helped Hardcase and Jesse and–and Fives –” Something deep and guttural escapes from his lips, a keen as he twists his eyes shut. 

“ Ori’vod. ” Echo whispered, his own eyes watering. He rushes to fill the gap between them, human hand ripping Rex’s from the death grip on his hair.  “Stop it. You have to stop doing this, none of that was your fault.”

Rex jolts again, gaze focusing on the damp tracks down Echo’s cheeks. His hands move from his head to Echo’s elbows, clutching frantically. The rattling of the bunks grows louder, hinges lifting from their homes in steel. “Who else is there to blame?”

“The person behind all of this,” Echo says, wiping his face with his hand. “The one who wanted all of the Jedi dead, who enslaved our brothers. But not you–” He reaches his hand to cup Rex’s cheek, wiping the tears there too. Rex doesn’t know when he started crying. “ Never you.” 

“Echo–” Rex whispers, and then the anger coming from Rex, thick and oozing like honey, morphs into sorrow. 

“It’s okay, Rex. It’s alright, I gotcha.” Echo mumbles, tugging his brother to his chest. Rex melts into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Echo’s waist and shoving his face into the crook of his neck. Distantly, the younger clone could hear the bunks drop back to the ground. “I have you, it’s alright.”

It’s a lie, of course; everything is far from alright. Echo has something thrumming in the back of his head and Rex is lifting rusted bucks off the ground with his mind. The Republic fell, the Empire rose in it’s wake, the Jedi are gone at the hands of brothers without minds of their own anymore, nothing is the same as it was. But as Echo wrapped his arms around–what to him was a piece of everything– he couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t matter that Rex, strong and sturdy and perfect Captain Rex, was clutching to him like he used to when he had barely graduated, or that he could physically feel the emotions from his ori’vod as if it were his own, they would get through this together. Just like old times. 

Echo pulls Rex’s head from his shoulder softly, human hand resting comfortably on the crook of his neck. He gives a small smile, a weak little thing covered in years of trauma and war. Then, he presses their foreheads together. 

“I’ve got you, ori’vod .” He mumbles softly, wishing so desperately to calm the storm inside Rex’s head. Rex lets out a quiet whine, squeezing his misted eyes shut and pushing harder into the keldable, promising a light bruise the next day. Echo’s eyes follow, and suddenly brilliant blues capture his entire field of vision. Royal blue dances with lighter shades, white swirled in between them all. In the center is a splotch of green. Tentatively, the green extends towards Echo. It’s so impossibly Rex in it’s feeling that he all but leaps at the vine. 

Something clicks in his mind, something so right that he heaves a sigh he didn’t know he had in his lungs. A thread ties around where the vine was, thick and unbreakable. A harmony sings in his ears, and slowly he opens up his eyes again. 

Rex’s eyes are open, wide and bloodshot, but hold that same fire and love he always had in fox holes and tents and the Resolute after a long campaign. “And I have you, Eyayah .”

“I know.” 

Rex had his back, just like Echo had his–just like old times. 

[lana-writes-04]

a split moment • captain rex + cal kestis + the bad batch

SUMMARY: “These friends of yours, they’re clones?” "Yes." "And they're - they're like you, right?" "In the 'suddenly-I-have-the-force' way?"

The Bad Batch finally made it to Bracca, and Rex was going to get their chips out. Cal opts to join, much to Rex's disdain. words: 5100+ masterlist

“These friends of yours, they’re clones?” 

Cal trails behind him as they move to the rendezvous. He’s wearing the oversized clothes Rex lent him but opted to wear his robes to hide his hands in, much to the captain’s disdain. He’d need to get the kid civvies for himself once they’re off this hunk of rock. 

“Yes.” He leans over a steep drop, then steps down and slides down the dirt, stumbling a bit at the bottom of the drop. Rex reaches a hand out as Cal follows him, catching the kid as he teeters towards the ground at the bottom. 

“And they’re – they’re like you, right?” 

“In the ‘suddenly-I-have-the-force’ way?” Rex muses, knocking his hip against the kid’s shoulder. Isn’t that a thought? The kid’s shoulder only comes to his waist . Cal huffs and rolls his eyes, nudging him back, but stays attached to his hip afterward. 

That’s a new thing Rex learned within the last few hours; Cal was clingy . He stuck to Rex’s side at every chance he got after they left the ship, maybe even before that. That’s the reason he was tagging along after all. 

Rex didn’t want him to come in the first place. Taking a Jedi to a group of clones with control chips programmed to kill said Jedi wasn’t all that appealing, but the second he proposed Cal stay in the ship, a spike of fear had rung so loud in the force he stumbled into the wall. Plus, something about the mischievous gleam in the kid’s eye reminded him of a certain togruta, the planning in their eyes entirely the same. He was coming no matter what, and Rex would prefer if he was there with him.

“No, not that way.” Cal drawls, fingers clutched into the trim of his kama. “I mean, like you in the way they won't…” And something deep within Rex aches at what the kid thought. 

They wont try to kill me?

“They aren’t going to hurt you, ad’ika , I promise.” He means it, with all of everything he has left. He had made a promise to those who fell on that day, Jedi and brother alike, and he was intent on keeping it until he ended up marching on. 

Cal’s shoulders sagged at his words as if they hauled a weight off his shoulders and finally let him breathe again, and Rex squeezed his shoulder. 

It only takes about an hour after that to see the clones in black and red painted plastoid. Even in the murky fog of Bracca, he could make out each figure, three tall and strong, and one smaller grasping one of their hands. Anxiety rolled off of Cal in waves, still scrunching his hands into the leather at Rex’s side. 

“Boys.” He greets, stalking close enough to distinguish who is who. Something deep in his gut loosens when his eyes land on his ARC, scomp-link and all.

“Captain Rex.” Tech says, turning to him with a data pad in his hand. His gaze, the only batcher with it visible through his goggles, moves from Rex to the boy at his side. “It seems you’ve acquired a child as well in our time parted.” 

“Another kid?” A voice boomed, and Wrecker stomped over to his brother’s side. He roughly wrapped an arm around Tech’s shoulder and loomed above both Rex and Cal. “Awesome!” Cal moved further into Rex’s side, not enough to be fully behind him, but it was painstakingly close.

“Can’t say I’m too surprised.” Echo drawls, stepping closer to Rex and nudging his helmet against the Captain’s shortly. Rex fumbles for Echo’s shoulder for a moment, squeezing in between armor and into his blacks, and sags.

His little brother, his Eyayah , he can feel through this newfound thing in his head. He feels like fresh water hidden in the deep sands of Tattooine. It’s only a drop of it, just the smallest hint of indispensable refreshment, yet it cools the deepest parts of Rex’s mind. Echo is here, safe, alive. He can be calm, if only for a moment.

And what is that supposed to mean, vod ?” He asks, pulling away from Echo, from the unmistakable yearning surrounding him. 

“Means I know you, and the second you see a lost kid, you activate ori’vod mode and everything.” He teases, then gestures his scomp to Omega, who looks seconds away from bursting. “My evidence?”

“I wouldn’t say every kid.” Rex mumbles. 

“That’s a little hard to believe,” Hunter says, hand secured on Omega’s back, helmet tilted just a bit to the left. 

Rex knows that tilt. He’s done it a million times over during the war. It’s when a vod moves their helmet to look at something, but the eyes beneath their visor are honing on something entirely different, hiding curiosity from the prying eyes of nat-borns. Hunter was eyeing the kid at his side. 

“Hi, Rex!” Omega blurts finally, smiling at him with wide eyes. He almost startles at the brightness of her, the feeling of a sunrise moving across a mountain to make its debut. 

“Hello, vod’ika.” He says softly, a smile underneath his bucket. Echo chuckles. 

“Need I say more?” 

“And who is this little guy?” Wrecker asks, tilting just a bit too far down and bringing Tech with him – Wrecker, how many times do I have to tell you– – the datapad in the former’s hand flying as he struggles to remain standing. 

“Bad Batch, this is Cal. Cal, the Bad Batch.” Cal perks at his name and stands a bit taller, though his light still pulses in fear. Rex reaches at the braid in his head and tugs affirmative and safe , and Cal sags. 

“Hi.” He says, giving a shy smile and wave. Wrecker grins something wild and waves back, shoving his brother away in the blink of an eye. Tech works to stop his knees from buckling.

“What are we doing here, Rex?” Hunter, ever the leader, crosses his arms against his chest. 

“I’m Omega!” Cal grunts and presses further into Rex’s side, eyes wide as the girl stalks forward with a radiant smile. “I really like your hair, I’ve never seen anything like it! And your face –”

“ Omega. ” The girl stops and turns to Hunter, tilting her head.

“What?"

“Normally when you meet someone for the first time, you don’t mention their face?” Echo says, moving to sway his hand through the girl's head. She pouts, shoving him away as he kneels to Cal’s height. Echo’s always been good with kids, always knew when to talk to them like adults and when to treat them their age. It always made Rex a bit jealous when they were working with refugees in the war. “You’ll have to excuse her, little’un. She’s just recently got off Kamino, she’s surprised at new – uh, not Jango faces.”

Cal’s gup is audible, eyes dancing up and down Echo as he takes him in. Then, he glances up at Rex. His heart could have melted then and there. The kid was looking at him for permission , to ask if it was safe . Echo tilts his helmet up just a bit, but he knows what’s underneath the bucket; a smirk only his dominoes could master.

With a reassuring nod, he nudges the kid closer to his vod’ika . 

“It’s okay,” Cal says a little stronger, then reluctantly pulls his hands from Rex’s kama. “I would be surprised too, I think.” Omega lights up at the words. 

“Thank you! I had no idea faces could be so different! Like yours, it has little dots all over it!” Cal giggles quietly and comes closer to her. 

“You mean freckles?”

“That’s a story I’d love to hear, ori’vod .”  Echo grunts as he stands back up. Rex shrugs and starts moving towards the abandoned medbay. 

“One for another day, I’m sure, vod .”

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Cal hums, watching Rex from the corner of his eye as he trails behind the batch. “Probably a lothcat.”

“Woah.” The little clone beams, staring up at him with the innocence of youth. It’s been a long time since he saw that look, when he was still at the Temple with his crechemates, staring at holovids of Master Kenobi taking on battalions at a time. “Have you seen one in person before? Are they as fluffy as the holonet says? Tech says to not always believe what it says, but I think he just doesn’t want to admit that he can be wrong sometimes.” 

“Um-” He thinks back to the lothcat curled in his arms early into his apprenticeship. “Yeah, they’re pretty soft.”

“ Amazing .”

Cal thinks he likes the Bad Batch. 

They seemed nice since Rex introduced them, and they were different than the clones in the 13th. Aside from their physical differences from the others – he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a human as tall as Wrecker – these clones had force signatures. Before their chips activated, the 13th had signatures, vibrant and unique, made to match every different man he met. Afterward, it was as if someone pinched the flame dancing above a candle, smoke wafting away the only evidence it was there in the first place. They were void and robotic, not right the force screamed. 

And Rex was Rex , so if he said the Bad Batch was safe he had to be right. If he lied about them, Cal would have felt it in the force, and he didn’t, so that had to make them good. Plus, they were taking care of Omega, which had to amount to something, right?

And the way the captain sagged in relief with his forehead pressed to the other’s – Echo was his name? – that clone had to be good. 

“My favorite animal is a rancor. Did you know I made friends with one? Once she calmed down she was really sweet!” And Omega was definitely good.

“So, you picked up a baby Jedi before meeting us here?” 

Rex tenses, sparing a glance to his side. Echo trails closely behind him, and despite not seeing his face, Rex can feel the deadpanned look he gives.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winces then, he’s never been good at lying. 

“Sure thing, and I’ve still got both my legs.” Echo drawls. Rex gives a heavy sigh and spares a glance at Cal over his shoulder. Omega is entertaining him it seems, talking with her hands flying in the air with a smile on her face, and Cal looked to be enjoying it. At ease, surprisingly. 

“Found him here, actually.” Rex hums.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, found him here, watched his six for a bit, and here we are.” Echo tsks, and now Rex can feel that domino smirk on his brother's face. “Like I said, story for another day.”

“So it wasn’t the ori’vod mode he activated, then? He unleashed the rare buir Rex, only seen when Commander Tano what a bit too cheeky for your liking.” 

He flushes and moves to shove Echo to the side, grumbling as he dodges easily and laughs. The little bastard.

“You still haven’t learned to shut up, Eyayah? ” 

“Never could, Captain.” He chirps with a new pep in his step. “‘S why I got my name.”

“Not like I could forget. I still remember when you were fresh off Rishi, repeating my every word like it was prayer.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I did it that often.” Now he rubs the back of his neck, stumbling over the uneven floor. Hunter chuckles from his other side, steadying Echo as he moves. 

“He still does it now.” He murmurs, nudging his shoulder with Echo, their plastoid clanking as Echo shoves back. 

“Oh, does he ?” Rex turns, walking backward as he eyes his little brother. 

“Yeah! He’s always repeating Hunter on missions! Tech yells at him all the time.” Wrecker booms.

“Indeed.” Tech hums, looking up from his datapad. 

“Oi! It’s not my fault every company I’m placed in doesn’t listen to orders!” Rex can see that dark pink glowing from Echo, the faintest color flickering in his mind, as Echo pouts and crosses his arms. 

“We listen, Echo! We just don’t follow ‘em.” Wrecker shrugs. 

“It’s a lost cause, mate.” Hunter sags, patting him on the shoulder with a grin. “They didn’t listen before you came, they aren’t going to start now.”

“I feel like I’m going crazy. Am I crazy, ori’vod? Is this an older sibling thing?” Echo whines. Rex barks out a laugh and turns around again, shrugging. 

“Welcome to my world, vod’ika , it never gets any easier.”

And then they laugh, and Rex preens at the waves of happiness hitting him all at once. 

It didn’t take too long to get to the medbay. Maybe it was the fact they were moving in a group, and Omega was talking his ear off about bounty hunters and the last thing she read on the holo net. One second Cal was talking about his favorite color and why it was orange, the next he was following Tech through the door to the dirtiest medbay he’s ever laid eyes on. The clones moved in tandem, their playful banter stopping short as they took positions without a word. Echo kneels at the holotable and plugs in his scomp. In a moment, the room lights, the medical table whirring to life. He and Omega ended up leaning across the wall. 

“Do I really have to do this?” Wrecker whines, sitting on the medical table with his head in his hands. Rex sighs heavily, crossing his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow. 

“We already told you, Wrecker, the chip needs to come out as soon as possible.” 

“But-” the larger clone watches as Tech readies a syringe and gulps. “I already feel better, Captain. Maybe it was just a fluke? No one else is getting headaches– AGH! ” He curls, shoulders shaking and fingers pressing indents into his skull. Cal can see Rex from the corner of his eye, can see the way he tenses and sways from one hip to the other. 

“We should speed this up.” He mutters. Tech nods with a curt grunt, flicking the syringe in his hand.

“You boys are lucky.” Rex says, glancing and Hunter with a nod, and flickers to Cal. “Very few clones were immune to the effects of Order 66. It’s–” and Rex flashes anguish through his flimsy shields for just a moment, quickly turning to walk towards Echo at the table. “It’s rare.”

“When the regs attacked the Jedi on Kaller, we didn’t understand why–”

Like most things in life, Cal had begun to figure out, things always change in a split moment. Growing up on a battlefield, most of the time it was the decision between life and death, for either himself or the men under his command. Other times it was in conversation, a split moment trying to mediate peace across the galaxy, civilizations either thriving or fighting through war, dependant on the next thing to come out of your mouth. Like a flicker of the fire above the candle, debating if it would take its gifted oxygen and grow stronger, or leave with the wind, only melting wax in its wake. 

Wrecker, big and strong and kind, disappears in a split moment. It’s as if he’s underwater, subdued and muffled surrounded by a darkness Cal’s never seen before. 

Except he has seen it before. He saw it in every clone in the 13th battalion, in Cammnder Brash when he turned to take a com only to turn back and raise his blaster. 

“We couldn’t save the general, but at least we helped the padawan escape–”

Wrecker’s pulsing, almost pounding through his signature, flame flickering weaker and weaker with each smack.

“Relax–”

The banging slows. The flame dims. 

“This wont hurt a bit–”

In a split moment, soldiers die. 

In that moment, worlds are conquered, people are massacred. 

Flames are snuffed .

“You’re in direct violation of Order 66.”

The clones turn to watch as Wrecker dangles Tech by his neck, but Cal’s already been watching, watching as the clone’s signature leaves in a split moment, and feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. 

“Wrecker?” Omega whispers latched to Hunter with wide eyes. Wrecker slams Tech into the wall, ignoring the dent he left to turn around, and slams his helmet on his head. 

Rex is frozen for only a moment, craning his neck to look up at the looming clone. It’s the first thing Brash taught him when he joined the 13th, when his scalp was a bit too tight from the new braid at the back of his head. 

A moment is all your enemy needs, kid. He said, arms crossed and peering down with a stern look in his eye.  Never freeze. If you freeze, you give them that moment.

Rex moves finally, flicking his wrist to the blaster at his waist. Instead of stunning, Wrecker smacked the pistol from his hand and raised his own. Cal can feel the harsh spike of fear through their bond, but before he can move to help Rex, Hunter clutches his shoulder and drops him to cover. He hates it, he can’t see Rex from the cover. He moves to stand, to fight, to save Rex please he can’t feel a bond snap again–

Rex launches behind the table they’re using for cover, Echo not a moment behind him, and curses under his breath. Cal gapes, tugging desperately at the force bond – OKAY? HURT?

Rex winces from across, sparing Cal and glance, and nods quickly. It’s all he needs, all he needed to know to sag in relief. 

“He’ll destroy the equipment if we don’t get him out of here!” Echo shouts, clutching the band of metal wrapping around his head.

“You’re all traitors!” Wrecker shouts. 

“We need to draw him out!”

He can feel the only thing he has left of Master Tapal burn in the force, calling and begging to come out – to protect. Cal gulps lets out a trembling breath, then grasps the hilt and ignores the swarm of echoes at his fingertips.

“I’ll draw him out.” He says, and stands before Hunter can grab him again. Wrecker turns to look at him, and shoots. He ignites the lightsaber, the blue blade bouncing the bolt to the ceiling. Wrecker growls, something he’s only heard from a feral Nexu in old holovids, and shudders. 

“All Jedi are under violation of Order 66 and are to be executed for the safety of the Galactic Empire,” Wrecker says. 

He’s terrified. He’s shaking and gasping and steadily ignoring the insistent yank at the bond. STOP and TERROR.

He’s scared. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to fight Wrecker he just wants to go home he wants Master Tapal, Commander Brash, Rex–

“Come and get me, then.” He says instead, and then he bolts out the door. Thundering footsteps follow him through the Star Destroyer. 

He doesn’t turn around, he can’t afford to. Can’t afford to slow down for the giant to catch up, to die like so many of his kind, to be a burden to someone as kind-hearted as Wrecker, someone that doesn’t have control over themselves. 

For a moment, the footsteps stop, and then there are grunts and stun shots firing and bodies falling. He clears the corner, and against his better judgment, he turns. 

Rex is firing the stun bolts, Hunter hiding behind cover and Echo charging with an oxygen canister in hand. Wrecker grunts and turns to Echo, clutching his neck. He ignores the gargled gasp that comes from his brother, turning like a robot and launching him at Rex. Rex’s stun bolt hits Echo, and the ARC’s limp body slams into the captain’s.

One moment Rex was awake and terrified in the force, then next he’s limp against the wall and gone. 

It’s like Master Tapal; gone in an instant, like all of his crechemates and friends. Gone, he’s gone Rex is gone he’s alone again he can’t do this alone – wake up Rex please wake up Rex wake UP –

“NO!” he screams, knuckles white, quaking in his soiled boots. Hunter turns at the sound, and is slammed into the wall, falling limp to the floor. Wrecker turns back to him and cracks his neck. 

Cal does what he knows best – run.

Thats all he does , he thinks as he speeds down the halls. Run and run until there is nowhere left to go. He turns again and dashes into a room, then shuffles to a stop. It’s the commander’s quarters, the place where he met Rex, where he finally, finally , felt not so alone. In a kind of morbid way, it’s a poetic place to go. 

What’s left to do when you can’t run?

“The Jedi are traitors.” A voice, a normally booming voice now flat, states from behind him. Cal turns quickly, tucking away as much fear and dread as he can to the back of his mind. “And are to be dealt with accordingly.”

“This isn’t you, Wrecker.” He says, holding the saber in front of him. He doesn’t know who he’s saying it to, the clone or himself. “It’s the chip in your head.”

“Resisting is useless.” Cal gulps, tears pricking his eyes. 

“Please, stop. I don’t want to hurt you, and you don’t want to hurt me.” It’s a white lie, he thinks. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hurt him, it's that he won't . Not after everything that’s happened, not after all his men pounded desperately against their own minds for freedom. He’s not going to kill another clone again, and if he has to die to keep that promise, where better to go than where he finally found someone who would understand?

Now all he had to do was get over the fear of death choking him. 

“Good soldiers…” Wrecker growls, and furrows his eyebrows. For a split moment, Cal heard harsh banging from his mind. Then, Wrecker’s eyes set and the slight trembling in his fingers stops. “Follow orders.”

Cal screws his eyes shut, dropping to shove his knees to his chest, bringing the blade above his head. 

A bolt fires, and he flinches, gasping for air. 

He’s alive. He’s alive and breathing .

And he feels pain and worry and loyalty that aren’t his own, and shoots his eyes open. 

Rex leans against the doorframe, clutching his head with one hand at the blaster with the other. He’s staring at Cal with wide eyes. 

“Rex?” Cal whispers, shucking the lightsaber to his hip without looking. He pulls lightly on the bond and feels his cheeks wet when he gets a strong tug back. Forget Cal being alive, Rex was here , clutching his blaster and head and breathing and not dead –

“Cal.” He says softly, and that’s all he needs to hear. He’s scrambling off the cold floor and launching into Rex, fingers scraping against plastoid with his cheek against his front. 

“I thought you were gone.” He whimpers. “You were gone and I was gonna be alone again and I don’t want to be alone again–”

“I’m right here.” Rex mumbles, holding him close. “It’s okay, we’re all okay.”

Somehow, after running for his life for the second time within half a year, Cal believes him. 

Wrecker woke up shortly after his surgery, his grin replaced by a distant gaze until it landed on Cal at Rex’s side.

“I’m sorry, little Jedi.” He mumbled, eyes glued to Cal’s dirty shoes. “I didn’t want to, I promise I didn’t, but I couldn’t–” He takes a shuddering breath. 

“It’s okay,” Cal said, and he knew he meant it. Wrecker’s gaze snapped to Cal’s, wide and shocked. “I felt you fight it, I know you didn’t want to. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” The clone said. Cal shook his head and gave him a smile. He reached a hand out – an offering, an olive branch. 

“We’re okay, right Wrecker?” Wrecker grinned, lines crinkling on his face as he takes Cal’s hand. He’s completely dwarfed his palm. 

“Yeah, kid.” He says, then pats at Cal’s red hair. “We’re okay.”

By the end of the day, the rest of the batch was able to get their chips out with only a bit of grumbling about their haircut. What Cal was learning as each of them went under, was that when they woke up, they were brighter in the force.

Well, maybe brighter wasn’t the right word; it was more clarity than anything else. None of the clones had ever felt blurry in their signatures before, but once their chips were removed it was like a film lifted, finally introducing themselves in the force around them. Before, it was as though their signatures were far away, across the other side of the planet – Now, they glowed as every person should in the force, though some more than others. 

Omega shined bright in comparison to her brothers. At first, Cal wrote it off as being an unmodified clone without a chip, but looking at the rest of the experimental clones now with their chips gone, Omega was still a supernova compared to the rest, radiating innocence and youth.

And Echo. Echo glows in the force the same way Rex does, something so sturdy and reliable and safe. With a glance at Rex, tense and staring at his brother like he grew another head, Cal knew the Captain could tell too.

“Feel any different, boys?” he said, sparing each of them a glance before landing back on Echo, flicking to Omega for a longer moment. 

“Not really,” Hunter grunts, rubbing at the bandage on his head. “Should we?” 

“I’m not really sure.” Rex said, hands coming around his chest, tapping softly on the plastoid of his vambrances. “I didn’t really have time to self-reflect when I got mine out.”

“You’re all brighter.” Cal jumps, turning to Omega. She’s staring at the Batch with wide eyes. “ So much brighter than before.”

“Brighter?” Hunter lifts an eyebrow and shares a look with Tech. Tech shakes his head softly and moves closer to the girl. 

“Are you feeling alright, Omega? Are you feeling cold at all, or having a hardness of breath?” He asks, running his eyes up and down the girl like the answer would jump out at him. 

“I’m not in shock, Tech, it’s real. And Rex –” She twists out of Tech's gaze, moving to the older clone with heavy footsteps. “Rex is like the sun, almost as bright as Cal.”

Rex tenses, looking at her for a moment before turning his head to the wall. Omega doesn’t seem to pick up the queue. 

“I mean, he was before, but I thought I was just tired from the fly here, but now all of your chips are out and you’re all brighter than before and Rex is blinding –”

“Alright, Omega, we get it.” Echo huffs, staring at Rex with narrow eyes. “At least, I can see what you mean.”

“You can? ” Hunter gapes. 

“It must have been the chip,” Cal whispers. “That’s why, Rex.”

It’s why Rex can bond with him, it’s why he was exactly like Omega said, radiant and blinding without sturdy shields. It doesn’t explain why Rex was rolling waves of frustration and anger .

Rex clenches his jaw and inhales sharply. “It doesn’t matter why, it happened. Let’s just get off this rock and get you some clothes that fit.” 

“But–” Omega starts. 

“Omega.” Wrecker shakes his head slightly at the girl. She quiets.

“I need some air.” Rex mumbles, tucking his helmet under his arm and stalking out of the medbay. The girl whimpers softly. 

“Did I say something wrong?” She croaks. Cal shakes his head and sends her a smile.

“No, you’re not wrong.” he moves to follow Rex through the door, but a hand grips his shoulder. He fights back the urge to jump at the contact. Following the arm, he looks up at Echo with a frown on his face.

“I’ll talk to him, kam’ika. He might not have anything nice to say right now.” Echo says, then he pats Cal’s shoulder again and follows Rex. He can’t seem to bring himself to follow too. 

Whatever Echo said to Rex worked. He’s not really sure how he got through the captain’s stubbornness he’s only just started to see, but when he and batch come topside to leave Bracca, Rex is less tense and has a soft smile on his face. 

“Seems like this is where we part ways, Captain,” Hunter says, helmet tucked underneath his arm, guiding Omega with the other. 

“Guess so,” Rex mutters, hand clamped on Echo’s shoulder where his armor splits. “It was good seeing you boys–” He turns to Omega, who is frowning at him. “And girl.” She beams.

“Likewise,” Tech mutters, stalking towards the ship with his eyes glued to the datapad. Rex watches as he moves, then lets out a soft snort. 

“He ever look up from that thing?”

Echo grins. “Only when he needs to.”

“Sounds familiar.” Echo shoves his hand away roughly, rolling his eyes with a laugh. The force around them sings like it used to in the temple, where friends would laugh and tease and care, Cal had almost forgotten. 

“It was nice meeting you, Cal,” Omega says, turning to him. Cal follows, sending her a soft smile. “We’ll see each other again, I know it!”

“I’ll be waiting.” She grins and waves, then follows Wrecker and Hunter up the scrap heap. Rex and Echo turned back to each other and talked in whispers, then pressed their foreheads together roughly, eyes squeezing shut. Finally, Echo pulls back with a grin and looks at Cal. 

“You watch out for my ori’vod, alright kam’ika ?” He says. Rex barks out a laugh, turning to look at Cal with a smile he’s never seen before. He wants Rex to smile like that all the time. 

“Promise.” He nods. Echo chuckles and ruffles a hand in his red locks, then pats Rex on the back and follows his squad. Rex watches until his brother was out of view. Cal shifts, leaning closer to the captain. Rex bumps his hip against Cal with a smile and slots the boy to his side. “What now?”

Rex hums, walking back to the ship. “Not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out, yeah?” 

Cal sags into his side, and tugs content and calm. 

“We?”

Then Rex huffs and presses his knuckles into Cal’s hair. He yelps, pushing away with wide eyes. 

“Yeah, kid, we .” 

And Rex tugs back his own content , and for now, deep in the Republic’s graveyard, that’s enough.

[lana-writes-04]

a little tug • captain rex and cal kestis

SUMMARY: Cal’s version of passing the time was a mix of things, really. Sometimes he would wander around the small ship and try to discover something he hadn’t seen before–this usually amounted to nothing, because Rex didn’t carry things that weren’t necessary. Other times he would pick at his nails or the withering fabric of his clothes, which led to Rex tossing him the only civvies he had when he was washing his blacks. The clothes, a thin black shirt and grey sweatpants, completely dwarfed him. Occasionally the kid would just sleep the day away, hands carefully tucked into his pockets at his side. Oh, and he constantly tugged at the back of Rex’s mind. Like what he’s doing right now. words: 1700+ masterlist

The Batch will be on Bracca within a few days, thanks to Echo’s insistence, if Hunter’s sagged shoulders and heavy eyelids mean anything. 

“ Don’t think I’ve ever met a more stubborn man, Captain, and I grew up with batchmates genetically made for that. ” Rex chuckled at the blue projection and nodded.

“There was a reason I put him in Torrent, Sergeant. He had to butt heads with other stubborn shebs to get anything done.”

So, Rex and Cal were passing the time until the batch came planet-side. 

Cal’s version of passing the time was a mix of things, really. Sometimes he would wander around the small ship and try to discover something he hadn’t seen before–this usually amounted to nothing, because Rex didn’t carry things that weren’t necessary. Other times he would pick at his nails or the withering fabric of his clothes, which led to Rex tossing him the only civvies he had when he was washing his blacks. The clothes, a thin black shirt and grey sweatpants, completely dwarfed him. Occasionally the kid would just sleep the day away, hands carefully tucked into his pockets at his side.

Oh, and he constantly tugged at the back of Rex’s mind. Like what he’s doing right now. 

“ Cal .” Rex shut his eyes, sitting on the pilot's chair, the top half of his armor stacked neatly by his feet. The hesitant and curious feeling leaves quickly, like it was trying to hold his hand and recoiled at a gentle swat.

“Sorry.” Cal squeaks from the cot. Rex sighs heavily and swivels the chair, raising one eyebrow as he leans his elbows against his knees. A silent question, a quiet reprimanding – Why?

“It’s just-” He sits up quickly and pulls his hands from his pockets, moving one to gesture at Rex. “How is this even possible? None of the clones I’ve met are force-sensitive. Doesn’t that make you a little curious?”

“No.”

Yes . It was infuriating.

“You just lied.” Cal gives him a blank stare, one that Rex meets head-on with all of his experience dealing with little brothers. Cal breaks first.

“I know you lied! I can tell because we have a bond.” He smirks, nose crunching and bringing his freckles with it. It is disgustingly cute. “And your shields are super weak.” 

“Shields?” Rex sits back up, leaning against the awful leather of the seat.

“Yeah, shields. They’re like walls for your mind, makes things more quiet for you, and block out force users.” 

“And these are necessary?” He raises his eyebrow again while Cal nods quickly.

“For sure, they help when you get overstimulated, plus it would stop me from hearing your extremely loud thoughts.”

Rex huffs and rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to smile despite himself. It’s just– He’s never seen the kid like this. Like a kid , a child who isn’t mature and goofs around whenever he gets the chance. He wants him to act like this all the time. 

“Alright, fine. Teach me how to ‘ shield ’.” His voice dances around the word, watching as the kid gives him a blinding grin and sits up straighter. Mission accomplished .

And that is how Rex finds himself sitting cross-legged next to Cal, eyes closed with his hands resting at his knees. He’s building up and crumbling his shields on command, though they aren’t as fortified as Cal’s sheen of ice for walls.

“You’re really good at that, Rex,” Cal says from his side. Rex squints and glances at him; his eyes are closed still, but he has a content little smile on his face. “It normally takes people a lot more time to move them on command.”

“Well, I think I had a pretty good teacher, no?” He nudges his shoulder with Cal’s, and the kid opens his eyes and pouts and shoves back twice as hard. Rex barks out a laugh, watching as the boy’s ears and neck redden. 

Happiness and thank you tug at the back of his mind, and Rex feels his snarky smile soften. 

“Teach me that?” He offers, head tilted to the side. Cal’s ears reach an even darker shade of red, tearing eyes away from Rex and at his hands. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He murmurs, and suddenly he knows what the kid meant earlier. He doesn’t see it, per se, but the bright light that is Cal in his head turns a dark pink and pulses for a few seconds.

“You just lied.” Rex muses, and holds back another laugh when the boy turns impossibly darker. 

“Unfair.” 

“Shouldn’t have lied then, ad’ika .” 

Cal rolls his eyes again and tugs sharper at his mind. Annoyed and shut up . 

“Now that?” Rex stretches his legs straight, settling them loose and leaning against his hands. “ That’s unfair, kid. If you wanna tug then I should be able to.” 

“Fine.” Cal shoots him another glare, one that is just shy of real annoyance, and moves his hands back to his knees. “Can you feel something like a string in the force?” 

Rex closes his eyes again, leaning against the side of the cot. Faintly, through his newly built shields, he can see a cable of braided light. He hums.

“Okay, so that string thing is our bond. It’s pretty strong-” Across from the string is a mesh of colors, brilliant tans and oranges and a faint navy blue swirling together perfectly, so obviously Cal . The colors glow in that dark pink again. Embarrassment, Rex presumes. “And you can open up your shields a bit and send something down it.” 

Rex lets out a heavy breath and opens his shields. He focuses on the string, thinks of his laughter , and moves it through the flimsy walls. 

“Close.” Cal whispers; Rex can hear the smile in his voice. “You moved it into the force, but not to me specifically, try again?” 

Rex bundles up another bout of emotion, this time amusement, and tries again. Nope echoes in his mind, and he huffs and opens his eyes. Cal is watching him with that same small smile. 

“You’ll get there. It’s a little tricky in the beginning for sure, and everyone has their own way of working with the force.” Cal stretches, and his legs sit against his chest, arms wrapped around himself as he leans his head against them. 

“So the force is always different?” Rex closes his eyes again, this time meeting the darkness of his eyelids, and leans even further into the uncomfortable metal of the cot. 

“Pretty much,” Cal says. “Sometimes it depends on the person's nature, other times it depends on how they’re raised. For me, force bonds are like how the books talk about it. You just gotta find the way it works best for you.” 

“Delightful.” 

“Maybe you could try…” The boy trails off, his voice suddenly quiet. Odd. The captain opens his eyes to find Cal curled into himself more than he was before. “Never mind.” 

Yeah, that’s about as convincing as any of Rex’s boys lying.

“I’m open to anything, kid. Any ideas you have gotta be better than what I’ve got.” Rex watches him as he curls impossibly smaller. “You don’t have to tell me, though.” 

It takes a while for the kid to say anything, eyes boring holes into the durasteel floor, before he sighs and uncurls his legs, sprawling them as far as he can. “You could try it the way you made the bond?” He says. 

Rex blinks. 

“What?”

“Well, you didn’t make the bond, that’s always a two-way street, but you reached out to me when I was…” He waves an arm to the sky, words lost. “Yeah. You pulled me out.” 

And didn’t that leave Rex reeling? What exactly had he done that night? It was only a couple of rotations ago, but his mind was fragile, to say the least, afterward. He pulled, if he remembered correctly. Like, it felt like he physically pulled the tangle of light straight, but that obviously didn’t happen. But then he held the string tight, holding it up until it was standing on it’s own, and he remembers feeling sore somewhere in his mind the next day.

“I don’t really know what I did.” He mutters. Cal glances back at him with narrowed eyes. You lied shouts in his skull. 

“Okay, wow–” He winces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Was that necessary?” 

“It is if you keep lying.” Cal mumbles, but moves to lean a bit into Rex’s side. Not a lot, just enough to brush gently against the thin fabric of his blacks. Rex hums and scoots to the side, finishing the contact with his eyes against the wall. 

“No more lying, then.” He says and closes his eyes. The shields are back, as is the burst of color and cable connecting to it. He sighs, and opens his shields, and gathers safe and comfort , and moves to tug at the cable gently. Cal gasps softly from his side, and Rex watches as the burst of color brightens with excitement . 

“You did it!” He says. Rex opens his eyes and finds the kid beaming at him. 

“I did?”

“Yes! How’d you do it? That was so fast!” Cal is elated, he can feel it even through his new shields. 

“I just – tugged?” He floundered, eyes wide. 

“Like, literally?” Cal is now grasping at his arm, hard enough to leave little crescent marks from his nails.

“Yeah, I just reached out and wrapped a finger around it.” 

“Awesome. That’s amazing!” Rex can feel the heat rushing to his neck, the same heat he always gets when one of the shinies looks at him like he hung all the stars in the galaxy, the same heat when Cody or Wolffe or Bly would praise him on the field, or when Fox would eye him up and down from his desk and give him that proud smirk. 

Then Cal freezes and looks at his hand, and Rex falters too. His hand, bare, is clutching at his blacks. The same pair of blacks he wore fleeing the Empire, the ones he wore on Mandalore. 

Rex flicks back to Cal, a flash of fear running up his spine, but the kid just slowly moves his hand and stares. He doesn’t have that thousand-mile stare he had before. 

“You–You okay?” Rex stumbles on his words and bites back the curses on his tongue. Cal still stares at his hand, then, finally, he meets Rex’s eyes, and gives him another blinding grin that he can feel through the force between them.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I’m glad.” 

And Cal leans even further into his side, his hands clutching at his blacks, and Rex tugs at the bond gently.

[lana-writes-04]

memory lane • captain rex and cal kestis

SUMMARY: Rex places his hand on the kid’s shoulder, to shake him awake, to move him to sit upright, to hold him close and never let go, but then he freezes too. The feeling humming in the back of his head screeched, and all of the sudden – He’s back on Christophis, he's at the Citadel, he's on Corasaunt, he's on Skako Minor, he's on Mandalore - words: 2900+ masterlist

Rex doesn’t remember Ahsoka ever being this small. 

He knows that his grasp on nat-born ages is slippery at best, but just glancing at the kid sends him back to Kamino, flash training with brothers to his side too young to be submitted into training simulations on the field.

The kid’s gotta be somewhere between six and seven years old to the clones, which has to make him somewhere between twelve and fourteen nat-born years, and even that is pushing what he sees. Ahsoka had never been this small – at least, she wasn’t this small when Rex had first known her, and that was at the beginning of the war. The kid, Cal he introduced himself as when he was bundled in Rex’s arms, already had some kind of war experience – the developing calluses on his hands told him so. So when did this kid start commanding? When did the council decide that a six year old was old enough to lead men to battle, to witness death on a battlefield that was no place for a child?

The rackety ship Rex was using wasn’t too far from the medbay Rex came to find, so getting there didn’t take too long with Cal following close behind. He chose to ignore the way the kid’s hands were crunched in the sleeves of his cloak, hidden at all times. If the kid wanted to keep things to himself, Rex wouldn’t pry, that would be hypocritical.

“Um, Rex?” Cal stuttered, now sitting on the thin mattress Rex led him to. His hands were free from the sleeves, now opting to pick at the fraying fabric rather than hiding in them. “What is the–” he pauses, waving his hand in the air with his eyes to the sky. “Plan? Do we have a plan?”

“The plan right now is to get some meat on your bones.” Rex mutters, setting his helmet neatly against the wall, and rummaging through the small shelves above the bed. 

“But what about what we’re doing right now?” Cal is eying him as he moves around the cockpit, still searching. 

“I came here to find a functioning medbay for some friends.” He shoves things around and quirks his lip, and then tosses a ration bar at the kid. The kid freezes as it flies toward him, hands moving to curl against his chest. Before the bar drops to the floor, it’s suddenly stopped, stuck in time as it moves closer to him. Cal glances at Rex with wide, scared eyes, but Rex already schooled his face to complete indifferent. If the kid is worried he would bolt at the force, he needs to know Rex didn’t care, he needed the kid to stay without feeling there would be a catch at some point. Instead, he moved to the cockpit again and sat heavily against the chair, watching him from the corner of his eye. 

Cal, after another agonizingly long moment, turned his attention back to the bar and lifted his hand gently, finally free from the robe he was swimming in, then tentatively reached for the plastic wrapper. He taps the thing gently, like it was going to fight back against his hold, then lets out a shuddering breath and releases it from the force, gripping the bar so tentatively while he unwraps it, then eats silently. 

Rex doesn’t even want to begin unpacking what the kid had been through to be scared of a ration bar.

“I didn’t think anything worked on Bracca.” Cal says eventually, setting the half-eaten bar by his leg as his eyes roam around the small ship. 

“A lot of it doesn’t, but you’d be surprised what the Republic dumped instead of repaired.” Rex mumbles, tapping in coordinates and a comm code at top speed. Then, he swivels the chair to face Cal. “How long have you been planet-side?”

“Since…” The kid trails off, now opting to glare at his fingernails. Rex bites down his anger. This kid, this ad had been on Bracca for months, since his whole way of life had been stripped from him. He was scrapping for food, and only Manda knows where he got his water, since the day everything had fallen apart. 

“I don't really remember when I got to Bracca.” He says instead, gaze distant. “In the beginning, it was all blurry, then I made it here, and found food on one of the cruisers.” He shrugs softly, then tugs his hands back into his sleeves. “Figured I would stay until I couldn’t find anything else.”

Rex doesn’t have anything to say. Well, no. He has something to say, he always had something to say. Cody used to tell him that on Kamino – and later when he was a Captain of his own company. 

“Always got something to say, huh Rex’ika? ” He would scoff quietly, but he would have a ghost of a smile on his face, watching their Generals banter from their place around the holo-table. He would nudge his shoulder against Rex’s, and Rex would roll his eyes with no heat and shove back, and everything was good and as happy as a war could be and was better –

He always has something to say, he just knows what he has to say wasn’t worth bringing the heated anger to words.

“Sir?” He snaps to attention for a minute, watching as the kid caves further into himself with his eyes trained on Rex, waiting for his next move with bated breath.

“Not sir, not to you, ak’ika.” Rex sighs, rubbing his palms into his eyes, and takes a moment, a moment to breathe and to forget and to mourn, then he nods. “Did you say something?”

“I just asked if your friends were okay, if they needed a medbay.” And wasn’t that so horribly sweet ? Kid hadn’t met anyone but a clone since the order, and he was still asking if Rex’s friends were okay. 

“They will be.” He says, because he knows it's true. He had already lost so many men – so many brothers – he wouldn’t lose the ones he found by a random chance of the Martez sisters. He will make sure they don’t have their chips, make sure that Hunter and Wrecker and Tech and Echo – his remaining Domino, his kih’vod , his little Eyayah – would be safe from their own minds.

“It’s late, kid, still early in the night. You can go ahead and get some rest, I’ll take watch.” He jerked his head at the cot the kid was sleeping, reaching to the chair across from him and tossing the thin blanket sprawled against its back. Like before, the kid moves away from the cloth and watches it for a moment before touching it, this time through the robes, and leans back. He doesn’t sleep immediately, likely against the will of his body, but eventually, the boy's breath evens out and he sinks further into the thin cot. Rex spins from watching the comms to the boy, takes in his gently rising and falling chest, and finally clutches his too long curls and breaths. 

Of course, his sleep doesn’t last.

The kid twists and turns in his sleep a lot, and in some way, it makes some invisible ache in Rex ease. He wasn’t part of the war long enough to fall asleep stiff as a board, to be ready to wake up with a blaster in hand like you hadn’t been asleep at all. His twisting shows his youth, something that should be treasured as long as possible, something that will soon enough be snuffed by the Imps hunting every living Jedi left. 

The ache returns as quick as it left.

Then the kid turns again, and his bare hand brushes against Rex’s helmet neatly tucked against the wall by his head, then he’s frozen. 

The kid is frozen, frozen in a way that couldn’t be natural, in a way his careful rise and fall of his chest still, and Rex stands in an instant. 

The instant is too long, because then the kid heaves like his life depends on it, eyes wide open with a hundred-mile stare, eyebrows as high as can be. 

“Kid!” Rex shouts, taking only two large strides and kneeling, hands hovering as the boy wracks with tremors through his tiny body. Rex places his hand on the kid’s shoulder, to shake him awake, to move him to sit upright, to hold him close and never let go, but then he freezes too. The feeling humming in the back of his head screeched, and all of the sudden –

He’s back on Christophis, the first battle, clutching his helmet in his shaking hands and firing at the incoming droids, his heart hammering against his armor. The fear is real, it's achingly familiar and terrifying and he thinks he’s gonna die alone clutching his helmet and pistol like it was his life, because it was, then a brilliant blue saber had jumped in front of him, and everything was gonna be okay. 

“I’m Anakin.” The young commander had said later, after the battle was over, after he was looked over by a medic and had bacta covering every inch of skin he had. “That was some nice shooting, sir.” And the cadet was staring at him like he hung the stars, and suddenly everything that had felt so wrong with Kamino had drifted away, and he knew he would give his life to protect this kid–

His vision flashes, and he’s suddenly on the barrack’s floor with a cheap paintbrush in his hand and a blue paint can at his side, staring at his helmet. It was an honor, to be given this mark, but he didn’t do anything any other vod would have. Then someone barges into the room and sits next to him and grins. Cody, stoic and professional Cody to everyone but him, praises him over and over again, and the marking makes more sense than it did before. He saved brothers on the field, he fought with as much valor he had in his body, and lived to tell the tale. 

Later, he stares at his helmet, and the jaig eyes stare back at him–

Another flash, and he’s at the Citadel, watching his kih’vod explode into nothing but ash. He hears the other kih’vod shout and scream for his twin – his other half –  heartbroken and torn to millions of little pieces that Rex carefully has to put back together because the mission isn’t over and he isn’t losing his last Domino he needs to protect Fives, he needs to move –

He’s on Umbara, on his knees and tearing at his hair, watching as men from both sides take off their buckets to reveal the same face. He staring down the monster that ordered them to kill their own men, shaking with anger and terror and he can’t pull the trigger – but he wants to so bad he wants hewantshewants

Fives is clutching him to his chest, tight with his hold as he heaves for breath, heaves for the men he gunned down to come back as nothing happened, heaves for it all to end. Protect them, protectthemprotect–

Fives is in his arms, rambling and crying and dying and all he can do is watch and comfort and pray to whatever is listening that this is a dream. His little brother, his last Domino, takes his final shuddering breathe, and Rex cries like he’s a cadet again, curled against his ori’vod and begging to survive the next day–

He watches his Domino, his Eyayah, hang from wires like a puppet, eyes glazed over and skin as pale as snow, and he thinks he’s gonna throw up because he left him behind and he was being tortured and he failed , he failedhefailedhefail–

He’s on Mandalore with the little girl he watched grow up, and he finally feels better. It’s all gonna be over soon; the war, the death that follows him everywhere he goes, it will be over and he can finally rest for the first time in his life. She’s grown so much since he’s met her, so mature and strong and he’s never been more proud–

He’s shaking again, pistols in hand as he points them at his little Commander the traitor. He can’t breathe, can’t think because all that’s running through his mind is EXECUTE TRAITOR EXECUTE ORDER SIXTY-SIX GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS – He thinks of the little brother dying in his arms on the homefront, rambling and crying and he realizes he was right all along.

He fires, and CT-7567 takes control, and Rex weeps for all he’s lost–

His hands have blisters that will last for days, red and tender as he digs into the harsh snow, and he stares at the helmets against sticks, and all he can do is scream–

He’s back on his ship, sweating like he trekked through Tattooine for a tenday, and the kid is sobbing with heaving breaths and hand still on his helmet. He pries the kid from the cot and into his arms, wrapping his hands with the robes and clutching him life his life depends on it. The kid is limp in his arms. 

“Come back, kid, c’mon.” Rex all but begs, eyes screwed shut, desperate to stop the tears falling down his cheeks. 

The kid is still limp, but his tremors stopped for a second, eyes glazed over and freckle-kissed cheeks glimmering against the soft light in the cockpit. He’s burning up. 

“C’mon Cal, snap out of it, please.” The hum in his mind is still loud, but it isn’t shrieking like it had before. Instead, it’s calling to him, calling for him to follow through the darkness. He opens his eyes, blinking away the tears and clears his vision, and lands on the boy again. Cal isn’t present, and at this point he doesn’t know how long it’s been. He needs to pull him back to the present, he just doesn’t know how . The hum brightens, and he follows it. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really. It’s not something physical, but it feels like it is , and he doesn’t know what he’s doing . But then he finds a dim light curled into itself, weak and terrified and stuck. He tugs gently at the ball of light and is covered in anguished, and tugs again. This time, the knot of light loosens, glowing just the slightest bit brighter.

He tugs again and it unravels completely, loose and bright, but still stuck. The hum gets louder, encouraging and proud, and in the back of his mind he thinks of his ori’vod , and he reaches for the loose string. He holds it close, straightens it out with all of his strength, and holds it together as if his life depended on it. The light brightens, almost blinding, and he feels fear, hope, playfulness, youth, and yearning , and he desperately reaches for it.

Then he’s pulled from the flimsy string standing on its own, and he opens his eyes. 

Cal is curled in his lap, clutching him tight and staring up at him with big eyes, shining with tears. Rex stares right back, and he’s heaving and letting out little sounds, and then – then that playfulness and youth and concern sparkles in the back of his mind, and he gapes. 

“Rex.” Cal starts, then clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes, bottom lip trembling. “ Rex .” He whimpers. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t your fault, none of it was, I’m sorry we failed you, I’m sorry– ” He lets out an ugly sob. Rex clutches the boy impossibly closer to his chest and shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, ad’ika , we’re gonna be okay. I’m sorry you had to see that, I’m sorry–” He gulps, a wet thing echoing against the durasteel of the ship, and lets out a shuddering breath. 

They stay silent for a long time, long enough for the sun to make its debut against the Republic’s fallen ships. They sit and breathe, wipe at their eyes and shake, and stay together. 

Rex, in a muffled haze, stares at nothing. He feels that youth again, and a gentle tug on his mind, and blinks. Cal is staring back at him, eyes soft. 

“The Jedi call it a force bond.” He says softly, picking at his nails. Rex nods, swaying as the boy continues. “Normally it’s reserved for master and apprentice, to keep in touch with each other even when they’re far away from each other, but some have bonds with those who they care about.” The kid shifts a bit in Rex’s lap, and for a moment he’s afraid Cal will pull away and run. He’s not a master, and he barely met this kid a few hours ago, he’s overstepped some sacred rule and he didn’t even know how. Instead, the kid leans further into Rex’s chest and sighs, letting his shoulders drop and leaning his head against the plastoid on his chest. 

“Only force sensitives can bond like we did.” He whispers like he is telling a forbidden secret, and Rex feels the urge to scream again. He just nods and presses his chin into unruly red locks.

He’ll think later, think that the kid is telling him he has the force and scream into the abyss, think about what this could mean for him now, a clone and force sensitive, think about all he could have done in the war with the force on his side, all the people he could have saved.

But not now, because if he thinks now he will spiral further into the rabbit hole of his fractured mind, and he can’t do that again, not when everything he buried so deep is at the forefront. Right now, he finally lets his eyes close with the hum in his head accompanied by another, softer tune, harmonizing with his own in a way he’s never heard before, and drifts into a restless sleep.

[lana-writes-04]

the republic graveyard • captain rex and cal kestis

SUMMARY: Rex hates going to Bracca, but in this case, he needs to, to help Echo and the Bad Batch and that little girl they picked up from Kamino. When he gets to Bracca, he doesn't expect to find a youngling hiding in the mangled Republic cruisers, one that carries a lightsaber too big to be his. words: 2700+ masterlist

If someone were to ask Cal how he had found himself on Bracca, he wouldn’t be able to answer. The seconds, hours, days, and eventually months after the worst day of his life had all become a blur of survive . He had hopped from cargo ship to cargo ship until he had found his way here, laying low on planets celebrating the end of a war and stealing water and food as he went. 

Now, he had been on Bracca for about a month, hiding from the scrapper’s guild and scavenging the stale ration bars hidden throughout the ships. Often he ignores the loud, grieving echos on the fallen star-cruisers, instead touching everything that wasn’t Master Tapal’s lightsaber through the thick fabric of his robes. It had been easier, ignoring what the force was mourning, ignoring his own emotion. It wasn’t very jedi-like, he knows, could practically hear his master scolding him through the severed bond in the back of his mind. Sadness leads to fear, young one. And fear does not lead you to a well-off place . 

But there was no Jedi anymore, at least, none that he could feel in the ever-empty pool of the force that had once been so full of lights and stars in the galaxy, so he tells himself that it’s okay to not act jedi-like anymore. 

He tries to move from one wreckage to the next as the days pass, and Bracca doesn’t have a shortage of options for him, but this night in particular he was too exhausted to try and relocate. Instead, he curled into cold floor of the abandoned Commander’s quarters, shivering because no one ever mentioned that the Republic graveyard was freezing , and drifts into a restless sleep.

One that is interrupted not even an hour into. 

He feels the shift before anything. The scrappers that scour the planet are slimy in the force, slipping in and out of it as they search for any sign of things worth their time to grab. He hates it when the scrappers come around. But this time, the scrappers aren’t doing a random night loom, it was someone new, a force signature he didn’t recognize. 

The next thing, is the footsteps that echo across the empty halls of the cruiser. The sound had once made him feel safer in his quarters on his own ship, the one he had once called home. It meant there were protectors surrounding him, singing in the force in a way he had never heard at the temple. They all loved each other and never shied from showing it, even taking him under their wing not long after his padawanship with Master Tapal. 

The sound had now haunted his worst of dreams. The ones that echo in blaster fire and screams and an aching dullness in the force he had never felt from his men, his brothers before. 

It was a clone walking on the ship; the sharp and steady footfalls of a trained soldier meant to walk in tandom with his brothers, meant to walk in formation when protecting their Jedi on the battlefield. 

Cal is scrambling underneath the rusting cot faster than he ever had before, reaching for the lightsaber neatly tucked into one of the cubbies along the wall. The hilt, still too big for him to use properly, smacks into his palm satisfyingly. He curls around himself and squeezes his eyes shut as the clone’s steps stop at the doorway. It’s silent for a beat too long, and Cal thinks for a moment that maybe the clone had left, or maybe there wasn’t a clone at all and he was finally reaching the brink of insanity, when the footsteps start again into the room. 

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight, can’t move from under the cot. He’s effectively trapped himself in a corner, waiting with baiting breath as the clone moves slowly from one side of the room to the other. The clone, after another moment or walking around, stops right at the foot of the bed. Cal blinks his eyes open slightly, rasping for breath at the pair of GAR boots at his face. He hears fabric rustling against plastoid, as though the clone was going to crouch down to his level, and that’s all Cal needs to wake his body from the frozen terror. 

He pushes the cot with as much force he could muster, and stands with the lightsaber infront of him. 

Rex had never liked spending time on Bracca during the war. It was a reminder of the losses the Republic had faced, and more of a reminder to the clones of the brothers they had lost in those missions. He still remembers the way Wolffe, his eldest orivod , had crumbled after they had rescued him and three other troopers as well as General Koon. He lasted longer than Rex had thought when they picked them up in a malfunctioning escape pod. He made it through the debrief with ease, and got through Kix in the medbay with not one snippy remark at the medic. When Rex was walking his orivod to his quarters, the small room unoccupied aside from the occasional mental breakdown of his own, Wolffe had stopped to look out the large window against the wall. The remnants of the Malevolence was already drifting in zero gravity, Republic cruisers coming by to pick up as much of the wreckage they could to take to Bracca. 

A single tear had fallen from Wolffe’s organic eye, and then he turned to Rex and crumbled in the hallway. 

That was the first time Rex had seen Wolffe as anything other than untouchable, the first time he had seen any of his orivod that way. A few months had passed after that when Wolffe had visited the remains of his battalion on the graveyard planet, and somehow Rex knew that his mental hadn’t picked up after his leave. 

All this to say, Rex didn’t like spending too much time on Bracca. This time, though, it was out of necessity, so he had gulped his fears and emotions he had yet to truly dissect since that awful day, and set course for the Mid Rim. All he needed to do was find an working medbay, he just hoped it wouldn’t take too long so he could leave behind the many ghosts that were bound to haunt him on Bracca’s surface. 

Luckily, he had found one relatively fast. He was only searching the debris for a day before he came across a medbay intact enough to perform a chip-removal. 

What he didn’t expect from the old star-cruiser was the sound of quaking breaths echoing down the hall. In any other circumstance he would have left after labeling the sound ‘wildlife’, but something was tugging him down the achingly familiar halls, so much that when he had turned the other direction to leave and establish a rendezvous point, his stomach had dropped and threatened to release what little he had to eat for the day. 

So, yeah, he was walking down the hall. He’d very much like to keep his food inside rather than out. 

In all honesty, he didn’t know what he was expecting when the his gut had told him to walk into the commander’s quarters. He hadn’t been in one of these in months, not since he had a joint mission with the 212th and Rex had invited himself into Cody’s room to annoy him, as was his job as a little brother. It could have been a rodent lacking food and rotting in the corner, or maybe a imperial bug planted in one of the crashed cruisers to find lackeys like him trying to use their facilities. 

What he definitely wasn’t expecting was the distinct sound of someone hyperventilating. Ay first glance, there was no one in the room, but there were many hiding places in the small floor plan of the commander’s quarters. There was underneath the large desk against the wall, hidden in the tiny closest embedded in the durasteel, and underneath the bed just to name a few. 

He had already glanced underneath the desk, and with a slow tug, the closet was empty too. He frowned, listening as the breathing suddenly stopped, and stayed silent for any oxygen-reliant species to hold their breath for, and then hear a gasping rasp from underneath the bed. He took a few steps forward, steeled himself for whatever layed underneath the brittled cot, and-

The cot had lifted from the ground, at him, faster than naturally possible. He grunted, bearing the brunt of the force with his forearms, then froze at the familiar sound of a lightsaber igniting. He hadn’t heard that sound since Mandalore, since little ‘Soka had lit her sabers for the last time before letting them fall to the snowy ground of the moon he never learned the name of. Slowly, he pushed the bed back to the ground, a lound clang echoing off the empty ship’s halls outside the door. 

“Leave! Now!” The child, because there wasn’t a better word to describe the tiny boy in front of him, shouted shakily. The kid was human and had fiery red hair, accompanied by splatters of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the frame of his face.

“Alright.” Rex says evenly, watching the boy’s movement. He’s shivering, probably from both the harsh cold of the planet and fear evident in his eyes. “It’s alright, kid, I wont hurt ‘cha.”

“ Dont lie to me!” he shouts again, backing up once, hands shaking a bit too much with the saber in his hands, a brilliant blue that makes Rex hurt more than he would like to admit. “You- You can’t kill me like all the others! I wont let you! ”

Lonely ad . Lonely ad without anyone to help him. Ad who looks like he hadn’t eaten anything in days and will take off with the smallest blow of wind. He needed to do this carefully. He only had one chance with this kid, and he will not fail, not again. 

Rex reaches slowly, pausing when the boy flinches and flashes him the lightsaber again. They stare for a moment, before Rex takes of his helmet and places it on the ground.

“I won’t hurt you, ad’ika,” Rex repeats softly, then takes a step closer. The kid’s breathing gets worse the closer he gets. He steps back until his back is against the wall, eyes wide and frantic and searching for a way out of the corner he’s locked himself in.

“They all tried, you will too! I wont be tricked, not again!” He’s got tears in his eyes, unshed and glimmering against his enflamed cheeks. 

“Does it feel like I want to trick you, kid?” Rex says, taking another step, eyes never leaving the vibrant dark brown of the kid’s. Maybe he would die here to a broken padawan soldier, but he could never bring himself to hurting another jedi, let alone one of the ade . The kid falters for a second, squeezing his eyes closed for a brief second before they fly open wider than before. “I’m not like they were, not a blank slate?”

For a moment he thinks about Ahsoka. Little Ahsoka not so little anymore, knees tucked against her chest with her forehead pressed to her crossed forearms. She may be older than when he had first met her, grown and matured since she had stepped off the shuttle on Christophsis in nothing but a tube top and tiny shorts, but in that moment she had never looked so old and young at the same time. 

“It was like the whole ship went quiet.” She said, staring holes into the ground with her brilliant blues. “Like every single trooper out there had his own thoughts and name and emotions stomped out, leaving a blank slate I’ve never felt before.” 

This boy’s eyes widen a bit, and then Rex feels something so small and sad and hopeful in the back of his head he has to bite his tongue to hold his gasp, and then the feeling disappeared, like it hadn’t been there at all. 

“You’re-” He’s shaking his head. “You’re so different, so steady-”

Rex takes another step closer to him and reaches for the saber slowly, the kid watching his every move but seemingly unable to do anything. Rex takes the saber out of his hand, the plasma dropping to its base the second the handle leaves the kids hand, and places it on the ground. 

“Why did you turn on us?” He whispers, staring up at Rex with the saddest eyes he had ever seen, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought we were friends, I thought we were vod -” He stiffles a sob and presses a hand to his mouth. Rex’s own eyes misty over, and he nods slowly. 

“I’m sure you were, ad .” he says. “I’m sure your men loved you more than you will ever know.” Finally, the kid caves and drops to the ground, knees against his chest and hands curing into his hair. 

“I don’t understand what happened…” he sobs. “Everyone’s dead, everyone’s gone and I’m so alone.” He whispers. Rex, in a horribly ironic way, can relate. He moves slowly to move next to the boy curled on the floor, and instinctively reaches to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Before he could tap the boy on the shoulder, he had flinched so violently away from Rex with those same wide eyes earlier. Then, Rex wants to bash his own head in. What an idiot, kid thought he was going to die a second ago and the next thing he does it try and bring him in for a hug? Rex can already hear the lecture from Cody and Wolffe and Bly and Fox. 

Then – Then after what felt like forever staring at each other, the kid is lunging into his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders and shoving his cheek against the cool plastoid of his chest piece. His muffled sobs get louder, clinging to Rex through his robes like he was a lifeline as he crumbles. Rex freezes for a second, but as the kid’s cries get louder he wraps his arms around his frail shoulders. Seriously, when was the last time this kid ate?

“I’m so sorry.” He mumbles into the kid’s hair, rocking him from side to side. “Im sorry, so, so sorry.” 

And maybe the apologies weren’t only for the child in his arms, maybe they were for every brother without control or who died on the battlefield for nothing, or maybe they were to every Jedi who had died to their own men – friends – in the worst day of his life. In the back of his mind, he apologized to everyone involved, to the charismatic brother who had uncovered everything before it had happened and had died to his own brothers, to the young general who had cared for each of his men so deeply, to his older brothers who were either dead or hidden in the silence of their own minds. And yet, every apology will be unheard, because here he is, alone in a galaxy that see’s him only as a number that should be dead, clutching a child who will be hunted for the rest of his life because he was born with something once adored, now destroyed at the hands of a man playing both sides.

He couldn’t change what had happened, no matter the dreams he had if he had listened to his little brother long enough, or hadn’t blindly followed every order given to him. What he could change, however, is if this kid lives or dies on this graveyard planet. This kid, the child with flaming red hair and soft brown eyes with the galaxy gunning him down, wouldn’t die on Rex's watch, that he can promise to all that have fallen. 

Something in the back of his mind sings a beautiful tune, so faint he wouldn’t have heard it if the ship wasn’t so empty, and he nods to himself and brings the boy closer to his chest, wrapping his legs to the boy’s and curling around him, to shield him from the rest of the broken world.

Around them, the force sings happily for the first time in months.

[lana-writes-04]

little lion men • a clone wars fix it (eventually)

MASTERLIST

gif from @goga_je_pieroga // cross-posted on ao3 Rex finds a broken padawan on Bracca. he can't leave him alone there, not while he knows the Empire won't stop hunting Jedi until there are no more left. Plus, the harmony embedded in his scull certainly wouldn't let him leave either. A series of one-shots/mini stories <NEW> Indicates a new post! It will have this message for about a week before editing. -- -- -- -- --

The Republic Graveyard - Rex hates going to Bracca, but in this case, he needs to, to help Echo and the Bad Batch and that little girl they picked up from Kamino. When he gets to Bracca, he doesn't expect to find a youngling hiding in the mangled Republic cruisers, one that carries a lightsaber too big to be his. Memory Lane - Rex places his hand on the kid’s shoulder, to shake him awake, to move him to sit upright, to hold him close and never let go, but then he freezes too. The feeling humming in the back of his head screeched, and all of the sudden – He’s back on Christophis, he's at the Citadel, he's on Corasaunt, he's on Skako Minor, he's on Mandalore- A Little Tug - Cal’s version of passing the time was a mix of things, really. Sometimes he would wander around the small ship and try to discover something he hadn’t seen before–this usually amounted to nothing, because Rex didn’t carry things that weren’t necessary. Other times he would pick at his nails or the withering fabric of his clothes, which led to Rex tossing him the only civvies he had when he was washing his blacks. The clothes, a thin black shirt and grey sweatpants, completely dwarfed him. Occasionally the kid would just sleep the day away, hands carefully tucked into his pockets at his side.

Oh, and he constantly tugged at the back of Rex’s mind. Like what he’s doing right now. A Split Moment - The Bad Batch finally made it to Bracca, and Rex was going to get their chips out. Cal opts to join, much to Rex's disdain. Just Like Old Times <NEW> - As the war went on, Rex would let the weight of the galaxies rest on his shoulders and walk like it wasn’t there at all. Echo was there when the weight would come crashing down, he could do that again when his older brother needed him most.

[lana-writes-04]

Pshhhhhh Echo is just a cool word you know what I mean?? Right? RIGHT??

swtg if there’s any mention of hoth in one of these episodes

[lana-writes-04]

THE HIP POP IS SO ON CHARACTER I LOVE IT

ARC echo would have been too powerful for the bad batch so they had to nerf him 🥲

[lana-writes-04]

literally amazing

More seratonin

[lana-writes-04]

HERES MY SEASON 3 THEORY. HEAR ME OUT PLEASE. BAD BATCH S2 FINALE SPOILERS UNDER CUT

Ok, there is literally no way tech is 100% dead. I could be in denial, which could totally be fair, but there is no way that Hemlock found his body, deliberately took only his glasses, and didn't take tech's body with him. So here's my theory.

Tech is gonna be winter soldiered. Like, they're either going to replace his chip with another one with modified strength like Crosshair's or they just take away any personality, because I think that is what the Empire wants from Nala Se. Omega will redeem Crosshair and get him and herself out with the help of the female clones, but they wont know Tech is in the facility with them and leave him behind, making Tech and Croddhair effectively swap roles from the first 2 seasons.

But here's where i get confused. Where tf does Cody lie in the story? We got him for one episode this season, all we know is that he defected from the Empire's ranks, but is he hiding away? Working on his own smaller clone rebellion? He's an integral character that was only teased, there's no way Filoni gave us a sprinkle to only give him a small role in the overall clone arc that the bad batch show is becoming.

Tech is not dead. I wholeheartedly believe that, but if anyone touches Echo I will start a full-blown riot.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[lana-writes-04]

senaar'ika • (din djarin x teen!reader)

summary: the mandalorian doesn't take pit stops that he doesn't need to, opting to land only when necessary on jobs. when an old star ship takes out his engine, along with every other needed part of the razor crest, he takes a crash landing on jakku. there he finds a quaint village and a spunky teenage mechanic, what could go wrong? word count: 4100+ warnings: village slaughter, child death, description of blood in small detail. a/n: I've fallen back into the Star Wars fandom hole, and the Mandalorian has me drowning in dad!din need. let me know if you enjoy it and expect at least a part 2 to this ordeal, maybe more if i'm feeling the writer's bug. stay safe! MANDO'A TRANSLATION AT THE FINAL NOTE

“It’s over, Mando.” He hears through the staggering coms of his ship, blaring alarms echoing across the cool metal and drowning out the voice. “Nowhere to run.” 

He grunts as the ship takes another blow, jarring to the left and busting his shoulder into the pilot’s chair. Red lights flash and reflect across his helmet. LOCKED ON highlights on his screen, and he lets a grin dance across his covered face before yanking the controls, spinning the ship around and ends up above the attacking ship, then slams on the brakes, taking aim at the visible engine of the refurbished Tie-Fighter. 

“Ain’t over yet.” He mutters, then holds the trigger down and fires, the ship lights up, as he passes through its remnants, then he could finally breathe and assess the damage. 

Well, assess the damage before his engine gives out. And he’s falling into the atmosphere of the nearby sand planet. In a last ditch effort he yanks on the controls once more, and the emergency landing is buffered ever so slightly.

The Razor Crest smashes into the sand, heated metal meeting scalding sand as his heavy boots dash to the ramp as it reluctantly opens, and he throws himself from the ledge, grunting at his landing. He turns his head to the ship, watching as black smog leaks from places it shouldn’t be and sighs. 

- - - - - - -

He learns he’s on Jakku soon enough, and is even pointed in the direction of the nearest ship repair in the small village near his crash. In the shop, a small hut with hardened stone as its foundation, parts upon parts are stacked on top of each other in every way possible, as if the store doesn’t have enough room for what it’s holding. Against the tan walls are white doodles, except for a single bare wall, exempt from anything blocking it. The sandstone counter runs all along the middle of the shop in a semicircle, and leaned against the counter was a teenage girl who looked far too skinny for her age. His educated guess would be somewhere around 16. She leans on her palm against the stone, eyes closed and mouth slightly hung open, pen wedged behind her ear ready to drop at any moment. A small snore falls from her lips alongside the drip of drool at the corner of her mouth, and Mando has to fight the small smirk from surfacing. 

He clears his throat, and she doesn’t even budge. He shakes his head and clears his throat once again, louder than before while he not-so-gently smacks his hand against the counter. She startles awake, inhaling sharply and swallowing the mouthful of drool pooled in her mouth.

“I’m awake!” She exclaims, eyes wide and darting to meet the helmet of the Mandalorian. Her chest is heaving, and a flash of surprise comes to her face before she turns it to a side smile, full of a hospitality that almost started him. She wipes her mouth with the side of her hand before placing it to her hip. 

“Hello stranger.” He stares at her, raised eyebrow under the mask, and after a moment too long she takes an audible gulp. “Not much of a talker, huh? That's okay, I can talk for both of us. What can I getcha?” 

“I need a repair.” The monotones, not making a single move. 

“Oooookay.” She drags on, raising an eyebrow. “A repair on what? Gotta be more specific, man.” He tosses a sack of credits in front of her and meets her eyes beneath the beskar. 

“All of it.” Her eyes stay in the bag for a moment too long before snatching it and placing it beneath the counter. 

“Can do, Tin Can! What’s the make, model, all that jazz, and I can bring a couple droids to the ship with some parts, how’s that sound?” 

“No droids.” She pauses, then nods slowly. 

“Alright, No droids. Just little ol’me.” She pauses, then takes out a notebook from behind the counter and twirls the pen from behind her ear. “Now, make and model.”

- - - - - - -

Seeing the damage of the ship, the smoking engine and broken turbine only the surface of miniscule problems built over the years, you had regretted accepting the challenge of no droids. But, the masked man gave a pretty penny, and that sack of cash can help the village plenty. So, you get started with the basic parts you brought and the tool box carried at your hip. 

You start at the base of the ship, where both the engine and back up engine are placed, and get to work, standing beneath the large imperial ship in its provided shade. The metal man stands in the blistering sun watching, laying against the nearby sand dune. A frown came to your face, but shook it off with a sigh, and got back to work. 

In the past you’ve tried making conversation with clients, but it often leads to awkward silence while you fix away. They either don't respond at all, leaving you hanging in the air without anything to build off, or they’re cold and analytical, leaving you wanting nothing more than to finish their ship in record speed. The worst part about the situation at hand is the fact that you’re not just fixing one part of the ship, but moreso the whole ship. So if you mess up now, you’d be left with days of uncomfortable quiet. 

To your surprise, he started the conversation first. 

“Where’d you learn mechanics?” He asks, his head only slightly tilting as he speaks. Your eyes don't move from the engines as you speak. 

“Old shop owner, before he moved off planet to Birren for his kids. Taught me everything he knew before he left though, worrying that his ‘legacy’ wouldn’t be passed on Jakku.” The wrench fits securely in your mouth while you use the screwdriver, sweat dripping from your hairline at the heat of the sun and the gentle thrum of the ship. 

“And your parents are okay with you running the shop on your own?” He asks, voice almost panting as he speaks. A bittersweet smile came to your face through the wrench before you took it into your hand. 

“Parents passed away when I was young, got sick at the same time and never recovered. The rest of the village looked after me.” He went quiet, the only sound was metal against metal. 

“Sorry for your loss.” He says, and he sounded like he meant it. 

“Dont worry about it, we all take care of each other here, I’m good now.” You let go of the ship and take the tools with you, then place your hands on your hips. “You gotta be cooking in all that armor, why don't you sit in the shade while I go and grab some coolant from the shop.” 

He’s hesitant. At least you think he is, it's hard to tell with every inch of personality covered by finely smelted metal. But it was only for a moment, then he moved beneath the ship and leaned against one of the ship's legs. A triumphant grin came to your face,celebrating the small victory, before you pulled a hood over your head and strapped on your goggles, then took the trek back to the shop. 

- - - - - - -

Small talk filled between most of the repairs. From the moment the two moons went down to when the sun started to set, you would spend most of your time sitting and fixing the armored man’s ship. He was nice enough to go into town and find the water farmers, buying some water and rations to bring back as you work. In that time, you both share stories back and forward, bouncing from each other as the clang of metal on metal echoes. 

You learn that he is a Mandalorian, and that he never takes the helmet off in front of anyone else (you made sure to take longer breaks in the day away from him after that, coming back and hiding the smile when you see the empty cup and ration leftovers). He answers your questions of what being a Mandlorian entails. He also doesn’t disclose his name, giving you the name ‘Mando’ when addressing him. In return, you tell him your other hobbies besides fixing ships. Storytelling every couple of nights with the children of the village, chalking up the walls of the shop with doodles, and feeding said kids during lunch time. 

“That why you’re so small?” He snarked, no malice in his voice. You sent him a half-hearted glare and stuck out your tongue, but continued to work on the electrical wiring of the razor crest. 

“You could say that. There’s not much food to go around, plus those kid’s parents are working during lunch time, so I figure if I have time to get back to the shop, I have time to feed the kids after they’re done playing. 17 year old gourmet chef if you ask me.” After a moment, a spark jolted from the wires. You hissed and pulled your hand to your chest, then shook it out. 

“You okay?” He’s pushing off the floor to get to his feet in milliseconds.

“Fine,” You let out a small groan, then shook out your hand one more time. He comes to your side and roughly pulls your hand from your chest, ignoring your yelp, and yanks the cotton gloves from their place. “I said I’m fine, Mando-”

“You’ve got an electrical burn against your palm.” He states, then takes notice of the far too callused hands in his hold. Scars scatter across young skin, tissue running like lightning bolts up and past your wrists. “A lot of ‘em, actually.” 

“Yeah, stuff like that happens when you stick your hands into nosey people’s ships-” You yank your hand back from him, then the glove still between his fingertips. “They seem to have plans bigger than routine maintenance.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” He mutters, takes a final glance at your scared hands, then moves to sit back down in the shade. “I can take a hint.”

- - - - - - -

He’s on his way to the village to buy rations for his departure when he hears them, the playful screeches coming from the dull light of the shop. His feet move on their own but before he catches the sound of your voice. 

“And the boy couldn’t see anything, nothing in the dark sands of Jakku, the moons missing from the sky,” Your voice had a lift to it, the sound of a grin accompanying your voice. He takes a peek through the cloth covering the door. In the shop, against a wall clear of doodles, a flashlight shines. You stand in front of it, a malicious smile on your face as you talk to the group of children huddles around you. They couldn’t be older than six, sitting cross-legged and watching with varying emotions ranging from pure happiness to huddled terror. 

“He takes a step past the village line, just a single step…” you go quiet, eyes looking to find him at the door frame, and your smile widens. “He’s swept away by the Nightwatcher!” You scream, hands outstretched as you pick up the closest child to you and keep him in your arms, the others shrieking as the boy in your arms struggles. 

“He’ll never be seen again! Not until years later, where only his necklace is found in the harsh Jakku sands.” You place the boy back on the floor and ruffle his hair. “That’s why you never pass the village line without anyone by your side, got it?” 

An array of ‘yes (Y/N)’ comes your way and you smile. Your eyes travel to the Mandalorian and flicker to the side, signaling a makeshift seat with your eyes before straightening your back and broadening your smile. 

“Who wants another story?” They cheer and clutch onto stuffed animals. With a dramatic sigh, you bend to your knees and grin. “Have you guys heard of the warriors of Mandalore?” He freezes from the door frame, then slowly takes a seat on the wobbly wood. The children shake their heads no, and you open your mouth in mock surprise. 

“Never heard of the warriors of Mandalore? Well, they are only the most fierce-” you yank the wrench from your waist like a sword. “Disciplined-” and swung the wrench with full force to your side, “and loyal warriors the galaxy has ever seen!” They giggle as you twirl the metal between your fingers, then place it back on your tool belt.

“They believe in peace and justice, and always protect other Mandalorians, no matter what. They all wear impenetrable armor that can only be found on their planet, passed down and smelted time and time again for the next generation.” 

“I wanna be a Mandalorian!” A little boy shouted. His friends nodded along with him. One of the girls raised her hand quietly, soliciting a chuckle from you. 

“Yes, Sara-Lynn?” 

“Can girls be Mandalorians too?” she asks timidly. You flick your eyes to the man by the door and watch his head nod ever so slightly. 

“Yes they can, hun. I heard the best warriors in the galaxy are girls.” You send her a wink. “Mandalorian protect their people with their life, and will protect you if anything happens.” then straighten your back and hold your hand to your mouth, an animated gasp of surprise leaving your mouth. The children tilt their heads. “I can’t believe it! It’s-” You point. “It’s a Mandalorian!” 

It’s as if they travel at lightspeed. One moment the children are turning their heads, and the next they’re looking at their reflections in his armor. Questions are thrown at him left and right, as he sits there trying desperately to hide the unyielding amount of weapons on his person. You laugh from the shine of the flashlight, loud and unabashed, before moving to grab a couple of them off of him with a grin. 

“Enough, enough everyone. I know this is exciting for everyone but we have to remember personal space.” They back off him eventually, still watching him in awe. “This is my friend, Mando. I’m fixing his ship right now so he can go off to protect people throughout the whole galaxy.” 

“How do you use the bathroom in your armor?”

“How many blasters do you have?”

“Do Mandalorians fall in love?”

“How come your armor is so dirty?” 

“Kids.” You say, and they all pause. “He’s got enough to deal with right now, I just wanted to introduce you to him, know that if anything happens he’ll keep everyone safe. I don't think he has enough time to answer any questions-”

“I got time.” Mando interrupts. Your gaze flicks to him with raised eyebrows. He nods gently. “I can make time, until it’s bedtime, at least.” A small smile comes to your face, and you nod. 

“Okay then, but only one question at a time! And Kaeden, no pick pocketing, I don’t think you’ll like what happens next.”

- - - - - - -

“Thank you.” The stench of spotchka is rich in the air, a glowing blue coming from the cup you poured for yourself, then one next to him. The Mandalorian makes no move to reach for it. The moons dance in the sky, stars lighting their path as the children are picked up from the small shop and walked back to their homes.

“For?” 

“Entertaining them.” You give him a small smile and sip at the drink. Even with his face beneath the helmet his displeasure at the drink in your hand is prominent. His shoulders tense ever so slightly, and his leather clad hands clench as you sip. “They don’t get much entertainment out here.” 

“It was nothing. They’re good kids.” He instead reaches for his own glass and lets it sit in his palm, swirling the drink a couple times before facing his helmet in your direction once more. 

There’s a comfortable silence as you sip, flicking the light from the wall to face the ceiling, illuminating the room. He moves to move the container of alcohol closer to him, screwing the cap shut wordlessly and pushing it further away from you. You elect to ignore him. 

“I’m almost finished with the Crest.” You say, placing the cup back on the counter top. He hums, and says nothing. “I actually added in a couple details so you wouldn’t need to check in with anyone for a while. Larger, more efficient oxygen tanks, better atmospheric tension. Incase of another emergency landing you wouldn’t be catching as much scorching as you did this time.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He says, then places his cup down and reaches for the small pockets at his waist. You hold your hand up. 

“No payment needed, Mando. I’ve got more than enough credits from you as is, consider it a parting gift for when you leave tomorrow.” His hand still lays at his waist, contemplating despite your words. “I wont accept any more money, man. Just take my work with a grain of salt and we’ll call it even. Besides-” You throw him a wink. “not everyone gets to say they made friends with a Mandalorian.” 

His hand moves back to the counter top, and his helmet is inched to look back at you. 

“You’re a good kid.” He states. Your mouth goes dry. “Galaxy doesn’t have many of those anymore. Don’t lose it.” he reaches for the cup and the bag of rations you gifted to him, then he pats your hand gently. “See ya tomorrow.”

- - - - - - -

“That should be about it.” You state from the cockpit, wiping the sweat off your forehead. He’s standing against the wall. “Everything is as good as good can get.”

“Thanks, kid.” He holds his hand out, and you shake it swiftly. 

“You’re welcome.” After a moment you pull your hand back and scratch the back of your neck. “You’re always welcome here if you ever find yourself on Jakku again.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Then you're scaling down the ladder and out into the blaring sun, waving as he starts the engine. The legs retract into the ship as it hovers, sand flying, and he gives you a short wave through the glass of the pilot's seat, then takes off. Once you couldn’t see him any longer, you put your hand down and sigh, then make your way back to the village with heavy feet. 

- - - - - - -

About a month passes before he finds himself back in the inner rim, the stench of carbonite within the ship accompanying the newly encased bounty in the cargo haul. He’s cautious in the inner rim, always has been. From New Republic fighters serveiling their most protected systems and old Imperial fleets trying to gain control of their once powerful planets, everyone’s got their eyes out for their own enemies, and a ship without a radar for both of them would definitely raise red flags. 

He’s getting ready to go into hyperspace when he sees the distant battle. Blaster fire catches his eye, and then they widen. Not only were there flying TIE fighters and X-Wings dancing around each other, there was a fleeing Star Destroyer in their wake. All this action is above a familiar sand planet. 

He knows he should leave now, when he has the chance without any suspicion from either party. He could get away and claim he wasn’t there in the first place, keep his picture from appearing on any bounty pucks. 

He should leave. 

He didn’t. 

Instead he moves to land by the village he frequented last time he was on Jakku, hands clenching the controls a bit tighter than usual.

- - - - - - -

It was a massacre. 

A massacre hauntingly familiar to the one that once plagued his dreams, that was once his reality. 

The cozy village is doused in smog and when he lands. He stalks quietly and tries to ignore the smell of burning flesh with every step he takes. There’s red splattered in the sand, and while a few storm trooper bodies lay motionless, there are three times as many villagers that lie in the sand with them. He steadily reaches the repair shop with baited breath, blaster already in his hand as he pushes the door open, and stops in his tracks. 

He doesn’t know why he's surprised, the state the shop is in is made to match the rest of the village. Previously stacked parts are scattered across the floor, signs of struggle aren't hard to find, and a few stormtrooper bodies are scattered. Then he slows his breaths and listens. 

There’s sizzling coming from the white armored bodies, and if he looks closely he can see small trials of smoke from the wounds at their chests. They were killed recently. With a click his visor’s sensing heat signatures, peeking his head over the countertop for just a moment to catch sight of a bright red figure. What he finds is more than that. 

He see flashes of restraint, of smoldering burns on skin far too young, of faces stuck in forever terror with life taken from them far too soon. Their bodies are cold, his visor tells him so. In the middle of the heap is a single life form, a head of youthful hair hung low. 

He calls your name softly, and you don’t move a muscle. Your hands are glued, one to the hand of the little girl he remembered from the village those months ago, and the other with a blaster in a blistering grip. He says your name again, taking a tentative step around the corner and holstering his blaster, ignoring the children on the floor around you. At the sound of his footsteps you’re on the move, turning yourself in front of the little girl, Sara-Lynn, his mind supplies, and pointing the pistol at his helmet. You don't shoot, but your finger is dangerously twitching at the trigger. 

He quickly takes note of your condition, no bleeding or burns, bruises scattered across your arms. Your face is wet and your eyes are red. It’s a few moments of staring at each other, your aim steadily on the armored man and his hands slowly moving to the air. Finally, you break the silence. 

“I should have been here.” You whisper, face scrunching at your words. “I was just scavenging for some parts, I wasn't gone for more than an hour,” your hand starts to shake. He takes a few halted steps closer to you. 

“Give me the blaster, kid.” He says softly, hand outstretched. Your head shook, taking a shuddering breath. He freezes as your finger fiddles with the trigger again. 

“I didn’t protect them.” Another tear slipped down your cheek. “I should have been here.” After a moment passes he takes another step. His hand covers the blaster slowly, then gently prys the pistol from your hand. He briefly takes note of the poorly carved bird at the handle before he places it next to his own blaster. Your eyes meet him behind the visor, and you crumble. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” 

“It’ll be okay, kid.” He mutters, then grabs your hand and begins to take you to the door of the shop. “It’s okay.” 

You’re stuck to his side as he moves towards his ship, one hand scrunched in his cape and the other glued to your side. He takes his blaster as he moves, only firing at the still moving bodies of the storm troopers on the way to the ship. 

The ramp is open when both of you arrive. He sits you against the wall gently, stands straight and looks over you for a moment, then rushes up the ladder to the cockpit. In a moment the ship is off the ground and exiting Jakku’s atmosphere. Once you’re into hyperspace, he’s walking down the ladder and kneeling in front of you. You look up at him with puffy eyes. Slowly, he pulls the blaster back from his belt and holds it out to you. 

“I don't want to lie to you,” He starts, then gulps. “And tell you you’re okay.” Your bottom lip begins to quiver. “But I do know that it will be okay eventually, Senaar’ika.” He holds tentative eye contact as he speaks. He neglects to tell you that he’s been in your shoes before, that he’s watched as his own loved ones pass through the arms of a retreating Mandalorian. 

After a moment, you nod slowly with a tear running down your cheek, gingerly take the blaster from his hand, then pull your knees to your chest and stare into the dusty floor. He sighs as he stands back up, then moves to grab something from one of the shelves in the wall. He sits across from you and grunts, then pulls his own blaster from his belt and begins to polish it. The reminder that you're not alone is left unsaid.

The sound of your sniffles and his rag against metal echoes in the small ship, as do the sounds of blaster fire in Jakku’s wake.

MANDO'A TRANSLATION Senaar'ika: Little Bird

[lana-writes-04]

can someone explain to me how a man who's ALWAYS seen in armor can be so attractive? I need answers, people.

[lana-writes-04]

the urge to write a marc spector-steven grant-jake lockley fanfiction knowing fully well i dont have the time for it.