#tbb crosshair whump

[lifblogs]

Subject 9904

@ailesswhumptober Day 12 Isolation, Sensory Deprivation, "Can you feel me? I'm right here, whumpee."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Mature Word Count: 1607 Summary: Crosshair is put in solitary confinement. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Disordered Eating, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt Author's Note: This is a continuation of yesterday's fic, but is nowhere near as disturbing. READ ON AO3

Crosshair didn’t know how long he’d been in this utterly dark cell. Too long. He couldn’t remember when he had last seen light, when a life-form had last spoken to him. Couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be alone.

After his failed suicide attempt during interrogation, Crosshair had been put in a bacta tank so his head could heal.

He was told by Dr. Karr that the swelling, fractures, and brain injury had all been taken care of. He just needed a few more days of healing. Crosshair knew she was right because he wasn’t dead, because he wasn’t a ruined mess from what he’d done. And there was still a slight ache to the back of his head, almost piercingly cold to the touch.

Crosshair kept tapping at it, couldn’t stop thinking about it, could barely sleep if his head didn’t ache immensely from touching it so often.

Meals were given to him by droids who slid the bland food under a panel in the door. He’d tried getting out that way, somehow, but it was locked.

Since then Crosshair had stopped eating, the yawning emptiness another sensation he couldn’t stop thinking about.

It chased him into sleep, and he woke craving more of it.

“So, the Empire got you too, huh?” a voice spoke.

Crosshair turned, hair on the back of his neck raising.

He didn’t ask any questions, just waited for whoever it was to fill the emptiness.

Through the immense dark that ate at him day by day, second by second, Crosshair thought he could see some light, could see another person in the cell with him.

White, scuffed armor, bandages wrapped around limbs, a beard…

“Mayday?” Crosshair asked in confused astonishment.

“Took you long enough.”

Crosshair looked around, feeling like his small cell was actually the darkness in space, that he could stretch out a hand and go to whichever planet he wished. But someone had stolen the stars. Who had taken the stars?

“How—how are you here?” Crosshair asked. “I thought you were dead.”

“I am.”

“What?”

“Dr. Hemlock brought me back.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

“Why would he do that?”

Mayday shrugged, letting out a sigh as he leaned back against the wall. “Incentive?”

The horrors of Crosshair’s hallucinations during the last interrogation flashed through his mind: his squad’s bodies brutalized, Omega and Hemlock eating him, Rampart and Hemlock… Mayday—

He squeezed his eyes shut, and drew his legs in close, letting out a cry.

He started mumbling to himself, touching the back of his head, the pain like a flash of lightning in his vision.

Gently whacking a fist against it, he spoke, “I won’t talk.”

“I know that. But, come on, at least we’re not on Barton IV, right?”

“Stop it,” Crosshair said.

“What?”

“Stop it. You’re dead! You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.”

“Hemlock brought me back.”

“Shut up!”

Crosshair had hardly ever yelled in his entire life, could count the amount of times on one hand.

“Crosshair—”

Crosshair raised his head, seeing Mayday had come closer.

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re stuck with me. What, I died, and now I’m just back to being a reg? You’d let me die on your watch, leave my body?”

Crosshair rose, shoving Mayday.

“You’re not real,” he sobbed out, surprised to find he was crying. “You can’t be.”

Mayday sighed. “You got me, I guess.”

“So what are you?”

“Don’t you already know?”

Crosshair tried to ignore his words, ignored it as his dead friend came closer in a cell where he was in solitary confinement, ignored how he’d been hitting his own head and starving himself.

“You’re crazy,” Mayday surmised.

“I am not,” Crosshair argued.

Mayday shrugged. “Whatever. But I mean, what else have you got? Isn’t me being here better than missing me?”

Crosshair turned from him, sitting down, bowing his aching head, whacking it, and whacking it.

“At least hurt yourself somewhere else. Your brain’s kind of important,” Mayday chided.

Crosshair didn’t say anything to him.

The silence dragged on until he was sure that the galaxy had died.

Time didn’t exist anymore.

Crosshair didn’t know if his life before this had been real, if he was even real.

He tried to tell himself the ache at his head told him so, that the way he now bit his fingers in lieu of a toothpick told him so.

Yet he couldn’t even see those fingers, only feel the raw skin and the blood.

Nothing was real.

Crosshair was lying down, chewing, and chewing, and whacking his head, and enjoying the way his empty stomach told him he was dying.

“So this is what we turn into? Pathetic.”

Crosshair sat up.

He knew that voice.

He knew that voice as well as he knew the darkness around him.

With a sigh, the person sat behind him, resting his body back against his so they were mirrored.

With trembling fingers, Crosshair reached up, and felt the fuzz of hair. Hair he no longer had. He knew if seeing was something that existed that that hair would be steel gray, as it always had been for some reason.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Crosshair finally said to himself from over a year ago. “Do you… still have the chip?” he asked.

“Obviously. Try and keep up.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Mayday, shooting the lieutenant, Hemlock…

“You don’t want to know,” Crosshair told his younger self.

“Don’t I?”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

As Crosshair felt over his own head, hand brushing against his scars, a new fascination came to him.

His bloodied fingers didn’t mean much in the wake of this feeling.

He dug his fingers in, wondering if he dug deep enough if he could find the younger self that was with him.

But why would he want to be that?

Why would he want to be anything?

Crosshair dug his fingers in, nails scraping, pain singing, a renewed hatred in his gut. Not for Hemlock, or Dr. Karr, or the Empire. It was a hatred pre-dating the clone wars, a hatred he’d never been free from. Even as a cadet, even as his first day truly alive, it had been there.

It was hatred for himself.

Maybe if he dug into his scars deep enough, the hatred would wane, little by little.

But who was Crosshair without that hatred?

Who was he now?

Was he Crosshair?

Had anything been real?

What was he?

He gritted his teeth in frustration, digging, digging, scraping, tearing, pulling.

A piece of his scar came free, almost down to his skull where he had gotten skin grafts.

His younger self was still an awkward weight against him. Tears trailing down his face, he asked, “Why aren’t you stopping me?”

“Who knows. Maybe I enjoy the show.”

“But I’m you.”

“Are you? Are you definitely sure about that?”

Crosshair slammed his fist into his forehead, hoping it would dispel this version of himself.

The ache landed between his eyes, and he grunted.

“How about you try that again? Harder?”

Crosshair had a better idea.

He laid down through his old self, and he was alone, and he wasn’t alone, and the cell was filled with the voices of everyone he had ever cared about (even though he had hidden his care, even to himself). He slammed his head against the durasteel floor.

Light sparked in his vision.

Again.

Colorful shapes danced behind his eyes.

Again.

He grew dizzy.

Again.

Nausea rose in him.

Again.

He had to turn to the side to throw up stomach acid.

But then back to it.

Again.

His entire body trembled. Mayday begged him to stop.

Again.

His breathing grew fast and ragged, his heart raced. Mayday held his face, pleading. Blood roared in his ears.

His head hurt worse than it ever had in his entire life.

Agai—

The cell door opened, light flashing right through to his brain, making him cry out. He threw up again, esophagus and mouth burning.

Stun blasts hit him.

Mayday faded from him, as did everything.

Feeling like mere seconds had passed, Crosshair came to, spluttering, being taken out of a bacta tank.

Dr. Karr was not present, and neither was Hemlock. Just a pale, straight-faced woman with bangs, lenses like a visor over her eyes.

She didn’t speak to him, just noted in her datapad, saying it out loud, “Subject Nine-Nine-Oh-Four not fit for solitary confinement.”

Crosshair was exhausted, and smelled of death from all the bacta. He lay on the cot a droid had put him onto, and was told not to move. He couldn’t if he tried for a good long while.

It seemed a galaxy existed after all, that his memories (most of them) were real.

But there was one thing he could not get out of his head.

As that woman left, he wondered when he had become a “subject,” meant for experimentation, and not just interrogation.

His younger self sat on the edge of his cot in black armor, a toothpick in his mouth. Crosshair felt naked in just the thin, clinging white shorts he’d been put in.

“So, guess we’re being experimented on all over again.”

Crosshair scowled. “Here to wish me luck?”

“I’m here to watch you fall, Subject Nine-Nine-Zero-Four.”

“Crosshair,” he bit out.

“You have it wrong. I’m Crosshair. You’re nothing but a used piece of trash.”

“Leave me,” he ground out, shaking from the anger, cheeks heating up.

The door across from him slid open as he said that, Hemlock, and Dr. Karr entering.

“Leave?” Hemlock asked. “I’m afraid you have it wrong. I’ve only just begun.”

[kybercrystals94]

Deepest, Wholehearted Regards

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 7 - Prompt: Only for Emergencies / "It's us or them."

@prompts-of-bad-batch Week 3 Prompt: "Sometimes I think he's still here..."

Rated: G | Words: 914

21 BBY

Wrecker is in the gunner’s mount. He doesn’t want to listen to the argument at his back, doesn’t want to think about how it started or why. He doesn’t want to hear about Tech being too analytical, or Crosshair being too emotional. He doesn’t want to hear Hunter try to mediate. 

But the ship is too small for that. 

And so he hears everything, whether he wants to or not. 

Plan 99. 

He hates it.

Crosshair hates it too. Hunter won’t say either way, but Wrecker knows Hunter can’t possibly be okay with it. But Tech thinks they should have a plan for everything. Every possible scenario. It is only logical, he says. 

“If one of us were to become unrecoverably compromised,” Tech is arguing, “it would be advantageous to have the ability to communicate such an event discreetly.” 

“Having a plan to sacrifice ourselves should not be an option.” Crosshair is seething, voice dangerously low. 

“It is a very feasible last resort,” Tech counters. 

“Be human for one second and think about how that sounds!” 

“That’s enough!” Hunter’s sergeant voice is distinct, leaving no room for argument. “Crosshair, go cool off.” 

Something slams down hard, the sound of heavy boots retreating to the cockpit, and the hiss of the door closing. Then heavy, thick silence. Wrecker twists his hands together. He wishes he had Lula. 

“I did not mean…” Tech says quietly, but he stops short.

Wrecker thinks Hunter must’ve signaled him to be quiet, to let the conversation drop. Please. 

There is a sharp intake of breath. “That is to say,” Tech continues, but his voice sounds strange now, “I did not mean for such a plan to be offensive or macabre. Rather, I believed it would provide a chance to relay information we might not otherwise have an opportunity to express in an event where our demise is imminent.” 

Hunter sighs. He sounds tired. “What kind of information?” 

“Our deepest, wholehearted regards and our innate desire to put the lives of our brothers above our own,” Tech says. “Plan 99 would embody such sentiments without losing time to do so.” 

“That’s a good plan, Tech,” Hunter says after a long stretch of silence. “One I don’t intend for any of us to use.” 

“That would be preferable,” Tech agrees. “And I thought it would also serve as a remembrance, for Ninety-Nine. I know he would have conveyed the same information, had he had the chance.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter says softly, “He would’ve.”

19 BBY

“Wrecker, I need your help,” Omega says, climbing up into the crash seat next to him. 

Wrecker laughs. “Sure, kid! What do ya need?” 

Omega gives him her data pad. “Tech is having me memorize all of Clone Force 99’s plans. Can you quiz me?” 

Wrecker holds the data pad up where Omega cannot see the screen. “Okay…Plan 7…” 

Omega carefully relates each plan in detail, even when Wrecker tries to trick her by repeating a plan a time or two. The girl only laughs and recites the plan again without a hitch. 

“Your brain must be almost as big as Tech’s, kid, memorizing all those plans like that,” Wrecker tells her, passing over the data pad and ruffling her feathery blond hair. 

Omega giggles and ducks away. “Wait, you forgot one,” she protests, pushing the data pad back at him. 

“I did?” Wrecker asks, frowning. 

“Yeah! Plan 99.” 

Wrecker’s heart drops. “Oh, well, yeah. That’s not really a plan. Not like the other plans, ya know?” 

“It only says the sacrifice,” Omega says. “What does that mean?” 

“Oh, um,” Wrecker stammers, “maybe you should ask Hunter or Tech. Or Echo.” 

“Why?” Omega asks. 

“They can explain it a whole lot better than me,” Wrecker says. 

Omega frowns. “It makes you sad, doesn’t it. Plan 99? It’s for when something bad happens.” 

“Sort of,” Wrecker agrees. “It’s for if one of us has to do something we can’t come back from.” 

“I don’t like that,” Omega whispers, and she presses in close, curling up under his arm. “I hope we never use Plan 99…ever.” 

“Me too, kid,” Wrecker mutters, hugging her close. “We never want to use it…but if we ever did use it, did you know it’s a secret message? Only for us?” 

Omega hums a wordless question. 

Wrecker continues, keeping his voice as low as he can. “If someone ever says Plan 99 because they know they ain’t coming back, it means they care about you so much, in more words than they have time to say ‘em. It means they are putting your life first, that they want you to keep living, to keep fighting.” 

“It means ‘I love you,’” Omega says, voice muffled against him. 

Wrecker swallows. “Yeah, kid. It means ‘I love you.’”

**

Wrecker is in the gunner’s mount room. He doesn’t want to listen to the silence at his back, doesn’t want to think about how it started or why. He wants to hear Tech being analytical, explaining the galaxy away as though it were simple. He wants to hear Crosshair cleaning his rifle, Hunter discussing strategy with Echo. He wants to hear Omega laughing. He wants to pretend that he might be too far away to hear any of it. Sometimes he thinks they’re still there…if he pretends long enough. 

But the ship is too small for that. 

And so he hears nothing, whether he wants to or not. 

Plan 99. 

I love you too. 

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[fanfoolishness]

Breaching the Wall

For the @summer-of-bad-batch Week 2 prompt "injured," with a serious side of comfort. After Crosshair's injuries on Tantiss, AZI treats his pain with heavy-duty medications -- and Crosshair starts talking. To everyone. Angst, hurt/comfort, whump, family feels. 5800 words, plus illustrations of Crosshair and Wrecker, and Crosshair and Omega.

---

The pain in his hand woke him.

Stabbing, searing, burning, throbbing — it was like nothing he’d ever felt before.  He could feel his hand spasming, shuddering with each pulse of agony.  He tried to clench his fist, hoping that would help, but something wasn’t working.  He reached out with his left hand to try to rub the ache away —

His right hand was gone.

Crosshair shivered, memories flooding back in the dark.  He rolled over, fumbling until he reached the side of the bed.  Where was he?  

He panted with effort, slowly sitting upright, staring at the walls.   Moonlight was faint through the window, but it was enough for him to see his surroundings.  A bedroom with decorations; an old fishing net on the wall, patterned vases, a few holoframes of a familiar family.

That was right.  This was Shep and Lyana’s place; Shep had opened his home to them after their escape.  Told Hunter they could stay for a few days until they were more recovered.  Crosshair glanced back at the large bed, where an exhausted Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had curled up beside each other.  

For a moment, watching their chests rise and fall, rise and fall, the pain receded.

Then he moved slightly and the pain roared back, a blinding burst of it rippling outward from the stump of his wrist.  He gasped, doubling over, shivering violently.

It was hard to think with everything raw and jangling.  Get up.  Don’t disturb them.  You can rest out there… then try to find the droid…  He should have seen him earlier, but the droid had been busy with many of the other clones and their injuries.  Echo had given him some stims on the shuttle, enough to drive the pain back and keep him on his feet, and stubbornly, he’d told them it it was enough.In all the commotion, no one had questioned him.

But he felt everything now.  He’d screwed up.  Badly.

Another wave, roiling, blinding, incapacitating.  He hissed through it. Kriff, it was getting hard to breathe.

For a moment, he tensed his legs, trying to steel himself to get to his feet and take the first step into the next room.  

But he thought of resting his arm on Hunter’s shoulder, their breath syncing in the pouring rain.  He thought of his eyes locking with Omega’s, the trust on her face, the shot of his life. 

He thought of Omega’s arms, flung wide around him.

”Hunter,” he managed.  

For a moment, there was no response, and he nearly despaired.  Hunter had his own injuries, his own pain to deal with.  Normally he probably would have already heard Crosshair and gotten up with him, but he must have been fast asleep, trying to recover himself.

Crosshair took a deep, shaky breath, and tried again.  Please.

”Hunter,” he whispered.

”Crosshair?” Hunter murmured.  Crosshair felt the weight on the bed shift.  Hunter sat beside him, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed.  He looked exhausted, but his eyes were sharp and alert in his haggard face, clocking the situation.  “Your hand.”

Crosshair nodded tightly, pressing his arm hard against his abdomen.  “Can’t — sleep,” he bit out.  He shivered again. 

Hunter rested his arm on Crosshair’s shoulder, squeezing hard.  “Stay here.  I’ll get the droid.”  He leaned back, reaching out and nudging Wrecker.  “Hey.  Hey, Wrecker.”

”What is it?” Wrecker groaned, wincing as he rolled to the side.

”Crosshair needs AZI for his hand.  Stay up with him ‘til I get back.”  He got carefully to his feet, hunching over, rubbing his back with one hand.  

Wrecker nodded, stifling a yawn, and sat up stiffly.  “Right.”

“No.  I’ll go.”  A glow-lamp turned on, filling the room with soft golden light, and they all drew back against the brightness, trying to let their eyes adjust.

Omega slid off the bed, hurrying over and taking Hunter by the hand, pushing him back to sit on the bed again.  “You rest.  All three of you.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at them, though the worry in her eyes was clear.

Crosshair smiled weakly at her.  The kid had steel in her, that much was certain.  He couldn’t speak — he was breathing too hard — but Omega gazed back at him.  He could see his own pain reflected in the sorrow on her face. Guilt rose up in him.  

“I’m sorry, Crosshair,” she whispered.

He tried to shrug, but the movement was interrupted by another hug from her, this one gentle, measured, careful.  She was trying not to nudge his arm.  She rested her cheek against his and whispered, “We’ll help you.  It’ll be okay.”

He raised his left arm, curling it around her.  He closed his eyes, his breathing softening, growing a little easier.

Somehow, he believed her.

---

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Omega arrived with the droid.  Everything was blurred, between the radiating pain and the late hour.  Hunter and Wrecker sat beside him, each with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly any time he shuddered.  The distraction helped.

“CT-9904.”

Crosshair lifted his head, squinting until things shifted back into focus.  AZI-3 hovered in front of him, wide yellow eyes staring.  Omega stood beside him, nibbling on her lip, watching anxiously.  

The droid scanned him, the scanner lingering on his stump.  Crosshair looked down at his wrist.  The white bandage Hemlock’s people had placed on the wound was tinged reddish-brown.  It made his stomach turn.

AZI finished his scan, then hovered forward, injecting something into his right shoulder without fanfare.  He then lifted Crosshair’s wrist, the sound of mechanical whirring evident as the droid replaced the bandages at the end of his arm.

Whatever AZI was doing, Crosshair didn’t feel it.  A cool wave flooded down his arm, numbing as it went until it reached the wrist, bringing with it a blessed relief.  At the same time his head began to feel floaty and strange, a different kind of haze than the fog of pain.  He wobbled slightly where he sat.

AZI finished redressing the wound.  “Your wound will require further attention, though without access to a full medical bay, I am afraid my services will be somewhat limited.  Your attackers provided basic battlefield wound closure and temporary pain relief, but a revision surgery will be necessary to remove bone fragments and prepare the amputation site for interface with a prosthetic, should you choose to use one.  I will explore the area once the swelling has begun to abate.”

The droid’s words slid in one ear, out the other; Crosshair could barely make sense of them.  He wavered, listing to one side.  When he spoke his words slurred slightly.  “Why can’t I -- Why am I --”

A hand, sturdy and familiar at his shoulder, bracing him upright.  “Hey AZI, I think those pain meds you gave him kicked in,” Wrecker said.  “He’s way out of it.”

AZI nodded, his confusing chatter fading.  “With the mild anemia from the amputation, it is unsurprising that he would react more strongly to the sedating effects of pain relief than the typical clone.  He may exhibit altered mentation with this dosage, but it is necessary with an injury this severe.”

“Ahhh, he’s always been a lightweight,” Wrecker chuckled, though the laugh turned into a groan.  He rubbed at his chest, grimacing at his own wounds.

Crosshair managed a scowl at his brother, though it made him dizzy to turn and look at him.  “Not true,” he muttered, though distantly he remembered a particularly brutal night at 79’s, years back.  

“No, it’s true,” Hunter chimed in, smiling faintly despite the concern in his eyes.

The droid hovered forward, giving Crosshair another injection of something in the arm.  “This will allow for rapid replacement of your blood, CT-9904.  You should start to feel less lethargic within the next rotation.  The pain medication I have given you is a long-acting infusion and should provide comfort for the next three days before redosing is necessary…”  

The droid’s voice tuned in and out of his ears.  He was drifting in a sea of half-formed memory, drifting somewhere dark, somewhere painful --

The boot on his wrist --

The blade swinging --

Flesh tearing, bone screaming, bone crunching --

Crosshair gasped, his head swimming.  He looked up, lost again.  He was here in Shep’s house, Hunter and Wrecker sitting beside him, exhausted, pale, worried.  AZI hovered in front of Wrecker, examining him now.  Omega stood beside the droid, her arms crossed over her chest, peering closely at him.

Crosshair caught Wrecker’s eye, and his brother gave him a small smile.

“Hey, you back with us, Cross?”

“Everything’s… I don’t know,” Crosshair said slowly, shaking his head.  He raised his left arm, rubbing his face.  He felt disconnected, as if he might float away.  He had a vague sense that this was much better than how he had felt a few minutes ago, but he was having a hard time remembering why.

“Does it still hurt?” Omega asked.  

“Does what still hurt?” Crosshair mumbled.  His gaze wandered down, and he saw the bandage on his wrist, the missing hand.  Ah.  That.  “No.  Not anymore.”  He closed his eyes.  

He remembered now.  He’d asked them for help, and they’d given it.  He leaned to one side, and Hunter leaned in to close the space between them, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.  

He breathed in; he breathed out; again, and again.

---

The sunlight felt a galaxy away, gold and white playing shadows against his closed eyes.  Crosshair wandered somewhere beneath it, eyelids flickering open, bracing against the light.  Everything was muted, far away with blurred edges.  He was here on a bed.  The walls were dawn-yellow.  The ceiling rippled.  He watched it move placidly, then reached up to scratch an itch on his face, straining his fingers to reach.

His stump bumped against his cheek, and his skin crawled.  

They took it.  They took it.  It’s gone.  Nothing -- nothing there --

“Crosshair?”

He turned his head with a great effort.  Sitting at the edge of the bed was Hunter, looking out the window, watching whatever lay beyond.  He looked better than he had last night -- his hair was combed, and he’d found clothes somewhere that looked like they belonged on Pabu, not armor castoffs.  

“It’s morning,” Crosshair said, the words stretching out for what felt like hours.  He rubbed his face with his left hand, keeping his right as far away as he could.  “Why’s it -- everything’s off.”

“AZI’s got you on serious painkillers,” Hunter said.  “Better for you than combat stims, but he said you’re gonna be loopy for a few days.”

“I doubt that,” Crosshair muttered, but the bed had turned into a pitching sea, rolling him back and forth.  He groaned, fighting back a wave of nausea. 

“Here.  Let’s get you upright.  See if that helps.”  

Hunter carefully helped him up, putting some pillows behind him so he could lean back against the wall.  The dizziness shrank back into the distance, but the world still felt like it was at a remove.  Several of them.  He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes again, breathing hard.  

“You need anything?  Hungry?  Thirsty?  ‘Fresher?”  

“No.  Not yet.”  Crosshair shook his head, then smiled, a grin lazily stealing across his face.  “Toothpick.”

Hunter laughed slightly.  “So you’re not totally out of it, then. Lemme check your belt.”  He stiffly got to his feet, searching the pile of discarded armor in the corner of the room.  “Ah.  You’re running low, you know.”

“Not the only thing I’m running low on,” Crosshair said slyly.  Everything seemed oddly funny.  He reached out to take the toothpick Hunter held, fixing it between his lips.  “I also seem to be down a hand.”

It was funny, wasn’t it?

Hunter winced, and Crosshair felt a twinge of guilt.  Not funny, then.  “I -- uh, yeah, I guess you could say that.”  Hunter sat back down, folding his own hands in his lap, seeming to search for words.  “So.  How are you feeling?”

Crosshair stared up at the wavy ceiling, worrying the toothpick between his teeth and tongue.  The wood felt both richly textured and yet wrapped in fuzzy wool.  He rolled it between his molars, incisors, molars, incisors, until its end was sodden with saliva.

Oh.  Hunter had asked him a question.

How was he feeling? 

He closed his eyes.  He saw a wall, familiar, vast, unbreakable.  One he’d carefully built up foot by foot, a shield, a fortress.  It kept things hidden.  It had towered overhead after the Order went out, after Bracca, after Kamino.  It had threatened to block out all light and leave him there alone in the dark.  Yet it had protected him on Tantiss, there a lesser evil.

But there’d been breaches.  Cody, questioning Desix.  Mayday, his life in Crosshair’s hands.   

Omega, never giving up on him.  

He was floating up somewhere above the clouds, somewhere high above the wall.  Up here, it didn’t really seem to matter.  Up here, it seemed small and inconsequential.

He looked down at the bandaged stump at his side.  He took a deep breath.  Hunter’s question… he didn’t know the answer to that.  But there was something pressing, a thought twisting and itching in his head, trying to get out through a breach in the wall.

“You were right, you know.”

Hunter cocked his head to one side, slight confusion on his face.  “About what?”

“Plan 99.  I wanted to call it,” Crosshair said quietly.  “Planned to, after they took her.”

Hunter stared at him, his eyes narrowing.  “You were planning it before we got to Tantiss?”

Crosshair shrugged, the movement sending him floating further amongst the morning sunlight.  Hunter’s horror barely registered.  Why shouldn’t he tell him?  The instant Crosshair had seen the tracker fall into the waves, he’d known what needed to be done.

A trade, his life for hers.

“I thought it was the only way.  What I deserved.”  His breath caught in his throat, a pain the medication couldn’t touch.  “But -- you stopped me.  You and Wrecker.”  Were there words for what he’d felt, that moment in the jungle?  To see his brothers stepping up beside him at last, even after everything he’d done?  

No.  He’d never have the words for what that had meant to him.

“Crosshair.”  Hunter laid his hand on his arm for a moment, and Crosshair looked at him, ignoring the way his eyes burned.  “Whatever you’re carrying, you can lay it down.  You saved her.”  Hunter smiled fiercely.  “She’s right outside with Wrecker, having breakfast.  The first day of real freedom she’s maybe ever had.  That’s because of you.”

The bridge.  The rain.

His breath, in and out, focused and sure.

The shot.

Crosshair’s voice cracked, the words leaking out of him, pouring through the breach.  “She… did you see?  The look on her face, when she saw me, when she saw --”

It was burned into his mind.  The beaming relief, fading to a horrified realization when she saw his missing hand; the tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain; her face twisting into a sob as she ran to him.  

To him.

“She loves you,” Hunter said softly.  “You’ve got to know that by now.”

Why was his face wet?  He let out a shaky breath, nodding, blinking away the water in his eyes. 

“I know.  I knew.”  He bit down on the toothpick, his teeth stamping little ridges along its end.  He remembered Omega asking him for one, the way she’d sat there on the Marauder nibbling it in perfect imitation of him.  

His sister.  Safe now.  Because of him.

He didn’t have words for what that meant, either.

He shook his head, the room spinning around him, and sank back against the pillows.  Hunter’s voice rolled over him.  

“It’s all right, Cross.  Get some rest.”

---

“You’ll get through it.  But it’ll be hard, I won’t tell you otherwise.  And… they won’t really understand.”

Crosshair raised his eyes, looking around the room.  Echo sat in the chair beside the bed, his outline blurred in the streaming sunlight.  

They’d been talking, hadn’t they?  Time was looped and stretched and meaningless.  When had he last seen Hunter?  It felt like last year, but maybe it was an hour ago.  Crosshair wasn’t sure.  He tried to keep up with what Echo was saying, concentrating with a great effort.  There it was.  He found the thread again and followed it, clinging to it with both hands.

“You never complained,” Crosshair said at last.  “Arm.  Legs.  How did you —“ He took a deep breath.  “How did you do it?  This part, right now?”

Echo smiled ruefully at him.  “Sorry.  I can’t say I remember it all that well.  I still don’t know everything the Techno Union did to me, but from the Citadel to Skako Minor, there’s a lot of dead space.  First time I really realized what was missing was when I saw Rex’s face.”  He sighed.  “It took a long time for the shock to wear off.  To realize everything that had really happened.  So to answer your question, I’m not sure.  I just kept going, one day at a time.”

”’Just keep going,’” Crosshair repeated.  He could do that.  He’d been doing that every day since he was small.

“AZI will help you out,” said Echo.  “Don’t be afraid to talk to him, even after everything’s technically healed up.  I used to see him sometimes when we’d stop back at Kamino, during the war.  He’d help with phantom pain.  Exercise ideas.”  A wistful, distant look crossed his face.  “And sometimes he was just good to talk to.  Like about Fives.”

“Fives.  A reg.”  Crosshair frowned, then shook his head.  No.  That didn’t matter anymore: they were all clones together, like Cody.  Like Mayday.  And he’d heard Fives’ name before, remembered through the fog what he was to Echo.  “A brother.”

Echo tilted his head, a look of surprise crossing his face.  “Yeah.  Don’t know if you remember me talking about him, but we made ARC trooper together, back during the Kamino invasion.  We were close.  You’d have liked him.  Tough as durasteel, and one of the finest troopers I’ve ever met.  And just enough of a mouth on him that you’d have been fast friends if you didn’t kill each other first.”

Crosshair chuckled.  “Sounds like a good man.”  He sighed, his smile fading.  “No word from Cody?”

Echo shook his head.  “No.  Rex’s contacts are always keeping an ear out for him, but no one’s had any word.  If anyone could stay alive out there on his own, it’s Cody, but… it’s been a long time.”

”He tried with me,” Crosshair said softly.  “Tried to help me see the Empire was wrong. But I… let him down.  If you find him…”

“I’ll let you know, Crosshair.  That’s a promise.”  

He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard.  He reached up to pull his collar down and missed, his stump going wide.  He groaned in irritation, using his left hand instead, and cracked his eyes open to glare at Echo.

“I keep forgetting,” Crosshair growled.  “Stupid, I know.  How could I forget --”

“Takes time to adjust,” Echo said.  “It’s not stupid at all.  You all never looked down on me for it.”

Faint memories, flickering up.  Echo needing help donning and doffing his armor at first.  Reaching for something with his scomp arm, remembering halfway through, switching to his left hand.  Tech, helping repair his leg after a rough early mission.  It hadn’t seemed strange back then.  “You were defective, just like us,” Crosshair said slowly.

“Another bad batcher,” said Echo with a warm smile.

Crosshair grinned, shifting.  His stump grazed against the bed, and he jerked backwards, expecting it to hurt.  But the droid’s drugs were working.  His stump felt like a dull, frozen log attached loosely to his shoulder; everything was numbed and confused.  Better than the pain, but no less disorienting.  

The smile on his face slid away, remembering his hand straining, struggling, shaking, desperate --

“You all right?” Echo asked.

“I remember,” Crosshair said haltingly.  “A vibrosword.”  He swallowed.  The room seemed darker suddenly, sunlight vanishing, or was that his imagination?  “‘You should be more careful with your shooting hand.’”  He shuddered.  “Tried to -- tried to stop him --”

Echo’s left hand, resting on his shoulder, a firm squeeze.  “I’m sorry, brother.”  

Crosshair reached up, fumbling, his own hand searching for Echo’s.  He gripped it as hard as he could, chancing a look at the other clone’s face.   

His chest ached at Echo’s smile.  “Brother,” he whispered.

---

“What do you do?” Crosshair asked, unsteady on his feet.  He leaned heavily against Wrecker as they walked back from the ‘fresher.  His feet tried to slide out from under him.  How could his head feeling so light make his feet work so badly?  The two weren’t even connected.  It didn’t make sense.

“What do I do when?” said Wrecker, helping him back down to the bed.  Crosshair sat there, staring out the window for a long minute.

“What do you do when you’re afraid?” Crosshair mumbled.  “Always… wondered.”

Wrecker sat down carefully beside him.  “Huh.  Yeah, you’re uh… you’re definitely feeling it.”

“So?” Crosshair scoffed.  “Answer the, the question.”

“Well… I dunno.  I guess just… keep trying?  Why?”

”I don’t know,” Crosshair said.  He’d already half-forgotten asking the question, though it had seemed important somehow.  

There’s no room for fear on the battlefield.  No room for cowards.

So why did he feel so afraid?

Wrecker leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, I dunno.  I mean, there’s afraid, and then there’s afraid.  I guess maybe there’s some stuff I never could figure out.”  He ducked his head.  “Like heights.  ‘Specially after… after Tech.”  

Crosshair stiffened.  He didn’t want to think about Tech.

Not when he should’ve been there.

Not when he could’ve been there, if he’d chosen right.

But even though the wall was floating far below him, his tongue froze in his mouth.  He couldn’t speak.  Not yet.  Not about him.  It was too hard, too much, even now.

He just leaned to the side, resting his head on Wrecker’s shoulder.  

“Aw.”  Wrecker laughed, a soft, pleased sound as he raised a hand to clap Crosshair on the back.  “Like when we were cadets.  Remember?  You always used to sleep on me.  ‘Til suddenly you were all about ‘personal space.’  Whatever that is!”

“Hrhm,” Crosshair muttered, adjusting his head to find a more comfortable spot.  He did remember.  Sometimes they used to fall asleep on the same bed after a long day of training; sometimes it was naps in a pile of all four of them.  He didn’t remember why he’d stopped.  One day, it had just felt like something he shouldn’t do anymore, not if he wanted to be a real soldier.  

“Wrecker?” 

“Yeah, Cross?”

”Shut up.”  He leaned in harder to his brother, and Wrecker’s arm around him was something he’d lost, then found again.  He closed his eyes, sinking against him.

“I know you don’t mean it, you big softy.”

”Shut up.”

He fell back asleep with Wrecker’s warm laughter in his ears.

---

”You’ve got to eat,” Omega said, sliding a tray of food across the table to him.  “Hunter said you wouldn’t listen to him.”

”Hunter doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Crosshair muttered.  He rested his head on his hand, staring down at the tray of sliced fish and marinated seaweed and fresh fruit.  He supposed it looked good.  But he hadn’t felt hungry all day, too busy floating and rambling and sleeping and trying not to think about his hand.  

Omega grinned.  “You’re still so grouchy.  AZI said sometimes that medication can make people giddy.  Or just very sleepy.  Maybe you’re just being extra Crosshair on it.”

”Nobody needs that,” he groused.  He tried to pick up a wedge of fruit with his right hand and succeeded only in smearing fruit juice across his bandage.  He pulled his arm away, growling as Omega reached for a napkin.  

“Can I help, Crosshair?” she asked.  

He looked at her face, kind and concerned, and begrudgingly pushed his arm toward her.  She hesitated for only a second before carefully dabbing at the bandage with her napkin, laying one hand tenderly on his forearm.  He wished he could fully feel her hand there, instead of a faint pressure that was all he could sense through the drugs.

“It isn’t fair,” Omega said quietly.  

“That you’re stuck babysitting me?” 

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “Oh, please!  Come on.  No.”  Her mouth twisted into a frown, her eyes suddenly too bright.  “It isn’t fair about your hand, of course.  You’d been getting better.  You were working so hard.  I could see it.  And then they hurt you —“ 

She let go of his arm, folding her own arms on the table and resting her head on them, looking away from him.  “Because you were trying to help me.”

Crosshair’s jaw clenched.  “None of that,” he said sharply.  “Not your fault.  Don’t you ever think that.”

She raised her head, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.  “But it’s true —“

For a moment, they stared at each other, both flushed and breathing hard.

His head was jumbled, aching with how his thoughts swirled around each other.  He had to figure out how to put the words together, how to make her understand.  He reached out clumsily and took her hand in his.

”Omega, if this is what it took, it was worth it.”  He swallowed.  “Understand?”  He squeezed her hand, and hers was the one that trembled.

She nodded, trying not to cry.  “Crosshair?”

”Yeah?”

”I’m so proud of you.”

He blinked, tears sliding silently down his cheeks, and nodded.  He let go of her hand and pulled the tray back to him, and started eating, not bothering to wipe the water from his face.

---

Hunter again, silhouetted by moonlight this time instead of sunlight.  Night again already?  Crosshair sighed.  He was getting sick of the way time slid away from him so quickly.

”How much longer?”

”Until what?”

”’til this wears off.  Tired of it.”

”AZI stopped by again today, remember?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms.  He leaned back in his chair, looking at him with mild concern.

”Vaguely.”  He’d half-thought he was dreaming.  

“He said this dose should wear off in another two days.  Once you’re a little more recovered then he said he’s got to go in and work on it more so it heals properly.  So you’re not done just yet,” said Hunter.  “It’d be a faster process if we had a full medbay, but the Empire doesn’t exactly leave them lying around.”

Crosshair huffed.  “Of course.”  His mind drifted back to Echo.  “Guess it’s one day at a time.”

“Good way to look at it,” said Hunter.  He paused.  “Glad Omega got you to eat something.”

”Can’t say no to her,” Crosshair said.  He chuckled.  Things were funny again.  “Maybe that’s her enhancement.”

Hunter laughed.  “That’s a pretty good theory.  When she gives you those eyes, it’s hard to say no, even if it’s for her own good.”

”Uh-huh.”

Crosshair sat up, testing his balance.  Still off.  He wobbled to one side, then slowly sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.  He thought of the kid, so damn earnest.

“She tried so hard to help me,” he said.  “With my hand.  Told me you put her up to it.”

“Some of it,” Hunter admitted.  “But she came to me about it first.  She’d been worried about you for a while.  She knew you weren’t ready to talk to me or Wrecker about it.”

“No,” said Crosshair.  He curled the fingers of his left hand up into his palm, relaxed them, curled them again.  His right wrist felt like a strange ghost, numbed and muted, a thousand parsecs away.  “The droid said it was all in my head.  I guess it was.”  His throat was tight again, and he looked away.  “Just couldn’t… Tantiss…”  The words choked in his mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Hunter said.  He let out a long, shivering breath, the sound of it echoing in Crosshair’s ears.  “Hemlock told me what he tried to do to you.  Tried to do it to me, too.”  He hung his head.  “I -- I didn’t know.  What you’d gone through.”

“I wasn’t exactly telling,” Crosshair muttered.  He looked back at Hunter, whose face was blurry, sliding away.  For a moment he looked young again, a cadet with brown eyes blazing, face set with determination.  Then things shifted, and he was a tired clone who’d been through hell, his eyes weary. Compassionate.  It was almost more than Crosshair could bear.  “Felt like I deserved it.”  He held out his stump.  “Like this.”

“No one deserves this,” said Hunter flatly.   “Look.  I’ve been talking to AZI.  It might take a while to find a source for one, but we’ll get you a new hand.  I promise.”

“But this one’s still gone,” Crosshair hissed, flaring with a sudden rage, incandescent, poisonous, raw.  He thrust out his arm, shoving it in Hunter’s face.  “I don’t care what you find.  It won’t be the same.”  He let out a sharp huff of breath, his heart pounding.  “Maybe I’d ruined it, maybe I was never going to be that sniper again, but it was mine.”  

Hunter held out his hands in a placating gesture, and the anger ebbed away, a foggy memory.  Crosshair sank back against the pillows, shaking.  

“Sorry,” said Hunter, and something like pity crossed his face.  “You don’t have to have a prosthetic, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Crosshair said roughly.  

I should figure out how to get along without one.

I don’t need their help.

Maybe a prosthetic would just shake, too --

The thoughts ringed around his head dizzyingly, too difficult to get out even through the crumbling wall and his lowered defenses.  He clung to them, confused and ashamed. 

Hunter’s voice cut through the cloud of thoughts.  “You don’t have to know, yet.  You can take the time.”

The thoughts quieted down again, and he fell back into a remove again, faded and muted.

Hunter spoke again.  “Sorry, Cross.  I don’t know what it’s like.”  

“No, you don’t.”  He gave Hunter a twisted smile.  “Hell, I don’t either.”

”You talked to Echo.”

”A little.  It’s — hard, like this.  Good man, Echo.”  A wave of drowsiness rolled over him, heavy and oppressive.  He stifled a yawn, trying to keep focused on Hunter.  “I’m talking a lot, aren’t I.  Must be whatever the droid did.”

“Must be.”  Hunter reached out, offering a toothpick.  Crosshair took it with his left hand, shimmied it into place.  This one tasted of stale sawdust, and he frowned, the dryness of it puckering his mouth.

”Keep seeing it,” Crosshair said under his breath.

”What?”

“That moment.  After the explosion.”  He sighed.  “Should’ve stopped him.  Could’ve, if I’d had a knife.  Stupid not to carry one.  Why’d you let me talk the Kaminoans out of it?”  He shuddered, rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, grimacing at how tender it felt even through the numbing of the pain meds.  He rolled up his sleeve cautiously.

There was a dark purple-black bruise on his forearm.  A swollen crescent shape.  It took him a moment to realize it was from the rim of his gauntlet, crushed into his arm from the weight of the trooper.

He rolled the sleeve back down hurriedly and gnawed on his toothpick.

“Because if our sniper was having to engage in hand-to-hand combat, we’d failed as a squad,” Hunter said dryly.  “It didn’t make sense to add the extra weight to your kit when you hadn’t had the hand-to-hand training Wrecker and I had.  Remember?  I backed you on that.”

Crosshair snorted.  “What did we know back then?”

Just battle sims and life as Clone Force 99.  What else was there?

He gazed out the window.  The night sky was a wash of blues and blacks and grays, white-gold starlight twinkling across the immense sky.

“You know something that doesn’t make sense,” Crosshair ventured.  It seemed important to tell him, though it was stupid, it was shameful.

“What?”

“I thought, at least it’s over.”

“I know.  Tantiss is gone.”

“No, not that.  This.”  He held up his stump.  “The tremor.  It was getting worse.”  He grimaced.  “You saw.  I’d let Omega down.  Couldn’t handle meditating after they took her.  But now it’s… gone.  She’ll never have to know I couldn’t -- I couldn’t fix it --”

“Hey, hey.  Crosshair.”

He spat out his toothpick into his palm and turned away, burying his face in the pillows, his back to Hunter.

”You think that matters to her?”

”I — I don’t know.”  It matters to me.

For a moment, Hunter fell quiet.  The only sounds were their breathing, soft and steady.

Like on the bridge —

Hunter’s voice was quiet but determined.  “We all have our battle scars.”

And?  This was news?

”I don’t think they’re always the kind that we can see,” Hunter said.  He paused, as if trying to figure out what to say.  ”There’s some injuries… you don’t fully recover from.  That doesn’t make you weak.  Look at Wrecker’s eye.  Look at Echo.”

Crosshair was very still.  With his eyes closed like this, Hunter’s voice enveloped him, the world shrinking down to his brother’s words.

”Maybe you’ll be different now.  Maybe some things can’t… really be fixed.  But I think you can get through it.  You’ll still be Crosshair.”

”You sure about that?” he asked softly, so softly he wasn’t sure if Hunter had heard him.

”Crosshair, you’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.”  Hunter’s voice was warm, affectionate.  “If you decide to get better, you will.  I know it.  You just… you have to decide you deserve it.”

That was the hard part.

He hovered in the dark, the wall far below him, crumbling into a shadow of itself.  It wasn’t gone.  He’d probably add a few more bricks to shore it back up, once he got out of this fog.  But it was a ruin now, broken down, far easier to get over and through than it ever had been before.  

Maybe it was something he wouldn’t need for much longer.

“Hunter?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Think I’ll remember this, tomorrow?”

”I don’t know.”  Hunter reached out, patting him on the back.  “But if you don’t, I’ll tell you again.  As often as you need to hear it.”

That sounded fair to him.

He drifted off into the haze, his arm dull and quiet, his mind blank and free of pain.  He thought of his brothers beside him, Omega’s hand in his, and he slept deep and long and dreamless into the morning.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 9

Part (9) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Tension. Some big emotions. Mild cursing. Also some legit fluff

WC: 3,257

It’s easy to believe that children are resilient, that once physical wounds heal, we might pretend no further damage remains. The horrors they can adapt to, the things they can survive, it’s just as incredible as it is heartbreaking. But there’s a very big difference between surviving and thriving, and that youth that offers such ‘resilience,’ in truth, merely masks scars far deeper than we’d like to admit.

Sometimes those scars are loud; evident in bursts of rage far more violent than normal tantrums. Something they are quiet. Sometimes those scars hide until the child is grown; until they can’t be dismissed beneath the cover of youth despite never having learned how to cope with the terrors veiled in shadows only they can see, and if those around them plead ignorance to the cause of those terrors, they leave wounds that may never heal.

“Look at that! You must be a Jedi!” I exclaimed with wonder at the unblemished skin of legs once covered with tiny scrapes and burns. The girl shook her head so quickly that her hair, now hanging loose to her shoulders in puffy curls, bounced against cheeks bunched into a wide grin.

“Yup, she definitely has some kind of secret healing power.” Echo chimed, and she shook her head even more emphatically, shoulders shaking with nearly silent giggles.

Crosshair was out on patrol with Wrecker providing what cover he could from the ramp of the Marauder, his leg still preventing him from moving much. Tech still hadn’t stirred since his brief moment of near-lucidity, and Hunter snored softly from the co-pilot’s seat where, not five minutes prior, he’d denied the obvious exhaustion Echo and I had silently agreed against commenting on.

I’d spent another twenty minutes coating his battered form with bacta, fingers carefully guiding the blue gel across dark bruises and skin split beneath cruel strikes. It had felt… intimate… the way I kneeled between his legs to tend his wounds, dimmed lights soft enough to hide my blush from anyone but him as we both carefully avoided the other’s gaze, and I couldn’t help but remember the quiet moment just before coming out of hyperspace above that feral planet where I’d so nearly died to the locals' poisonous arrows. It felt like so long ago… but the way he’d held me, arm locking around my waist in a silent plea to stay as he'd laid nearly bare atop my bed, skin still glistening with oils and body blissfully limp in the aftermath of my touch… The memory of it still sent my heart racing.

He’d declined my offer to help him into a fresh set of blacks, and I tried not to argue as he bit back a wince from how the act of dragging the sleek fabric down his powerful form tortured already abused flesh, instead turning my attention absently toward Tech if only to grant myself a moment's reprieve from the heaviness lingering on air rife with shame and want and denial. There was no place for those feelings here. Not anymore.

“I bet she haS other hidden powers, too.” I continued, heart alight at the beaming smile on her innocent face.

“Yeah? Think she’s hiding a lightsaber somewhere?” Echo asked suspiciously, making the girl’s eyes dart to him with an excitement poorly veiled beneath mock nervousness.

“Only one way to find out.” I replied, bringing my hands up as of I were about to snatch her. A squeal burst from her lips as she leapt from the chair and took off down the small room, gangly limbs flailing with that precious, youthful clumsiness as she raced to climb the first few rungs of the ladder before I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against me with a victorious laugh. My entire body warmed at the look on Echo’s face as I turned back to him, giggling child locked to my chest. There was no trace of tension or dread or regret in eyes so often weighted beneath far too much guilt. Instead, his lips just hinted at a soft smile, stance loose where he’d lazily risen from his seat.

“Well?” he pressed, making a show of crossing his arms over his chest. I let my hands dance over ticklish skin under the guise of patting the girl down while carrying her.

“I'm afraid she's too clever for me.” I lamented. “Wherever she's stashed it, I fear we’ll never find it.” He let out a quiet chuckle as the girl paused her thrashing just long enough to stick her tongue out at him, his hands reaching up to fondly ruffle her hair.

“Alright, little jetii, let's get out of here before your giggles wake that guy up.” He nodded back toward Hunter, even breaths still enunciated with the faintest rumble. She nodded and readily leapt down from my arms before darting back to the ladder, not waiting for us to join her as she scrambled up the worn metal once more.

“You'd think she hadn’t just been held prisoner in a kriffing black site…” Echo murmured, that earlier warmth lost beneath a deep worry.

“It’s easier to pretend to be happy than it is to let yourself be scared.” I whispered back.

“Those feelings aren't going to just go away.” I looked back at him with a quiet understanding, wondering how desperately he’d tried to ignore his own fears, how violently they still haunted him.

“No,” I agreed softly, “they don't… but she'll have her entire life to deal with what happened. And, hopefully, she'll be surrounded with people who love her to help her through it.” He glanced toward me, eyes resting on mine for a long, silent moment before something clattered loudly overhead followed by a hissed curse.

“Crosshair's back.” I couldn't quite hide the humor in my voice as we both started toward sound.

-

“They've got the planet on lockdown.” Echo reported. “Which means the Senator is still here, but it also means it's going to be a lot harder for us to get out."

“It also means they'll have him hidden somewhere even more heavily guarded than the last place.” Came the grumbled reply.

Crosshair and Wrecker stood close to the arc as they spoke in hushed voices while the girl kneeled atop Hunter’s cot with Lula dancing between her small hands, some foreign tune humming softly through pursed lips.

I wanted to help. Maker, how I wanted to pluck the correct answer from the ether that we might hurry and focus on our own escape from this tortured world… but this: plotting and strategizing, accounting for all known factors and preparing for inevitable surprises… this was beyond me.

“I anticipate his position will be made known shortly.” Tech stated from behind me. My attention instantly snapped toward him.

“Tech! You shouldn't be up yet!” I scolded, already snatching my datapad with a mumbled, “The hell… None of my alerts went off…”

“I disabled them.” He answered nonchalantly, and offered no hint of chagrin at the glare I shot him. “I’d already reviewed my vitals. There were no signs of abnormalities, thus no reason to delay my return.”

“Tech…” I sighed, making no attempt to hide my frustration even as his brothers smirked at us.

“I am…” his voice quieted, and I couldn’t help but mirror that quiet as I looked at him, as I noted the odd stiffness in his jaw beneath eyes narrowed in an attempt to gather his thoughts, “impressed that you were able to repair the damage to my arm. I anticipated waking to find it gone… Thank you.” My own jaw tensed briefly at the knowledge of just how close he'd come to exactly that, and I gave a small nod.

“Then we would'a had to get you somethin’ like what Echo's got!” Wrecker chuckled as he said it, but his voice was still oddly subdued.

“While I admit to a certain degree of curiosity toward being able to connect directly to a network relay, I think I'd prefer to keep my natural appendages.” Tech replied dryly, but then he glanced toward Echo with a subtle, contrite frown.

“Yeah. Me too.” Echo grumbled, but offered his brother a small smirk before turning the conversation back toward the mission.

I let out a short breath before finally allowing myself to wander away from the conversation, attention turning back toward the girl, who's earlier glee had finally begun to dwindle. Lips draw  into a gentle smile, I sat softly atop Hunter's bed with her.

“Not much fun all by yourself, huh?” I kept my voice quiet, and my heart broke at the way her lips bunched, jaw grinding as she let her hands drop heavily to the now wrinkled bedding. For just a moment, she released the toy, arms raising as her fingers began to move with some half-hearted intent before catching herself and going still once more, but that was enough. I recognized that halted gesture.

“You know,” I whispered, as though I was about to share a secret, “when things are really scary, and we have to be really quiet, we use our hands to talk to each other.” Her eyes flashed up to mine though she kept her head tucked to her chest, reserved interest poorly stifled beneath a dejected frown.

“Watch.” I murmured before turning back to the others. Cross met my eyes and paused at the beseeching expression on my face. I smiled gratefully as I waved a quick question.

Number of nearby hostile? His brows pulled together, confused, but he hesitated only a moment before replying.

All clear.

My attention darted back to the girl at the sound of her sharp gasp. With Lula tucked beneath her arm, she jumped from the bed and raced across the room to the others, and I couldn't help but chuckle at how quickly I'd been forgotten.

It was Tech she ran to, though her gaze kept darting between the others as well, and I cringed slightly as how forcefully she threw herself into his side. He froze mid-word, attention instantly dropping to the girl. She seemed to struggle with keeping herself pressed tightly against him while still freeing her hands enough to sign something, and he automatically lowered himself to a knee to better address her.

“Yes, I can understand you.” He said it so thoughtlessly, as though it were almost silly to assume otherwise, but the way that girl’s face lit up left me tightening my jaw to keep my breath steady. Her hands became a blur of movement, but he didn't hesitate in responding.

“Standard soldiers have a very limited and specialized set of signals for instances when verbal communication could prove dangerous, but I am quite well versed in the more standardized sign language you appear to be using.” He answered. I understood only a few snips of the flurry of signs that followed. Scared. Home. Dad. Help. Mean. Tech, however, nodded knowingly.

“I assure you, from what you've said, your father's kidnapping was in no way a consequence of your actions, and my squad and I will do whatever is needed to free him as well.” The motion for “punch" was unmistakable, and even Tech let out a small huff of laughter.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I do not believe it would be wise for you to accompany us… No, droids would be more likely to use you as a hostage than they would be to show you any leniency due to your being “small,” thus eliminating any strategic advantage having an additional person keeping watch might grant.” Crosshair rolled his eyes at Tech's reply, and I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

There was something wonderfully familiar about this; the hum of their voices weaving into a gentle chorus I’d heard a thousand times yet would never bore of. I don’t know when I shifted atop Hunter’s bed to let my back rest against the sidewall, when my head gradually fell toward my shoulder as the day’s exhaustion finally made itself known once more, but I didn’t doubt that it was their voices that lulled me into a gentle sleep.

-

“Hey… come on, mesh’la… need to wake up.”

A grumble caught in my throat, shoulders tensing against the ache of such an unforgiving position.

“Don’t yell at me – we all tried to convince you to lay down.” The air of annoyance twisting those words was ruined beneath the smile I could hear woven through that low rasp.

“…liar.” A quiet huff of laughter was his only retort before letting his hand whisper over my shin, fingers tightening for barely a breath before the touch was gone.

“Hunter’s waiting to go over the plan.” He continued. I begrudgingly forced my eyes open just in time to watch him take a small step back, arms already adorned in armor folding across his chest, fond smirk still playing with thin lips. “Not that it’s much of a ‘plan’.” He added with that familiar façade of disdain.

“That’s our specialty.” I replied, words taut as I curled my arms over my head, back arching in a vain attempt to stretch out the lingering stiffness before pushing myself toward the edge of the narrow cot. He merely hummed in response, the quiet sound infused with every ounce of resignation he felt toward that fact, and I let myself laugh softly at the small scowl it drew to his face.

Hunter's gaze flicked only briefly toward me as we arrived in the cabin. The ramp was still open, inviting the midnight air to bring a pleasant chill into the normally stuffy room. We were on the very outskirts of the forest, where the treeline ended so abruptly, the prairie that followed looked oddly intentional. Wisps of light occasionally danced between the distant strands of tall grass, tiny bursts of yellows and gold gleaming brilliantly for mere moments before fading back into a gentle darkness.

I wondered if Tech had already spoken on the seemingly magic chemical reaction granting the tiny insects that burst of luminescence. I wondered if he and Hunter had needed to corral the small girl to keep her from racing off to see them up close, and I wondered if Crosshair could still see smoke from the havoc wrought upon that wretched base, if the trees still smoldered and the air still burned with the scent of ozone from electrical fires. Probably not. By now, the site had likely already been cleared and returned to an unnatural illusion of feral wilderness, a realization that left my skin crawling with the knowledge of what nightmares that artificial wilderness had concealed.

“Echo and Tech were able to pinpoint the ship they evacuated the Senator on and traced it to a transfer station three klicks outside the city.” Hunter started, hip cocking as he glanced over the screen of his datapad.

“Given their obvious failure to conceal that fact, they’re clearly attempting to use the Senator to lure us in a trap.” Tech added.

“And we’re going to take advantage of that.” Hunter continued, and I had to pointedly keep myself from sighing at his haughty smirk. “Echo, Wrecker: you two are heading straight for the transport. Rig as much of their docks up with explosives as you can. Cross – I want you on the north end to start: take out the power transformer, then find a place to whole up near the Marauder. Provide cover fire where you can, but be ready to bring the Marauder in for a pickup as soon as the Senator is secured.” Tech’s fingers tapped impatiently at his thigh as Hunter spoke, and took the first opportunity he could to cut in.

“That transformer is only a decoy. The real one is hidden underground.” He explained quickly. “There’s likely to be a brief interruption of power intended solely to sell the deception before the real generator kicks back in.”

“That’ll give Tech and I an opportunity to grab one of their smaller ships as a distraction while they go on the defen-”

“Wait.” I said firmly, brows furrowing as I met Hunter’s confused gaze. He went perfectly still, clearly shocked to be interrupted. “You can’t go running around a Separatist base, right now, Hunter. It’s bad enough the others are going, but you’re barely standing.” He didn’t answer for a moment, as though expecting that heavy silence to be enough for me to back down, but my gaze didn’t falter.

“I’ll be fine, Doc. If everything goes according to plan, we should be in and out in-”

“No.” I said, voice granting no room for argument, and a flare of frustration darkened eyes still swollen with heavy bruising as he turned his full attention to me. “You want me to list off all the reasons you should still be in bed? The broken ribs, internal bleeding that’s only barely patched, probably a mild concussion at best; all of which could be exasperated with even light activity.”

“Your concerns are noted, but these are extenuating circumstances, and we don’t have the luxury of being overly cautious.” My own frustration turned nearly violent at his dismissive retort, shoulders drawing back as I glared up at him, pointedly ignoring the way Crosshair was fighting back a smirk.

“You can complain all you want about me being overly cautious from the damn cockpit of the Marauder.” I retorted, nearly snarling at him.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Doc. I’m not-”

“You’re right: this isn’t a discussion.” I interrupted sharply. “As squad medic, I have the final say on this. Not you.” Crosshair looped his arms over his chest, hip cocking slightly with an amusement he no longer tried to hide while the others stood frozen, stances rigid as they watched in tense silence as Hunter stared me down. I could see the enraged sense of betrayal stealing over him, heard it in the heaviness of his carefully controlled breaths, and I hated the guilt that coiled through my chest. But I didn’t back down. The risk was too great.

“I’m pulling rank, Hunter.” I stated, voice painfully even, the faintest hint of an apology quieting the almost whispered words. “I’ll go with Wrecker – I’ve picked up enough of his tips here and there to help set the charges, and Echo can help Tech nab a decoy ship.” That silence grew almost debilitating, and I felt the way my heart raced beneath the weight of this moment. Hunter’s reaction meant more than just this mission. If he refused, if he ignored my orders now… that would illustrate more than just a lack of respect for me as a medic. It would call into question my very place on this squad and my ability to be their medic…

Right hand curling into a tight fist, Hunter’s lips just hinted at a scowl before those infuriated eyes finally turned away from me, shoulders drawn taut as he stormed around us and vanished into the fore of the ship without a word. I didn’t watch him go, though his brothers showed no such restraint, staring in shock as their Sargeant disappeared down the stairs to the cockpit.

It was Echo that finally broke the silence.

“Wrecker, make sure Doc has what she needs to help you set the charges.” Wrecker’s attention shifted to the arc with a fresh note of surprise before coming back to himself.

“Yeah… right…” He muttered, hesitating for just a moment more before glancing toward me and then starting toward the supply room.

Next Chapter

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[doodlingfoolishness]

Crosshair groaned, trying to move. His helmet had gotten twisted, the visor angle wrong. He couldn’t see. Panic arced through him. Where was he?

His left hand twitched, fingers spasming, his glove smearing something sticky. Something heavy slumped against him, something familiar, someone. Hunter. He was breathing, wasn’t he?

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up to keep fighting, couldn’t hardly breathe. Maybe he could shoot —

You should be more careful —

He froze. Strained, trying to move his right hand, searching for his blaster. Tried to move his hand —

No, no, no —

The boot on his arm, his whole body shaking, the hum of a vibrosword —

You should be more careful with your shooting hand.

A scream tearing his throat, the taste of blood, darkness —

He panted, trying to reach his right hand with his left, but he couldn’t feel it, could only feel a shrieking, stabbing pain — an absence —

“This one’s moving.”

“Stun him again. And clean up that blood. Hemlock wants them fully prepared for conditioning.”

No —

—

(We’re not talking enough about this moment and it’s killing me ;_; References below the cut. More musings on this here.)

[squad-724]

I had this image ready for whumtober and then forgot to post it

Whumptober + Centaur au

Aftermath of this scene in the au

Wrecker bought time for Omega and Tech to escape the Zygerrians, but wasn’t lucky to do it himself; Crosshair was too late to get him out of the train, and could only chase the train for so long before he lost stamina and watched as it went away with his brother inside

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906 @coruscanti-travelguide

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Catch the Sunrise

As Crosshair struggles to integrate into life on Pabu after being rescued from Mount Tantiss, you try to reconnect with him and draw him out of his shell.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader (can be seen as platonic or romantic).

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst and whump, care and comfort, Cross is not okay, things do get better, ends hopeful.

A/N: this one is a little different than my other stuff, but its been rattling around in my head ever since I saw the teaser trailer at Celebration for S3. Cross looked so depressed, and goodness I just wanted to scoop up the sad toothpick and give him a cuddle. So, this is what this is – we’re giving him a great big cuddle.

In the stillness of the early morning, as the island slumbered in hushed tones, you stirred in your bed, your eyelids fluttering open to the fading darkness that enveloped your room. The dimming moonlight cast a glow, offering mere glimpses of the familiar shapes around you.

A sudden creak echoed through the silence, and your drowsy mind snapped to attention. Heart skipping a beat as you strained to discern the source of the sound, your breath hitched when a second noise reached your ears: the soft, unmistakable click of the door opposite yours closing.

Sitting up, the covers slipped off you. With cautious movements, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor. Every step towards the door seemed to amplify the rhythm of your pounding heart, and you reached for the robe hanging on the back of it, tying it hastily around your body.

You didn’t hesitate to open your door, though you took it slow to avoid the squeak you still hadn’t greased.

The hallway was dimly lit by the faint glow of the night light used to help Omega navigate to the bathroom in the dark, and it threw elongated shadows along the walls. You tiptoed forward, steps deliberate and silent, and peered around the corner.

There, about to head down the stairs, was Crosshair.

It had been six weeks since you’d stormed Mount Tantiss to get him and Omega back, finding Tech in a bacta tank, too.

They’d integrated back into life on Pabu with ease – Omega had started attending the island’s school, while Tech had made it his mission to fix anything he could get his hands on.

But Crosshair… he’d withdrawn. Barely leaving his room, he seemed like a ghost of his former self, lost in his thoughts. The scars from his time with the Empire weren’t just physical but mental, too, and they weighed heavily on him. You’d tried to help him as much as you could, but that stubborn streak of his was hard to break. It was clear that the road to recovery was going to be a long and difficult one, but you weren’t going to give up on him.

You watched him from the shadows, torn between wanting to respect his space and the need to reach out to him. He seemed so distant, so different from the man you’d known during the war – the man who’d at first been frustrated by the presence of a mere civilian in the squad but had then grown protective of you, who’d inked an Aurebesh ‘99’ onto your wrist so you’d finally match him and his brothers, and who’d taught you how to use his rifle when no one else was allowed to touch it.

As Crosshair descended the stairs, you knew this might be your chance to talk to him, to draw him out of his shell. You stepped out from the shadows and called his name softly. He froze, his hand halfway down the handrail, and slowly turned to face you.

It was hard to miss the tiredness that painted his face; those hawkish eyes you’d gazed into thousands of times were now red-rimmed and glassy. Neither of you uttered a word, the silence lingering for a second before he sighed, turning and heading down the rest of the stairs.

You took off after him, tiptoeing to not wake his siblings. Bare feet met the tiled floor of the living room, and you found him at the window, gazing out into the distance. He’d never been a conversationalist, that much was a fact, but he’d barely uttered a word in six weeks, instead opting to respond with small sounds and grunts to convey varying levels of annoyance.

For a moment, you take him in. He was still too slender for your liking – he’d lost the few pounds he’d once had while he’d been in captivity on Tantiss – and he was in desperate need of a shave, grey stubble covering his jawline. His hair was starting to grow back, silver flecks covering his scalp, though you knew it would never hide his scar from Bracca.

Moving forward, you stopped at his side, eyes shifting to look out the window, too. The palm trees swayed a little in the light breeze, the fading moonlight casting an eerie glow. “It’s pretty here, don’t you think?” You ask lowly, not expecting an answer but wanting to at least engage in some sort of conversation with him, to not ignore him.

You knew his siblings were struggling, unsure how best to help him. Tech had naturally gravitated to his twin – the two of them sharing a bond you’d never understand – but he couldn’t get more than one word out of him. Omega still talked Crosshair’s ear off as he sat and silently listened, but he never replied. Wrecker shoved Lula into his face and knocked his shoulder playfully, but there was no grunt of frustration, or angry toothpick flicked in his direction anymore. Echo had left Pabu to help Rex with the fledging rebellion so that left Hunter…

The relationship between the oldest and youngest of the Batch was strained at best. Hunter was trying to build bridges, extending olive branches wherever he could, trying to make up for everything that had happened in the last year, but Crosshair was so lost in his thoughts and troubles that he missed most of them. You’d spent an equal number of nights sitting silently by Crosshair’s side to offer comfort and reassuring Hunter that every attempt he made was good and that his brother would eventually reach out in return when he was ready.

The silence stretches, but from your peripheral, you catch his eyes shifting to you for a moment before he looks back out of the window. “I was thinking of going to the pier to catch the sunrise.” You state. “It should start in an hour. If you’d be up for it, you can join me.” You extend the offer. If you could get him outside, that would be a positive step, but you wouldn’t pressure him. Right now, he reminded you of a feral lothcat needing reassurance, stability, and comfort.

There’s a moment of pause before he gives a slight nod, and it takes everything in you not to smile and jump for joy. His eyes rake back over to you, looking you up and down, taking in the robe you’d hastily pulled on to follow him. “I should change first.” You chuckle quietly. “Give me two minutes.”

It’s instinctual for you to reach out and give his forearm a gentle squeeze, something you’d done often during the war.

As you take the stairs two at a time back to your room to change, you miss how his eyes follow you and then drop to his arm, glued to the spot you’d touched. 

When you return downstairs, he’s pulled on a light jacket and some shoes. You do the same, dragging on your shoes from the cluttered rack near the front door.

Together, you step out of the house that had been a gift from the residents of Pabu – a thank you for saving them from the tsunami and helping them rebuild the island. Instinct kicks in again as you reach for his wrist, fingers wrapping around to help draw him out past the front gate and toward the pier. You’d always reached for him and his brothers, grabbing wrists and hands, touching shoulders or waists as you passed. It had been subconscious, a way to remind yourself that they were safe and you were doing your job as their handler right.

Crosshair doesn’t pull away from your touch. Instead, he focuses on how you hold on to him, how you lead him so effortlessly through the winding streets. It felt odd, a little uncomfortable even, to experience such a soft touch after countless weeks in Hemlock’s clutches and the months before that alone in the Empire’s ranks.

The two of you walk slowly, the gentle noise of your footsteps breaking the quiet of the predawn hours. The island was serene, bathed in the faint glow of the stars and the imminent promise of the rising sun.

Arriving at the wooden pier extending into the calm waters, you both found a spot to settle. Positioning yourself on the edge, legs dangling over the side, Crosshair stood slightly back, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The first hints of daylight began to break the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the waters below mirroring the beautiful canvas above.

You stole glances at Crosshair, observing his subtle reactions to the scenery. His usually steely demeanour seemed to soften as he stared at the horizon. The faintest hint of a wistful expression flickered across his face, something you hadn’t seen in a while.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a sunrise.” He spoke, the words breaking the silence between you. His voice was raw, hoarse from not being used for an extended period.

“Sunrises have a way of grounding us.” You respond softly, your gaze fixed on the emerging dawn. “It’s a reminder that every day brings a new beginning.”

He remained silent, but a small nod indicated his acknowledgement of your words. The minutes slipped by as the sky transformed into hues of pastel.

Eventually, you turned to him, searching for something to bridge the gap between you. “Cross, they all missed you - Omega, Tech, Wrecker, and Hunter. I missed you, too.”

A fleeting shadow crosses his features, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’m not the same.” He murmurs, barely audible, over the gentle lapping of the waves against the pier.

“No one expects you to be.” You assure him, reaching out tentatively, your hand resting on his forearm again. His muscles tense slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay not to be okay.”

His eyes met yours, the turmoil inside of him evident. “I’m not used to this...feeling.” He admits in a whisper.

“And that’s okay.” You repeat, your voice gentle but firm. “You’re not alone, and you can face this feeling. We’re all here for you in whatever way you need us.”

The sunrise marked a new chapter—a silent understanding between you. You stay by his side, allowing the morning light to wash away the remnants of the night’s darkness, your hand still resting on his arm, anchoring him in the moment. You talk about inconsequential things, about the sea, the island, anything that didn’t carry the weight of the past. Occasionally, he would respond.

As the sun finally emerges in all its glory, painting the world in golden light, a glimmer of something different appears in Crosshair’s eyes. For a moment, it’s like a sliver of the old Crosshair has peeked through the layers of trauma and pain.

You don’t expect everything to change in this one moment. Healing was a process, a gradual journey through the shadows towards the light. But this, this felt like a step forward. A spark of hope.

The day was beginning, and as the island woke, you hoped that this small, shared moment would be the start of something more. A reminder that there was still beauty to be found, bonds to be rebuilt, and healing to be embraced. And that better days lay on the horizon.

[smolbean-17]

Fellow Whump Enthusiasts!

I am making a list of all the shown (shown, not implied!) on screen physical whump moments throughout the show for the boys (no Omega cuz she’s just a baby) and I need your help! For fic inspo, and maybe even a future video compilation if you guys would like.

If you can think of any moment that I’ve overlooked, even if it’s just a wince or a smack or even exhaustion or anything like that, let me know! This is what I have so far for each character in order of who gets injured in the most episodes (Wrecker is whumped in more eps than Crosshair, but Hunter and Crosshair seem to be almost tied for most actual whump moments total)

Hunter (whumped in 18 eps)

S1E1: Winded and knocked to his knees by blaster

S1E3: Attacked by creature

Suffocating and passing out

Waking up panicked and disoriented

S1E4: Head-butted and knocked out by Fennec Shand

Stumbling/wincing as he comes to

S1E5: Electrocuted by net gun and passing out

Electrocuted by whip

Flinching due to electric sensitivity

S1E7: Beat up by Wrecker (full extent of injuries unknown)

Choked and knocked out by Wrecker

S1E8: Shot in the chest by Cad Bane and passing out

Bacta shot administered

Waking up disoriented and in pain

S1E9: Moments of wincing/hurt throughout ep

Omega head-butting his blaster wound

S1E14: Falling down a mountain hitting trees and rocks along the way

Passing out from fall (full extent of injuries unknown)

S1E15: Punched in the stomach by Crosshair

S1E16: Knocked out by explosion on Kamino

Clutching head as he wakes up

S2E1: Exhaustion from running

S2E5: Overall exhaustion throughout ep

S2E16: Broken ribs and arm from rail car collision

Exhaustion running after Omega

S3E5: Falling through the ice and getting knocked out

Clutching his hurt shoulder

S3E8: Dragged and thrashed under water by space gator

Choked by mantis

S3E9: Beat up by Ventress

S3E11: Exhaustion and coughing from swimming

S3E15: Injured and knocked out by explosion (full extent of injuries unknown)

Tortured with electricity by Hemlock (full extent of damage unknown)

Passing out from torture

Staggering/disoriented and groaning in pain the rest of the ep

Wrecker (whumped in 12 eps)

S1E1: Shot in shoulder by droid

Shot in shoulder again by Crosshair

Hypo shot administered

Groaning in pain throughout ep

S1E3: Knocked head against restraints

S1E4: Thrown and knocked out by Fennec Shand

S1E5: Knocked out by creature

Electrocuted by shock collar

Hit by electric whip

S1E6: Hit head in battle

Painful headaches

S1E7: More painful headaches

Stunned by Rex

Inhibitor Chip surgery

S1E16: Knocked out by explosion on Kamino

S2E16: Hurt neck and chest from rail car collision

Stunned by troopers

S3E9: Beat up by Ventress

Force choked by Ventress

S3E11: Injured and knocked out from explosion (full extent of injuries unknown)

S3E14: Clawed by creature

S3E15: Electrocuted in wound by electrostaff

Passing out from injuries

Disoriented and groaning in pain throughout the rest of ep

Crosshair (whumped in 10 eps)

S1E1: Knocked out by Caleb

Painful headaches throughout ep

Unpleasant chip enhancement

S1E3: More chip enhancement

S1E8: Severely burned face and head by ion engine (full extent of injuries unknown)

Disoriented and in pain the rest of ep

S1E15: More headaches

Thrown by Hunter

Stunned by Hunter

S1E16: Nearly drowning

More headaches

S2E12: Temporarily blinded by explosion

Suffering potential hypothermia

Passing out from cold and exhaustion

S2E14: Tortured by IT-O droid

Suffocated and knocked out by Hemlock’s poison gas

S3E7: Beat up by CX-2

Nearly drowned by CX-2

S3E9: Beat up by Ventress

S3E15: Hand cut off by CX-2

Passing out from amputation

Stump medical treatment

Staggering/disoriented and in pain the rest of the ep

Tech (whumped in 6 eps)

S1E1: Punched by clone in food fight

Knocked down and injured by droids and unable to get up (extent of injuries unknown)

S1E5: Electrocuted by net gun and passing out

S1E7: Choked out and thrown into wall by Wrecker (full extent of injuries unknown)

S1E16: Knocked out by explosion on Kamino

S1E2: Femur broken by crate

Groaning and limping in pain throughout the rest of the ep

Falling to the ground in pain

S2E16: Fell to his death saving his family

Echo (whumped in 5 eps)

S1E1: Knocked out by lunch tray

Waking up panicked and disoriented

S1E5: Hit off of building and knocked out

Electrocuted by shock collar

S1E7: Thrown and knocked out by Wrecker

S1E16: Knocked out by explosion on Kamino

S3E15: Stabbed in the back of the shoulder by CX Trooper

—————————————————————————

Wow I didn’t realize just how much these boys went through in the course of just a few seasons!

I still feel like I’m missing a lot, so let me know if you think of anything I’ve missed and I’ll update the list!

[electrikworm]

Playing Pretend: Chapter 1

next

Relationships: Crosshair & Wrecker, Crosshair & OC (one-sided)

Content Warnings: Torture, whipping, Forced to hurt somebody, Blood and Injury, Zygerrian Slavery

Summary:

Being part Zygerrian, infiltrating a Zygerrian gang is all too easy for Crosshair. Things get significantly more difficult when Wrecker is captured. Crosshair is forced to torture his own brother as to not blow his cover. As things keep getting worse, Crosshair begins to wonder how Wrecker will ever be able to forgive him when he can't even imagine being able to forgive himself.

Chapter 1 written for @ailesswhumptober day 22: Forced to hurt somebody else and whipped

Written for @squad-724 Hybrid au, with amazing art by her as well :)))

Word count: 5,336

Read on Ao3

Despite his best efforts, Crosshair frowns when the whip is handed to him. It's an old-fashioned thing, made from heavy leather, thinning out towards the end and tipped with three heavy metal spikes. "What's wrong?" The Zygerrian that handed him the whip asks. She's the second in command of this little crime ring Crosshair's infiltrated, going by the name of Asesh. "Weren't you boasting about your ability to torture?" Crosshair scowls, ears flicking. His supposed skill in interrogation is the one of the reasons he was hired by the gang in the first place, beside his Zygerrian heritage. Whilst he hasn't got training in that area, he's certain he can improvise. Only issue is, he never anticipated he'd have to do so on one of his brothers.

The mission had been going fine. Infiltrating a Zygerrian gang isn't all too dificult when you're part Zygerrian yourself. They were all too ready to involve Crosshair in their group. Which was great of course, that's why he was chosen for the mission. Having Zygerrian blood will make Crosshair seem more trustworthy. It'll make it more likely that vital information will be shared with him.

All Crosshair needed was confirmation on if this gang was involved with the disappearance of two important senators. But things went slower than anticipated. He didn't want to push them to share something, worried he might cause them to distrust him. Maybe he should have been more persistent, than maybe things wouldn't have went so badly. With no way to safely contact his brothers, he had no way to inform them of the delay. They arrived for his extraction like planed and Crosshair had to hastily send them away. They'd gone unnoticed, or at least, that's what Crosshair thought until he was called for a meeting and Wrecker was dragged in, bound, gagged and beaten. He's not looked at Crosshair once since he's been manhandled onto his knees in the middle of the room by two of the larger gang members. "Whips aren't exactly my style," Crosshair says, trying to hand it back.

Asesh smiles, far too softly for someone asking Crosshair to torture his own brother. Of course, if she finds that out, they'll both be in Wrecker's position.

“You've never used a whip before? You've truly been kept from your heritage for far too long,” she says, shaking her head. “First I find out you don't speak Zygerrian, now this. Next you'll tell me you're against slavery.”

Asesh laughs, loud enough to make Crosshair's ears hurt. Crosshair joins her, faking amusement at the crude joke. It's not the first horrible thing of hers he's had to pretend to find funny, but this time hurts the most by far.

“I'll give you advice, don't worry,” Asesh says with a grin, patting Crosshair's back. “It will do you good to learn, to connect with your heritage. Whips also make for good exercise.”

Crosshair forces a smile.

“Don't we usually use a different type of whip?” Crosshair asks, inspecting the object in his hand.

Electro-whips are extremely painful, but to Crosshair's knowledge, are designed not to leave permanent damage. The leather whip he's holding looks vicious, if given a choice, he'd swap it for the electric variant. He's not getting out of doing this, might as well try and reduce the harm done to Wrecker.

Asesh scoffs. “Electro-whips are good, but are to keep merchandise from losing value. And we don't need this little intruder in good shape by the end of this.” She closes the gap between her and Wrecker, grabbing his face and laughing. “And have you seen him? Hideous! A few more scars won't make him uglier.”

“What even is he?” one of the guards asks, wrinkling their nose. Asesh shrugs.

“Part Lasat,” the second guard speaks. “Look at his feet and ears.”

The first pulls a face. “Never seen one of those.”

“You know, big, hairy, weird legs,” the second continues. Asesh shuts him up with a wave of her hand. Crosshair doesn't say anything. Best none of the Zygerrians know he has any familiarity with Wrecker or his species.

Crosshair has to fight the urge to put himself between Asesh and his brother as she prods at his face, dragging her claws across it near his blind eye. Wrecker's always nervous when someone's on his blind side, Crosshair can see the discomfort in his eyes as he tries to twist out of her grip.

“I did not know Humans could even breed with Lasat, but I can see why they don't do so often. The mix isn't very pretty, is it?” Asesh laughs as Wrecker mumbles something.

Pulling the cloth used to gag him out of his mouth, the fabric catching on Wrecker's sharp teeth, Asesh leans close.

“You can make this very easy for yourself, half-breed. Tell us who you work for and what you were doing sneaking around our property and it will all be over.” Asesh smiles, tipping Wrecker's head back far enough to make Wrecker squirm. She runs a hand over his short, purple hair, trailing her claws along his pointed ears, first the intact one, then the one torn by the blast that took Wrecker's eye.

“Kriff off,” Wrecker growls. “You don't scare me.”

Barking a laugh, Asesh looks back at Crosshair, gesturing to him with her free hand. “See him? He lacks experience, yes, but Cross will more than make up for that in the passion he shows for cruelty.” She leans in close enough for Crosshair to have to strain to hear what she hisses into Wrecker's ear next. “Once he's done with you, you won't even be able to crawl out of this room.”

Doing his best to remain neutral, Crosshair swallows. He's been laying it on thick the last few days, telling the Zygerrians all kinds of tall tales about how much he enjoys the suffering of others. He really wishes he'd just kept his mouth shut.

Not only will he have to torture his brother, he will have to pretend to enjoy it. Crosshair swallows thickly against the nausea building steadily.

After motioning for the guards to turn Wrecker so his back's towards them, Asesh splits Wrecker's plain shirt with her claws. Once torn enough, Asesh slips the ruined item of clothes of his chest. Lines of fresh blood run down Wrecker's skin where she's raked her claws over it.

Wrecker barely flinches. Crosshair knows things won't stay that way for long.

Turning to Crosshair, Asesh grins, flicking the blood off her claws. “Try it,” She says, indicating the whip.

Crosshair watches the weapon unfurl onto the floor, testing its feel. It's heavy. Aiming at an empty spot in the room, Crosshair swings it weakly. If he proves how bad he is at using it now, Asesh won't suspect anything when he goes easy on Wrecker.

Asesh hums as she watches Crosshair's pathetic display. Putting her hands on her hips, she narrows her eyes at Crosshair. For a moment, Crosshair thinks she's caught on to him. If so, he'll have to get out of here as fast as he can. With Wrecker of course. There's no way he's leaving him here alone.

“You really are bad with whips,” Asesh says, laughing to herself.

Crossahir fakes mild offense. “I said so, didn't I?”

“Let me show you.” Asesh moves to Crosshair's side, putting her hand over his on the hilt of the whip. She moves his arm for him, showing him the correct way to swing it.

When Crosshair swings it again, still holding back, it cracks loudly. Wrecker flinches at the noise, catching Asesh's attention. She leans close to Crosshair.

“See that? He may act tough, but he's terrified already. He'll be crying at your hands soon enough.” Her teeth glint as she smiles widely, making Crosshair want to shove her far away from himself. She turns back to Wrecker, speaking loudly again. “Now, anything you wish to share?”

Wrecker stays silent.

“Seems he wishes to do things the hard way. Cross, don't worry yourself too much about aiming. Just hit him as hard as you can.”

Crosshair hesitates. He can't miss Wrecker, it would be obvious he'd done so purposefully. He also can't let Asesh see he's not giving it his all. Holding his breath, Crosshair draws his arm back.

He tries to avoid the organs he knows are relatively exposed on Wrecker's lower back. The thick leather of the whip leaves an immediate welt of Wrecker's back, but Crosshair's aim really is bad, and the thin tip hits Wrecker's shoulder, splitting the skin there. The sharp tips even wrap around his shoulder, digging into the muscle at the front.

Wrecker cries out, making Crosshair's heart drop.

Asesh lets out a delighted shriek. “You are a natural! It's in you're blood, as I have been telling you.”

Wrecker's ears twitch nervously as awaits the next lash. Crosshair just holds the whip, unsure how to proceed. The Zygerrians will want him to continue, but he won't do so unless told so.

He glances at Asesh, hating himself for having to execute what ever order she'll give him. She gives Crosshair an encouraging nod and smile, leaving him both no option but to smile back and swing the weapon at his brother again.

Crosshair longs for his helmet as he brings the whip down on Wrecker's back again. It's bad enough having to hurt his brother, Crosshair could do without having to pretend to like it as well.

He avoided hitting Wrecker's shoulder with the tip again, but he's fairly certain it caught the muscle on Wrecker's upper arm.

Wrecker doesn't cry out this time, a bit back noise of pain being all that leaves him. Crosshair feels sick.

Asesh circles Wrecker as Crosshair is forced to continue. The lashes begin to layer across one another, clearly hurting a lot worse when the do judging by Wrecker's reaction. He's nervously retracting and extending the claws on his feet, even when Crosshair isn't actively hitting him.

Crosshair almost gasps as a particularity badly aimed swing leaves a deep cut diagonally across Wrecker's upper back, quickly having to cover the noise by faking a laugh. There's pride in Asesh's eyes as she watches Crosshair. It makes him want rip her throat out.

“It's good to laugh when you are having fun,” she says. “Don't let anyone here make you feel like you can't.”

Asesh stands directly in front of Wrecker as Crosshair strikes him the next three times, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes focus on Wrecker's face.

“Give me that,” Asesh says, pointing at the whip in Crosshair's hand. He thinks he's done something wrong until she continues. “His expression is amusing, you have got to see it.”

Willing his body not to hesitate, Crosshair walks around Wrecker, handing Asesh the whip as she passes.

Wrecker can barely look at Crosshair, only glancing up at him shortly. Kark, are those tear tracks? Crosshair's made his brother cry in the past, they've all done so at one point when they got into arguments. Never like this though.

When no one is looking, Crosshair one handedly uses their squads apology sign at Wrecker's eye level. He isn't sure Wrecker's seen it, and even if he has, Crosshair's not sure how Wrecker could ever forgive him.

Asesh cracks the whip without letting it hit Wrecker, delighting at the way Wrecker tenses. Wrecker looks up at Crosshair, expression almost neutral if it weren't for the pain he's covering up.

Then the whip lands on his back and Wrecker's face scrunches, teeth clicking at how fast he clenches his jaw. It takes every bit of willpower Crosshair has not to react to his brothers distress. He has to force his ears and tail from flicking as he watches Wrecker suffer, willing his expression and body language into one of enjoyment.

Asesh wastes no time before continuing, bringing the weapon down on Wrecker over and over in quick succession. Wrecker's hands shake where they're bound in front of him. He's barely able to keep upright, Asesh only giving him a break if the guards have to right the way Wrecker kneels.

When she stops, breathing heavily from exertion, Crosshair can see blood splattered on the floor either side of Wrecker.

Smiling at Crosshair, Asesh motions hims to move closer to Wrecker. “Go on, interrogate him. And get your claws involved. It's a beautiful experience, sinking your claws into a lowly creatures flesh.”

With a quiet, shaky breath, Crosshair grabs Wrecker's face like Asesh did, keeping his claws away from the skin. Instead, he sinks those on his other hand into Wrecker's shoulder where Asesh can see them.

Wrecker hisses in pain, making Crosshair want to let go. He doesn't.

“Tell us who you are and what you were doing here,” Crosshair hisses.

“You'll get nothing from me,” Wrecker barks, voice strained and breathy. Crosshair has to tighten his grip as Wrecker squirms, making him cry out again.

“Speak,” Crosshair yells. Wrecker just keeps fighting against his grip in response. He manages to shake Crosshair off, falling onto his side in the process. Asesh finds this extremely amusing.

“Take over for me Cross. You are young and have a lot of energy,” Asesh orders, Extending her hand holding the whip. Drops of Wrecker's blood fall from it and onto the floor in the time it takes Crosshair to walk to her.

Wrecker's back is in a sorry state, almost making Crosshair react to the sight. Deep, bleeding marks layer the skin, tearing it to shreds in places. Crosshair's hand trembles slightly as he allows the whip to unfurl again.

If Asesh lets this go on much longer, Wrecker will die.

She asks Wrecker questions as Crosshair continues as slowly as he dares. Wrecker screams every time he's hit now. Crosshair isn't sure he'll ever be able to forget the sound.

When Asesh finally calls an end to the torture, Crosshair feels like collapsing.

“A night on the floor will make him more agreeable,” Asesh smirks. She's about to walk off when Crosshair stops her.

“What about infection?” he asks. He's pushing his luck, but with how open Wrecker's back is, it's worth the risk.

“Why would we care about that?” one of the guards huffs, only to be shut up by a hand gesture from Asesh.

“No, he is right. Our prisoner will die on our terms, not from some infection.” She pats Crosshair's back affectionately, before gesturing at the guard she interrupted. “Find something to use as disinfectant, alcohol or salt, I don't care. And bring a large piece of cloth. We don't waste medical supplies on prisoners.”

It dawns on Crosshair that Asesh is going to use this to hurt Wrecker even further.

The guard leaves and Wrecker is forced onto his stomach on the floor, bound hands stretched out far in front of him. Asesh takes the whip from Crosshair's hands and his stomach drops.

“Watch this,” she says, nudging Crosshair's side playfully. Asesh brings the whip down on Wrecker's exposed lower legs. She catches him right near the ankle, making him kick his legs up.

Asesh naturally doesn't leave it at that, ordering Crosshair to straighten Wrecker's legs each time he squirms away from her. Thankfully, Crosshair isn't forced to use the whip on his brother this way as well as Asesh stops when the guard returns.

Wrecker's still left with bunch of new welts and cuts, a few ugly ones across the bottom of his feet, damaging the pads situated there. Crosshair cringes at the sight, playing the motion off as him shaking his arms out. He knows that Wrecker has a lot of feeling in his feet and a lot more range of motion than a human would. The damage will affect him badly.

“What did you find?” Asesh ask the guard.

“Salt,” he says. In addition to a package of salt, he's holding a blanket, made from rough material by the looks of it.

Upon Asesh's order, he hands both the items to Crosshair.

“Have fun,” she says genuinely, pointing at Wrecker.

Faking a laugh, Crosshair kneels down next to Wrecker. He's panting for air, cheek pressed to the floor. The skin on his back is in shreds, even peeling off in places.

Nausea threatens to overcome Crosshair as he watches his brother's chest rise and fall, shifting his back, glistening with blood.

Crosshair tips some salt into his hand. The situation would be bad enough, but the guard's managed to find particularly coarse salt. Its rough edges will only add to the way it will irritate Wrecker's wounds. He's not sure this is better than the risk of infection. Once again, Crosshair wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

Just as he's about to pour the first of the salt onto Wrecker's back, Asesh interrupts him.

“Is he purring?” She exclaims, laughter bursting out of her.

Now Crosshair's been made aware of it, he hears it too. It makes his heart hurt. The urge to lay down beside his brother and purr as well, to maybe make him feel just a little better, is near overwhelming.

“Like a scared child! Pathetic,” Asesh continues. She kicks Wrecker in the ribs, making him gasp. Crosshair laughs automatically, not even fully realizing that he's doing so anymore.

When Asesh signals him to continue, Crosshair empties the content of his hand onto Wrecker's back. Wrecker writhes as the salt clings to his open wounds, whimpering and gasping as the sting sets in. Continuing, Crossahir pours salt directly from the container, moving as fast as he can.

“No need to rush,” Asesh intervenes. “Enjoy yourself! Really get the salt in there. We wouldn't want our prisoner to get an infection.” She smiles at Crosshair, encouragingly. Crosshair looks down at Wrecker's back before nodding. That way, he doesn't need to manage his expression too much.

Being mindful of his claws, Crosshair starts using his hands to rub the salt deeper into Wrecker's wounds. Wreckers howls in pain, struggling to get away from Crosshair. He pushes his torso off the ground, but Asesh is there to stop him, putting a boot on the back of Wrecker's neck.

She nods at Crosshair, looking pleased.

Crosshair does his best to block out both Wrecker's screams and anything coming from Asesh as he continues. His hands soak with blood as he works. Crosshair doesn't want to imagine what the rough crystals of salt must feel like rubbing against open injuries,

Once he's done, Asesh hands him the blanket. “Wrap it around his chest. It will stop the bleeding.”

The material of the blanket is awful to touch, the kind Hunter couldn't stand. Having it used as makeshift bandages should classify as a type of torture in and of itself.

As carefully as he dares, Crosshair wraps the fabric around Wrecker's torso, having to force him onto his back to tie it at the front. The wounds on Wrecker's arms and legs remain open, salt acting as the only barrier between open skin and the surrounding world.

Asesh, with Crosshair's help, maneuvers Wrecker to his knees. He sways slightly as he sits slumped.

“You will talk,” Asesh hisses, grabbing Wrecker's face again. “It is only a matter of time.”

Wrecker growls, lunging forwards to snap at her. Asesh laughs, avoiding his bite easily.

“You are amusing,” she says. “I like hurting creatures with a little fight in them. Makes breaking them all the more fun. Maybe I'll keep you.”

With a hand wave, Asesh gets the guards to pull Wrecker onto his feet, dragging him out of the room. He can barely keep his legs under himself, leaving bloody marks where ever his feet make contact with the floor.

Asesh follows the guards, so Crosshair won't stick out doing so. At least he'll know where Wrecker is being kept.

It's a small room, smaller than the one used for interrogation. Maybe it was once used for storage, but now, it's been fashioned into a bare cell. Asesh wasn't kidding about making Wrecker sleep on the floor.

Swiftly, Wrecker is shoved to the ground, hitting it hard. Crosshair just about catches how Wrecker curls up on his side and the sound of him purring quietly to himself before the door is slammed shut.

The only thing Crosshair wants to do now is be alone, somewhere dark where no one can see him.

But Asesh asks him to follow her, so he does.

She steps out of a door towards the back of the base the gangs set up. It leads into a narrow ally, barely illuminated by a humming neon tube just over the door. Asesh leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette. She offers one to Crosshair, like she does every time. He declines.

“Suit yourself,” Asesh shrugs. She smokes in silence for a while, at least having the decency not to exhale smoke in Crosshair's direction. There's small specks of blood on her hands, making Croshair want to look away from her.

Looking at his boots, he spots the state of his own hands. Dry and drying blood is caked on his skin, concentrated around his claws. The contrast to his pale skin is stark. Crosshair's skin itches. He wants to scratch at it until any trace of Wrecker's blood is gone.

“You've never been taught how to break a slave, have you?” Asesh asks, cigarette barely held between her fingers as she gestures.

Crosshair shakes his head.

Asesh clicks her tongue before taking another drag of her cigarette. “Never even owned one, have you?”

Crosshair shakes his head again, looking anywhere but where Asesh is standing.

“I guess it is not uncommon. Not everyone can afford them, especially with large portions of our trade being ruined by this Galactic Republic,” Asesh scoffs. “It is sad that you have been kept from your culture. It is hardly your fault you have inferior blood running through your veins. That is no excuse to keep you from who you really are.”

Crosshair nods, turning his grimace into a smile. “You've done a lot to make that right.”

He looks at Asesh, regretting the action when he spots the soft, fond smile on her face. Crosshair needs the gang to like him if he's going to get any information from them, but he doesn't like this one bit.

“We'll get information from the prisoner sooner or later, but I plan to keep him. I will use him to teach you the slave trade,” Asesh says, putting a hand on Crosshair's shoulder. “If your work today is any indication, you will make a fine slaver.”

Crosshair feels sick. He hasn't felt this unwell since he was a cadet. But all he does is continue smiling. “I'd like that a lot.”

Asesh laughs. “I knew you'd agree! After how much fun you had with the prisoner, there was no doubt in my mind!”

He'd fooled the Zygerrians, Crosshair just hopes he hasn't fooled Wrecker.

“Now, go, eat, get some rest. No need for you to keep an old woman like me company,” Asesh laughs. “Think of some other things you'd like to do to that prisoner as well,” she says with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Crosshair's about to turn away from her when she grabs his arm. “And Cross, don't let anyone say your human blood defines you. You're a truer Zygerrian than many pure-blooded ones will ever be.”

“Thank you,” Crosshair says, playing off his disgust as modesty.

“I mean it. You're made for this.” With a smile, she lets go of Crosshair's arm and goes back to smoking.

Crosshair doesn't stop or let himself get distracted the entire way to the quarters he has set up in the gangs base. He barely breathes the whole duration of the way.

Once he's in the small room, he drops himself on his bed, going limp.

The day couldn't have gone worse. Not only did he fail to get the mission done in the time frame he should have, but his slow progress has landed Wrecker in a horrible situation.

He must hate Crosshair, there's no way he doesn't. Crosshair has to believe that Wrecker knows Crosshair would never enjoy hurting him like that, but even so, Wrecker must hate him for getting him stuck in this situation in the first place.

Shifting onto his side, Crosshair stares at his bloody hands. There's nothing he can do to fix the situation now. All he can do is continue the mission. If he doesn't, Crosshair's put his brothers lives in danger for nothing.

He can't risk bringing Wrecker any useful item or giving him medical help. If anyone notices, Crosshair could blow his cover. But Crosshair has to check on him, just to see what kind of state Wrecker's in.

When most of the gang is sleeping, then he'll go.

It's agony, doing nothing as he waits. He only leaves his room once to wash his hands. The blood doesn't seem to come off. It's like it's soaked under Crosshair's skin.

He doesn't eat. Crosshair feels like he should be hungry, but the thought of food just makes his nausea worse.

Crosshair hates being like this, useless. He's done nothing, achieved nothing this mission. Except for torturing his own brother of course.

The Zygerrians trust Crosshair, but not enough to share valuable information with him. And all Crosshair can do is keep playing this game, keep hurting Wrecker until he completes the objective.

What's worse is, Crosshair actually liked Asesh.

Crosshair's young, a new member of the gang and not even a full Zygerrian. Other members made sure to remind him of this. Not Asesh. She was nice from the start, looked out for him, was easily impressed by his skills and made sure to point out when he did something worthy of praise.

Asesh treated Crosshair like an actual living, breathing sentient being. Natborns don't do that often.

It didn't matter to Crosshair that she was a horrible person, none of that affected him. It's easy to play along with someone's bad behavior and values if none of them are directed at you.

But now Wrecker's their prisoner, now Crosshair's forced to act on those opinions he pretended to have.

Even after washing his hands, Crosshair can still smell the blood. It's like the scent clings to him, his clothes, his hair, his skin. He can't escape it.

Once the lights in the hall are turned off for the night, Crosshair wastes little time in retracing his steps to the cell Wrecker's been left in.

Only standing at the door does it dawn on Crosshair that he doesn't have a key or code to get in.

Staring at the panel next to the door, Crosshair thinks. The guard didn't use a code or key card, did he?

Hesitantly, Crosshair pushes a button on the panel, than another. He repeats the process until inexplicably, the light at the bottom of the panel flashes green and the door slides open.

That isn't very secure, Crosshair thinks to himself.

The inside of the room had it's door panel removed. Crosshair groans. That makes the chances of one of the Zygerrians seeing him much higher. He'd have preferred the privacy of a closed door.

The room is dark, but it's easy to make out Wrecker's curled up form on the floor near the wall. He's shaking, purring quietly.

Glancing into the corridor behind him, Crosshair waits. When he can't hear anyone approaching, he moves to Wrecker's side, moving slow as to not spook his brother. Once close enough, he crouches next to Wrecker, hovering his hand just above Wrecker's shoulder.

“Wrecker?” Crosshair asks, carefully letting his fingers brush across Wrecker's skin.

Wrecker flinches, gasping in pain as he crawls away from Crosshair's touch. Crosshair watches in horrified silence as Wrecker struggles to avoid being near him. It's entirely justified, still hurts to be exposed to that truth.

Stepping over Wrecker, Crosshair goes down to his level again, this time in his line of sight.

“Please, stay calm,” Crosshair pleads. “I'm not here to hurt you.” The last thing Crosshair needs is the Zygerrians being alerted of his presence in the cell.

Wrecker shifts, eyes widening as he looks up. He's not struggling anymore at least.

“Cross?” Wrecker's voice is hoarse. Crosshair mentally kicks himself for not bringing any water for his brother. Groaning weakly, Wrecker tries to sit up. Crosshair makes him stay down, hating the way Wrecker seems to shy away from his touch.

“I'll complete the mission soon, I promise,” Crosshair says. It would be easy to leave with Wrecker now, but there's no telling what will happen to their squad if they fail a mission this vital. The lives of important people are at stake. The Republic will value those over the life of clones, especially experimental ones. “Things will continue tomorrow, but I'll get you out of her. I just don't know when yet.”

Wrecker nods, laying his head on the ground. His eyes are barely open, half lidded as he goes back to purring. Quietly, Crosshair joins him as he looks him over. The blood on Wrecker's arms and legs is drying, wounds still looking wet. The blanket has red stains where it covers Wrecker's back.

“Does it hurt?” Crosshair asks, immediately regretting the stupid question. Crosshair can't get anything right today.

Humoring Crosshair for some reason, Wrecker nods. “S'okay if I don't move or breath too hard,” Wrecker mumbles, eyes falling closed.

Crosshair almost puts a hand on Wrecker again, but stops himself. Wrecker clearly doesn't want Crosshair touching him. Crosshair has to respect that.

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry,” Crosshair says, knowing his apology is entirely worthless. Wrecker's silence seems to indicate that he agrees.

That's when footsteps echo down the corridor. Crosshair leaps to his feet, looking for a rout of escape. Maybe if he's fast he can slip out of the cell unnoticed.

No, the person approaching is too close already. There's only one way Crosshair's getting out of this without blowing his cover.

With a quiet apology to Wrecker, Crosshair kicks him in the ribs, just hard enough to make Wrecker cry out.

“Speak!” Crosshair yells, surprising himself with how loud he is.

A familiar laugh filters into the room.

Crosshair looks up to find Asesh leaning on the door frame.

“I thought I would find you here,” she smirks.

Crosshair freezes. Does she know? Has she known this whole time?

“You're so eager to cause suffering, aren't you, Cross?” she continues.

“He should have spoken by now,” Crosshair says, hoping Asesh isn't just toying with him.

“These things take time, don't worry.” Asesh walks closer, threateningly. “But you are right. It does help to keep prisoners from getting any rest.”

She laughs. Swiftly, she hooks the heel of her boot over Wrecker's chest, flipping him onto his back. Wrecker gasps for breath as he arches off the floor, short, pained noises leaving him.

Asesh puts her weight on Wrecker's ribs, leaning forward towards Crosshair. Wrecker whimpers.

“You however need your rest. I admire your passion, but sleep is important. We will continue tomorrow,” Asesh says, leaning far enough to pat Crosshair's arm.

Soon as she takes her weight off of Wrecker, he turns onto his side. Asesh begins to escort Crosshair out of the cell, not before kicking Wrecker in the back for good measure.

Standing outside the cell, Crosshair feels worse than he did before. He'd managed to make life more miserable for Wrecker, just because he wanted to make himself feel less guilty by fishing for forgiveness.

“Sleep. I need you in top form tomorrow,” Asesh speaks as she closes the door to the cell. Crosshair catches one last glance of Wrecker's form against the far wall.

Crosshair nods, making his way back to his sleeping quarters. There's no way he's getting any decent rest. Not when he knows Wrecker is suffering a few corridors over.

[itzshrike]

What is wrecker is the one who doesn’t make it?? Most people thinks it’s hunter and while it would be tragic if we lost him, if we lose wrecker it’s going to be gut wrenching for hunter. Hunters lost everyone in his squad except wrecker. Strong, steadfast, loyal wrecker. But what if wrecker sacrifices himself to save another batcher? Whether hunter was going to sacrifice himself but wrecker stopped him and did it instead. He takes a shot for crosshair, echo, or omega. Or worse, tech. Tech, his older brother he couldn’t pull to safety (no fault of his own) tech who could be cx 2 and is helping the rebellion and gets blown off a cliff or ledge. Tech who already fell once and wrecker will be damned before that happens again on his watch. (You cant tell me doesn’t feel guilty or pain over that). Just wrecker who has a childlike sense of wonder but is still mentally mature and knows the probability of all of them making them out is slim. Just wrecker…

[lifblogs]

Chaos

@ailesswhumptober Day 7 Field Medicine, Running Out of Supplies, "Hold on, we're going to have to improvise."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 4617 Summary: Crosshair breaks his leg during a battle, and after three harrowing days of fighting, the Bad Batch is running low on supplies. They will have to improvise to help Crosshair. The cost is nearly too high. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Crosshair was good at climbing. He had to be the best at it to get to the high perches that let him see across battlefields.

From the ground he’d shot the droids in the tower, and was now scaling the outside of it. Down below, his squad was getting attacked by droidekas, B1s, and B2s. But vulture droids were on their way according to Hunter.

At least there aren’t any tanks.

He and his teammates had been ordered to scout this area to see if a base was viable, but the Separatists had arrived first. What had been a stealth mission soon turned into all-out war. His team had been running and fighting for three rotations now, with hardly any rest.

And now it seemed that more and more droids had met them here, knowing they were trying to make it back to their ship.

General Krell, the Jedi they were doing this mission for, wasn’t going to like this.

The little to no sleep wasn’t distracting Crosshair thanks to one too many stims. Even then, he seldom let exhaustion seep into his work.

Just as he made it over the lip of the tower and dropped down, he could see the vulture droids coming from the west to ambush them like Hunter had indicated. Crosshair raised his rifle, looking through his scope, waiting for them to get in range.

“How many vulture droids you counting?” Hunter asked down below as he gave up on trying to shoot a droideka and just jumped on top of it, and slashed it to sparking pieces.

Crosshair slowly counted, wanting to be precise.

“Six.”

“Are they in range?”

“Almost.”

One more second. Just one.

Crosshair took the shot, taking out the leader in their v-formation. The droid fell in smoking ruin.

The other vulture droids began to shoot up the battlefield, trying to kill his squad.

Crosshair couldn’t wonder if they took cover, couldn’t check and see.

That wasn’t his job—

he took another shot, another vulture droid down, smoking to crash upon the battlefield

—this was.

“Crosshair, we have something big coming,” Hunter said. “I don’t like the feel of it.”

“You never like the feel of any droid,” he responded.

“Except Gonky!” Wrecker chimed in.

Crosshair scoffed.

But after shooting another vulture droid, the other two getting lower to the ground to avoid him, and take out his team, Crosshair scanned the gray sky.

Plip.

A drop of rain fell on his armor.

Then another, another.

Rain soon fell amongst the battlefield, slowly putting out smoking fires. The wind picked up, and Crosshair was drenched in about a minute.

Lightning flashed across the sky, revealing a droid gunship in the clouds, heading their way.

Thunder sounded.

The battle raged on, Wrecker complaining profusely in between excited battlecries.

“Hunter, it’s a gunship,” Crosshair informed him. “I can try and hit its blasters, but I can’t take it down.”

Down below, Wrecker held up a massive piece of the demolished vulture droid and said, “I can.”

“Not at that angle.”

“Try me.”

“Wrecker, Crosshair is indeed correct,” Tech said. “We’re fighting on the low ground. I am not convinced a blast from the dismantled vulture droid could reach the gunship. We’re at the wrong angle.” He said all this while twirling from droid to droid, placing small bombs he and Wrecker had created together.

The droids fell with mini explosions across the black dirt that was quickly becoming mud.

The rain put out the fires, smoke rising to fill the air.

Crosshair put his sights back on the gunship.

“It’s closing fast,” he informed them.

Suddenly, a grenade landed behind Crosshair, rolling.

He didn’t even have time to curse upon realizing what it was. His position had been compromised.

Crosshair raised his rifle, jumped over the lip of the tower, holding on to its slippery sides as he tried to think of a safe way down.

The grenade went off in a burst of light, pressure, and heat, his fingers getting singed. 

Crosshair accidentally let go, the ground meters and meters below him.

Grenades placed around the tower while he’d been occupied with their aerial opponents also went off.

Adrenaline spiked along Crosshair’s spine, and raced through his blood. He could barely breathe from the strength of it as he fell.

The tower wobbled, a piece falling off, threatening to land on him. But then it tilted, and not sure what might help here, Crosshair grabbed onto the tower, rolling, and riding it down to the ground.

The sound of its fall seemed to shake the world, and the impact had his helmet slam into the durasteel, dazing him. He couldn’t breathe, and had felt a snap go through his body, hearing it so crisply over the sounds of battle, and his teammates calling his name, that he was sure it spoke of a broken bone. Pain had overtaken his lower right leg, throbbing, and throbbing, and throbbing, building in its intensity, seeming like it’d never stop.

Instinct kicked in, and he screamed as he rolled off the tower, and behind it, taking cover.

The roll dropped him a few meters, and he landed hard on his back, the air knocked out of him.

All Crosshair could do was look at the raindrops that fell upon his helmet. He tried moving his leg to get up, and found himself breathless from the agony, nearly screaming again as his heel dragged and slipped in the mud.

Mud blasted high into the sky as the droid gunship fired upon their area of the field, and smaller blasts were returned by Wrecker. His vulture droid blaster had little effect on it.

Crosshair wondered when it would get to him, when he’d be blown to bits.

He caught his breath, but was still dazed from the fall. He tried rolling, shaking his head to clear this haze over his mind.

Crosshair cried out as he was suddenly grabbed. He turned, ready with his rifle to slam into his enemy so he would be released.

The rifle clanged off of armor, and fell from his cold fingers. He drew his sidearm.

“It’s me!” Tech cried.

Crosshair was panting, breaths coming hard.

He holstered his sidearm, and reached for his rifle.

Just as he grabbed it, he let out a pained cry as Tech hoisted him up over his shoulders. He raced for cover, mud clinging hard to his ankles.

He headed back toward the decrepit stone buildings where they’d started this fight.

They were nearly thrown as the droid gunship fired nearby.

“Wrecker, come on!” Hunter called. “Tech’s got Crosshair. Now retreat.”

Crosshair had been so dazed he hadn’t noticed any order to retreat.

His leg bounced with each movement, and he wanted to rip Tech’s remaining hair out. He was holding on tightly to one of his arms.

Once inside what had been one of the main hallways—Wrecker soon following after them—Crosshair was placed on the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Hunter asked, kneeling by him.

Crosshair tried to straighten out his leg, and he placed his shaking fingers on his knee, soon gripping hard enough that he would have hurt himself had he not had his armor on.

“M-my leg,” he hissed out. “Right one. I think it’s broken.”

Tech pulled a medical scanner from his pack, and raced it along Crosshair’s leg.

“You are correct. There is a fracture across your tibia. Oh! And your fibula. Fascinating.”

The gunship fired nearby, and mud came flying in through the broken archways. Rain was already making its way in, and dripping down Crosshair’s back. Some had managed to get under his helmet, and it was racing down the back of his neck, before soaking his back.

Hunter raised himself up slightly from his kneeling position, then ducked down.

“The third wave of droids is coming, and we still have that gunship to deal with.”

Tech sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Must I do two things at once?”

“What do you have in mind?” Wrecker asked.

Tech handed Wrecker a datarod. “Do you think you can fire this into the front center of the gunship?

“Who do you think you’re talking to? Of course I can!”

Wrecker set to modifying the vulture droid part he had carried inside with him.

Tech started taking Crosshair’s armor off along his right leg, Crosshair groaning, and clawing at the stone floor with his hands beside him, especially as his boot was tugged off.

Yet there was immediate relief when his swelling leg was given room to do so, even though his fatigues were tight.

“It’s a clean break,” Tech said.

“So then do something about it,” Crosshair growled.

Tech searched in his pack.

Synchronized dull, metallic sounds came from the battlefield, droid feet squishing in mud as one. He wished they could get stuck in the mud, giving him and his team more time.

“Ah,” Tech said.

Usually this kind of exclamation was followed by action, or a long stream of information.

“What is it?” Hunter asked. He peered into Tech’s pack. “Karking hell. I’d forgotten we haven’t had a chance to resupply since our last few battles have been so close together.”

“And that means…” Crosshair groaned.

“Hardly any medical supplies.”

“Kriff.”

“At least we have this,” Tech said, taking out a pre-prepped syringe.

Before Crosshair could react, Tech took his helmet off, and administered it into the side of his neck.

A small grunt left him at the sudden sharp ache, but the medicine began its work fairly quickly, its warmth traveling throughout his body, and into his broken leg. The pain faded a little.

“Now what?” Crosshair asked.

“Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

“I’m ready with the datarod,” Wrecker said. “But I can’t get a clean shot from here.

“Tech, datapad, now,” Hunter ordered. “Wrecker, I’ll go out first, draw their fire, and then you follow.”

“And get back inside quick,” Tech added.

Hunter and Wrecker jogged out, Tech typing away on his datapad.

The gunship fired again, hitting the northwest side of the building. Stone blew inwards, and collapsed, only a good ten meters from where Crosshair sat.

He tried to get up, and Tech shoved him down.

“We need to move,” he argued.

“Wrecker, are you in position?” Tech said into his comm.

With his helmet nearby Crosshair heard the blurred rumble of Wrecker’s voice through a comm, and he figured he said, “Ready.”

Tech pressed a button.

“Fire.”

There wasn’t any great blast or explosion to hear, just the rain, the thunder, the sudden strength of the wind, the droids coming closer.

“Did I get it?” Wrecker asked.

A light started blinking from Tech’s datapad.

“Affirmative.”

“Wrecker, get out of there!” Hunter cried.

Ignoring his agony, Crosshair turned, and grabbed hold of the lip of the wall to pull himself up and see what was going on.

Wrecker had dropped the vulture droid piece, the droids had just begun to fire, and the droid gunship let off another blast, nearly hitting Wrecker. The force of it was enough to send him flying. Hunter raced to him from across the battlefield, helped him to his feet, and started hurrying back, firing at their foes with one hand.

“Come on!” Crosshair called, for now unable to process much pain in his leg. The droid gunship looked primed to fire again. Hunter and Wrecker dove through the arch next to Crosshair’s.

Tech grabbed Crosshair and shoved him down.

“I hate you,” Crosshair complained.

Tech sent a command to the droid gunship, and Crosshair wanted to get up again and see what was going on.

The sound of its booming blasts filled the air, joining the thunder in a violent dance.

Tech checked his datapad once, then with one hand started cutting Crosshair’s fatigues.

Crosshair hissed at the cold durasteel blades of the scissors pressing against his swelling.

Tech ripped open a med patch with his teeth, and applied it to Crosshair’s leg.

The explosions outside continued. Tech pressed another button.

“Why does he get to blow everything up?” Wrecker complained, having recovered from his blow.

“Because I have another plan for you.”

Tech addressed Crosshair now. “Lift your leg.”

He braced himself for it, trying to get his breathing under control, and with an exhale he lifted his leg. He had to grit his teeth against the pain and curled his fingers along his armor. Tech slid a large chill pac under his leg, and he gasped with relief as he gently set it down again, skin instantly chilled.

“Wrecker, I need two B1 legs,” Tech said, patting Crosshair’s shoulder.

“Why?”

“I’ll get them,” Hunter volunteered, before rushing around to the outside of the building.

The wind changed, blowing the rain into the hall, and right on top of Crosshair. He put his helmet back on, though he was already soaked.

Tech looked at the purple-blue mass that was supposed to be Crosshair’s leg, grabbed some rope from his pack, and went back to his datapad.

The explosions sounded farther away now.

Crosshair felt a bit sick looking at the gross state his leg was in, knowing all his hurts came from there.

“So how’d I break my fibula?” he asked Tech. “Isn’t the tibia usually the only one that breaks?”

“I assume because of your armor the immense pressure had nowhere else to go. Though without armor the break would have been messier. Your leg might have even shattered.”

“It’s bad enough.”

Thankfully, the effects of the med patch, and chill pac quickly followed those of the injected pain medicine, and Crosshair’s leg felt a bit fuzzy and numb.

Crosshair’s whole body felt fuzzy, and soft, and warm despite the cold rain. Which… didn’t seem right. He took his helmet off again, tilting his face up towards the rain, trying to clear his head.

The med was stronger.

“Oh, oops.”

Crosshair had forgotten anyone was there, and before he could voice his surprise at seeing Tech, Tech jabbed a needle into his neck.

“Watch it!” he cried, his head clearing quickly, heart beating a bit faster.

“You were high on a depressant. I gave you a stim,” Tech explained. “Your gratitude will not be necessary at this time. Or any time, seeing as you are never grateful for anything.”

Thankfully, the stim didn’t erase the effects of the pain medicine in his leg. Though now he chafed even more at sitting still.

Water practically splashed him from the strength of the wind.

Shaking his head, rubbing his eyes, he put his helmet back on.

Idiot, he chided himself, despite the fact he’d taken his helmet off while high.

Plashing sounded from the other side of the wall, the sound of water collecting in one area, rain filling it.

Wrecker had crawled over, and was about to poke Crosshair’s leg.

“Whoa, it’s so gross-looking!” he exclaimed.

Tech grabbed his wrist.

“I strongly advise against that course of action.”

Crosshair lowered his voice, adding, “Especially if you want Lula to survive the night.”

Wrecker drew back. “Not Lula! You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I got the legs, and an extra just in case,” Hunter said into the comms.

“Good.”

“And the droids?” Wrecker asked.

“I calculate they are all—”

“Destroyed,” Hunter responded.

“I was going to say that.”

Wrecker just groaned. “Cross, we’ll never be able to top that.”

“We’ll find a way.”

Tech seemed smug of all things as he said, “Statistically speaking, your chances of beating me are ten to point-zero-zero-zero-zero—”

Wrecker clenched his fists, and even punched the wall.

“We get it!”

Tech grabbed Crosshair’s boot, and tossed it to him, along with the pair of scissors.

Crosshair tried to snatch his boot from them.

“Make your frustration useful, and start cutting that up.”

Wrecker now chuckled with glee, and Crosshair hoped his glare was felt through his helmet.

“What are you doing?”

“Improvising. You need padding on either side of your leg.”

“We have another problem,” Hunter said, heavy dread in his voice.

Crosshair didn’t ask what it was because he very much did not want to know the answer.

Hunter let out an exclamation, and Tech rose to see if he could see him through the window.

“Hunter’s down. I’m going out there.”

“No, don’t!” Hunter groaned, sounding like he was trying to get to his feet. “Kriff!”

Tech glanced at Wrecker. “Any chance you can withstand a mudslide?”

“A mudslide?” Wrecker exclaimed.

“Oh, and I believe this room will soon be flooded over.”

Crosshair saw what he had to do, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to do it. All alone, it was going to be too painful, and—

Not alone, he told himself.

“I have a plan,” he got out.

“We have to move fast,” Tech warned.

“Wrecker, carry me up to the second level, get me to a window. I’ll shoot a rappelling cable down to Hunter and we can grab him.”

Each second felt far too long as Wrecker dropped what he was doing, grabbed Crosshair, and started running for a stairwell.

Crosshair did his best to keep in any pained sounds, knowing it would make Wrecker slow down, or even stop.

“I’ll move our supplies upstairs,” Tech said through comms. “We can’t risk losing what little we have left.”

“Hunter, you still with us?” Wrecker asked.

There was no answer.

“Hunter?”

“Faster!” Crosshair snapped.

Was Hunter alive? Had the mud suffocated him? Had the strength of the mudslide snapped his neck? Was he stuck in the flooding, forced under the water, unable to get up?

Crosshair requested Wrecker to put an arm out in front of him as he was put down, knowing he couldn’t rely much on his balance. Though he had had lots of practice of balancing on one leg. He could do it here.

Holding his right leg up hurt all the way to his knee, but he didn’t care. He was busy searching the battlefield. The mudslide was tremendous, like the entire hill had decided to up and move. And it was growing, shoving pooling water against the side of the building. It was probably splashing over now, mud following. He had a slight worry for Tech, but it left as he raced over.

Droid parts, and debris were stuck in the fast-moving mud.

Hunter had been returning to them, so he searched in horizontal lines to the closer half of the field—or what was left of it (not much).

Durasteel groaned, and to his horror the downed tower began to move.

A million fears tried to break free to the front of his mind, and the sounds around him—Wrecker frantically asking questions, and repeating, “I don’t see him, I don’t see him,” and Tech calculating the odds of Hunter’s survival (his own way of coping, probably)—but Crosshair stayed almost completely still. He held back the ever-pressing idea to frantically search the field, to skip over large parts of it. His training had involved high-intensity scenarios similar to this. Whatever the problems presented were, he had to keep his cool.

His shoulders burned slightly after the long day, and from his unfaltering hold of his rifle, how he had it raised high.

A B1 droid leg suddenly popped out of a place he had just finished looking over.

He supposed a mudslide couldn’t do that.

It raised higher.

“Found him,” Crosshair said, firing.

The cable struck the droid leg, and Crosshair immediately handed the rifle to Wrecker, hopping away from the window, gritting his teeth and holding back curses.

“Pull!” he told him.

Wrecker got to it, no problem.

“Tech, I need your help,” Wrecker called.

Tech got in front, holding onto the cable.

They both strained hard, the cable taut, and then they both bounced back a step, and continued pulling.

“We have him!” Tech cried.

Too-long seconds drifted past, and then Hunter, still holding onto some droid legs, passed over the lip of the window. Crosshair took him, and despite his leg, helped ease him to the floor. He was completely covered in black mud, but he was breathing.

Hunter knelt, taking his helmet off, and began to spit and cough up mud.

Tech knelt beside him, and began to smack his back.

Crosshair was looking Hunter over, seeing if there were injuries.

A bit of shrapnel poked out of his leg, just above the outer side of his knee.

“How badly are you hurt?” Crosshair asked, no one else noticing yet.

Voice hoarse, face absolutely filthy, Hunter said, “Not that bad.”

Crosshair accidentally put weight on his leg, and cried out.

Hunter, remembering what he’d gone out for, handed Tech the droid legs.

“Make the splint. Fast. I have a feeling this building won’t be standing for much longer.

Hunter sat, catching his breath, taking his bandana and wrapping it around where the shrapnel stuck out of his leg. Crosshair kept an eye on him, even as he clenched a hand into a fist, pushing it against his left leg, pain trying to override everything as Tech made the splint.

“It’s not perfect, but we have to go,” Tech said.

Crosshair looked, and saw that his leg had been padded with pieces from his boot, and the droid legs were tied around him to keep his leg as still as possible.

Hunter took a look outside, putting his muddied helmet back on.

Crosshair noticed his limp.

“Tech’s right. We have to move. Wrecker, help Crosshair. Tech, take point. I’ll cover our rear.”

Crosshair frowned, but with his helmet on no one could see it. He didn’t know whether to speak up or not, and there didn’t seem to be time.

But his sergeant was hurt, their leader, their brother.

“Not sure how I feel about an injured guy protecting our rear,” Crosshair finally said.

“It’s not that bad.”

A loud boom sounded and Crosshair was thrown off his feet as the building shook, and the floor vibrated.

The tower had crashed into them.

“Just go!” Hunter cried.

Wrecker got Crosshair to his feet.

Crosshair’s instincts told him to run, to flee as far as he could from the mudslide, the flooding, the tower, this falling-apart building. Yet with his leg the way it was… He hobbled as fast as he could go, gasping, and panting at how it made different muscles than he was used to work, and at the pain with each limping step.

Tech was leading them to a back entrance using a map on his datapad.

The ground was a bit higher in the back, meaning more mud was sliding towards the building in that direction. But not much yet from where they were fleeing, thankfully. Though, the debris, and tower, and surely-downed walls of this building were coming. They splashed through swift-flowing black water that was nearly up to their knees. It attempted to rip them off their feet in too-many heartstopping moments, and the debris caught in it—the stones, and destructions of war—clanged against them.

Crosshair couldn’t remember much of how they got out, the water dragging at his leg too painful to focus on anything.

They trudged up the small hill, digging their toes in, Wrecker having to take most of Crosshair’s weight.

They did all right until they were almost to the Marauder, Crosshair hoping the cliff it was on was made out of something stronger than the black dirt. And if not, he hoped they made it in time.

Hunter let out a yell and when they turned back he had collapsed to his knees, almost onto his face, using one hand to hold himself up.

Tech reached out for Crosshair.

“Wrecker, I’ve got him. Go get Hunter.”

Wrecker didn’t hesitate, and raced down the hill as best he could—slipping at times—to go grab Hunter.

Tech seemed to find the perfect balance of taking a good amount of Crosshair’s weight, while still moving quickly. They mounted the ramp, Tech almost having to drag him by this point.

Crosshair, panting, a sweaty mess despite the rain, collapsed into the seat behind Tech’s.

The stern began to dip.

“It would appear that the cliff is collapsing,” Tech stated.

Crosshair gripped his seat tightly, gritting his teeth.

He looked out the ramp. Hunter and Wrecker were almost close enough to board.

Hunter slipped, and grunted.

The ship continued to tilt.

Come on, come on, come on.

“Hunter, Wrecker, you need to get on board!” Tech said.

“Almost… there,” Wrecker panted out, helping Hunter balance.

The ship dipped farther and farther, now tipping on their starboard side.

General Krell and the regs better karking appreciate what we did for them.

Hunter made it up the ramp. Wrecker didn’t.

The ship began to fall, the cliff collapsing beneath them.

A horrible second passed without Wrecker on board, and Hunter almost falling backwards. Crosshair was almost lifted out of his seat.

Then Wrecker made the jump, and he clambered inside.

Tech started the ship, and they blasted through the remains of the cliff.

Though his life and the lives of his team were no longer endangered, Crosshair couldn’t relax. He kept looking at Hunter (even as pain flashed like lightning in his own leg), who was holding onto his leg near where the shrapnel was.

“Tech, inform the general of how dangerous this place is,” Hunter ordered.

“I wonder why the droids were here if conditions were this bad.”

“Probably because they were expecting us to be here. I know a few Separatists want to punch me in the face.”

“Hmm…”

Tech didn’t seem convinced.

Crosshair didn’t give a shab. 

The Marauder shuddered as they passed through the storm—clouds, and lightning, and thunder seeming to surround them.

Once out, blackness and stars beckoning, Tech sent the message to General Krell.

Wrecker, who had gone to their storage, came over with towels, and passed two to Hunter.

“Sarge, be honest, how bad is it?”

Hunter started cleaning up his face, but wouldn’t touch his leg to clean it, even as the mud and shrapnel were surely filling it with bacteria that would grow into an infection.

“Bad,” Crosshair surmised.

Hunter swallowed roughly, and nodded.

“Not to worry,” Tech called back, taking off his helmet after making the jump to hyperspace. They all took their helmets off now. “By hyperspace route,” he explained, “we are only a few hours out from a GAR medical facility. Wrecker, make strips from one of our towels. Bind his leg more securely.”

Hunter leaned his head back, and groaned, “I hate improvising.”

“You love it,” Crosshair argued.

Hunter eyed Crosshair’s leg with the hard-won droid legs as a splint.

“And you do?”

“You’re all so boring. How else am I supposed to be entertained?”

Hunter laughed, but met his eyes, and they each saw the seriousness in each other’s gazes. Crosshair nodded, a thank you to Hunter for what he’d almost sacrificed to help him.

Wrecker groaned. “Crosshair, you’re part droid now.”

“No, I’m not.”

Wrecker went on, like he hadn’t heard him, “You should’ve done a little droid voice, like—”

Crosshair glared hard at Wrecker.

“No examples,” he hissed.

Wrecker did it anyway, and Crosshair tossed his helmet at him.

“You’re no fun!”

“Maybe I’ll break your leg and that’ll be fun.”

“Hey,” Hunter said, “you know the rules. No fighting while I’m bleeding out.”

“You’re what?” Tech asked from the pilot’s seat.

“He is  not,” Wrecker said.

“Crosshair, please corroborate this claim.”

“He isn’t. So, Hunter, pass me the scissors.”

“For what?” he and Wrecker asked at the same time.

Crosshair just tilted his head toward their racks.

“Lula.”

Crosshair quite enjoyed the chaos that broke out.

[kybercrystals94]

As It Happened

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 28 - Prompts: Denial // CCTV

Rated: G | Words: 798

“Do you think Hunter’s going to be mad?” 

“Why would he be mad? He’s coming to bail us out of holding. I’m sure that this is at the top of his bucket list, right next to having a migraine.” 

“Your sarcasm is not helpful.”

“Wrecker asking dumb questions isn’t helpful.”

Echo stops pacing the cell to loom over the three commandos sitting on the narrow bench. “None of you are being helpful,” he tells them. “None of you have been helpful all night!” 

“Are you implying that this is our fault?” Tech asks, adjusting his goggles and glaring up at Echo through the tinted lens. “Because if my memory serves correctly, and it does, it was you that escalated the situation exponentially.” 

“That’s what I remember too,” Crosshair says, smirking. 

Wrecker nods. “Me too.” 

Echo gapes at them. “Oh, no. You are not telling Hunter that this is my fault.” 

“And you are not telling Hunter that it was ours,” Tech says primly, crossing his arms. 

“Well, it’s somebody’s fault,” Echo declares. “And I know for a fact it wasn’t mine.” 

“Maybe it was none of our faults,” Wrecker suggests. 

“Because that’s believable.”

Wrecker frowns. “Why does everything have to be our fault? Why can’t we ever just be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Crosshair scoffs, “Have you met us? No one’s going to believe that kark.” 

“Your black eye certainly does not help matters,” Tech agrees. 

“Oh, and your split lip does?” Crosshair shoots back. 

Echo groans. “Okay, enough. We need to come up with a cohesive explanation for what happened.” 

“But we don’t even know what happened!” Wrecker cries. “Not really.”

“I know what happened,” Tech says. 

“I am not taking the fall!” Echo reiterates. “Stop trying to throw me under the speeder.” 

“Why not? Hunter won’t be as mad at you.” Wrecker picks at the dried blood on his knuckles. “This is only the first time you’ve been arrested for anything.” 

“The worst you’ll get is the look,” Crosshair says. 

Tech adds, “And a heavy sigh.” 

“Oh, wow, how benevolent of you,” Echo retorts, crossing his arms. A beat of silence. “Wait. How many times have you been arrested?” 

“Irrelevant,” Tech says. “Although I am merely guilty by association on all occasions.” 

Crosshair and Wrecker sputter protests in unison, a mixture of, “You are such a kriffing liar,” and “That ain’t even close to true!” 

“Forget I asked,” Echo groans. 

**

“Seems it was a misunderstanding,” the officer says after reviewing the footage with Hunter. “Your guys weren’t at fault.” 

“That woulda been good of you to figure out before I came all the way down here,” Hunter says. 

The officer shifts uncomfortably from one boot to the other. “Yes, sir, apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll go get your boys out of lockup right now.” 

Hunter smiles at him with a show of teeth that is anything but friendly. “I’d appreciate it.” 

The officer disappears, and Hunter takes a steadying breath and closes his eyes. His head is killing him, and he’d gotten the call about his idiot brothers right after he’d finally managed to doze off. They might not be at fault, but they always seemed to be in the middle of trouble. Naively, he’d thought that Echo would be a voice of reason during their shore leave while Hunter was incapacitated. 

He hears his brothers coming from the back of the station before he sees them, their rowdy voices already aggravating his migraine from afar. When they come through the door, they all go quiet, watching him watching them. He can tell they are trying to decipher to what degree he is upset with them. He gives them a look. “Fun night?” he asks. 

They exchange glances. 

“Not particularly,” Tech admits. 

“It wasn’t our fault, boss,” Wrecker pleads. 

Hunter sighs. “Alright, c’mon,” he grumbles, turning to lead the way out. Once they’ve reached the street, he checks his chrono. “Night cycle’s still young. Get out of here. But if I get another call from the station, I’m leaving you there to rot until morning, got it? I don’t care who’s fault it was.” 

The four looks of utter surprise he receives almost makes the trip down worth it. 

“Really, sir?” Echo asks. “You’re not angry?” 

“Oh, I’m angry,” Hunter corrects him. “Just not at any of you…yet. Please don’t make me regret this.” 

His brothers don’t wait for him to change his mind.

Even after they disappear from sight, his senses follow their distinct, excited voices amongst the noise of the streets a moment longer. Part of him wishes he could join them, but mostly, he looks forward to a few more hours of having the Marauder quietly to himself. 

And he trusts they’ll at least try to behave themselves.

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[clownery-and-fuckery]

Crosshair getting a break this week means they're absolutely ROYALLY fucked next week. Jennifer does not Give Breaks. They're gonna break that man like he's their toothpick.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 10

Part (10) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Sorry! I know I owe responses to that fluffy little holiday thing, but I really wanted to get this out, too! (Also... big sorry... you'll see why)

Warnings: mild suspense, vague injury descriptions, decent bit of cursing, minor character death (very minor), (is there a warning for a kid wielding a gun?)

WC: 3,403

Droids don’t need the light. Not like we do. In the darkness, only the automated sound of whirring gears and clacking metal narrate movements governed by near perfect synchrony. The silence that surrounded those movements was deafening. It was easy to forget just how dangerous those machines truly were when watching the incredible ease with which the soldiers of the GAR could tear through them. But up close, when nothing lay between us but darkness and an armor that suddenly felt far too thin, the droids were monstrous; emotionless; streamlined and refined toward a single purpose: destruction.

I tried not to think about the simple fact that the same was often said of the entirety of the clone population; how readily society at large welcomed beliefs of unthinking, unfeeling suits of armor in the stead of the very real people that armor concealed. I tried not to think about how that mentality might linger and fester into resentment and fear once the end of the war offered some hope of integration, nor of the unending hardships that were inevitable with such naïve mentality. As I sat crouched in the nook of the freezing ventilation shaft, I tried not to think about anything at all save the near impossible task of silencing my own heavy breaths, attention trained on the endless rows of automatons marching barely a handful of feet away from me.

Wrecker had made it to the maintenance closet several meters ahead, but I’d still been fighting to force the adhesive of the deceptively small explosive to seal with the chilled metal of the duct, and what few seconds that cost me proved just enough to force me to hide as the echoing orchestra of marching droids approached us. We knew they were coming. Thanks to Echo, we knew exactly when to expect every routine patrol scheduled to monitor these halls, but the sheer frequency of their presence was staggering.

Neither of us moved for several seconds after the last droid finally vanished behind the rear door.

“You alright?” Even whispered, my body tensed slightly at the suddenness of Wrecker’s voice calling through the speaker of my helm, and I had to release a quick breath before responding.

“Yeah.” I murmured, glancing back at the detonator as I carefully began easing my way out of the small shaft. “Had trouble getting this one attached, but looks fine now.” A quiet grumble reverberated around me, and I could clearly imagine the troubled frown tugging at his lips.

My eyes flashed to the timer in the corner of my HUD steadily counting down to the moment Crosshair was supposed to take out the decoy power transformer. We still had several targets to rig if we wanted to level the station in time.

Wrecker led the way forward without another word, quick strides shockingly silent. It would never cease to amaze me how easily the man before me could dance between the kind, boisterous goofball and this: lethal, efficient; movements far too quiet for the terrifying mass of his powerful form. I’d worked with astounding soldiers before, but these men were different. Boost, Comet, and Warthog were frightfully capable, but Wrecker and his brothers…

His hand flashed out, pointing to the spot he wanted the next charge placed. He didn’t pause before moving on to set his own, leaving me to my job without so much as a backward glance. Even now, after so many months of working with them, it still felt odd to be trusted so explicitly, but there wasn’t time for even a moment of self-doubt as I quickly dropped to a knee to begin working. Despite the utter simplicity of these explosives, still, Wrecker could finish two in the time it took me to prime one, but he showed no hint of impatience; merely moved on to the next spot until the room was cleared.

We both paused upon turning to the door. It was quiet. It shouldn’t be. By now, we should have been able to make out the distant chorus of the next patrol.

“Status.” Wrecker called, voice just loud enough to be picked up by the mic. My shoulders ached from how taut the muscles were. He didn’t talk like that, governed by that stark militaristic sharpness… not unless something was wrong.

“In position.” Crosshair responded coolly.

“En route.” Tech answered next.

“Wrecker, update.” Hunter’s order came in far crisper than the others, the Marauder’s comms undistorted despite the metal walls of the facility.

“Clanker’s missed a patrol. Pretty sure they haven’t noticed us, though.” He replied curtly, head pivoting behind us before turning back to the forward door as though half-expecting a troop of droids to come rushing in at any second.

“Crosshair, any change?” The Sargeant called. I could hear the growing tension in his voice and knew he was standing tensely over the intercom, hands grinding into the metal corners.

“No, but this sector isn’t supposed to have another patrol for over four more minutes.” Cross reminded him, voice low.

“Keep an eye on your escape routes,” Hunter instructed, “and report any more abnormalities.”

A series of ‘roger’s answer him in quick succession before Wrecker continued forward, heavy blaster balanced against his shoulder. My pistols felt miniscule in comparison, but I still held them at ready as he cracked open the door. Beyond was a cavernous room dotted with Separatist transports. If things went south, Wrecker and I would blow a series of bombs starting with two at either end of the massive bay, granting us an exit route while several other explosions went off at pre-set intervals to mask our escape. If it came to that, however, there was little hope in retrieving that little girl’s father…

“… don’t like this…” Wrecker muttered after muting his com.

“How many more do we have?” I asked, treading closer to him so my whispered words would reach him.

“Ten. Twelve if we wanna hit the control tower, but…” He let the thought trail off as he peaked around the corner of the doorway to stare at the massive sheets of metal suspended overhead on thick tracks.

“So, we finish those ten and re-evaluate.” I offered quietly. He didn’t respond for a long moment, the fearsome visage of that feral skull still studying the distant bay walls.

“Yeah…” He mumbled absently, but a few more tense seconds passed before he drew a quick breath and moved through the door, strides measured and quick, stance low.

Our HUD timers had been perfectly synced. I’d known that there would be no delay between that small clock striking zero and the distant rumble of an explosion preceding at least a momentary flicker of the lights. Still, my body snapped taut as the world around us trembled, even if only for a moment. And then the darkness descended in earnest.

Our visors were designed for this: to grant us clear images even in the darkest nightmares of distant worlds. Regardless, I felt myself tense, adrenaline flooding my chest as I studied every shadow of the now monochrome display before me. Already, the Separatist forces were responding, dozens of squads activating and filing across the vast expanse of the hanger in precise, unhurried movements. Several took positions at entry points about the bay, though most marched out of sight, undoubtedly en route to the now destroyed power station.

“Yuh got some fun headin’ your way, Cross.” Wrecker warned, large hand reaching into his bag for another charge, attention trained once more on the command post.

“They won’t find anything.” He responded haughtily, words only just betraying a slight breathiness as he sprinted back across the rocky outcropping surrounding the north end of the hanger.

“Imma see how many a’ these I can stick before the others get here.” There was a subtle glee in his voice, thrilled at the promise of even that simple challenge.

“I’ll keep watch.” I drawled slightly, the eyeroll audible amidst my quiet chuckle. That tension was still there; creeping across my skin and keeping the muscles stretching up my spine taut, but this was their world – our world: impossible missions with unending dangers in which we still managed to find some taste of joy.

“…Kriff.” Every wisp of that joy instantly went cold.

“Cross?” Hunter called quickly, voice full of the same sharp concern that turned my blood to ice. Wrecker had just begun setting the fourth detonator and visibly froze, waiting anxiously for a response.

“…trap… -utoff from… -ing around…” His rushed reply broke between bursts of static.

“Dammit, they’re trying to block your comms! Where are you?!” Hunter shouted. The distorted reply was too muffled for me to make out, but the pained shout that followed was nauseatingly clear. “I can’t reach you with the Marauder. En route on foot.” His words left in a growl, voice now muffled with that telltale distortion as he abandoned the protection of the ship, the sound of the ramp lowering in the background just loud enough for the mic to pick up.

I didn’t need to see Wrecker’s face to know he was struck with the same dread as me, and, with a sharp nod of his domed helm, motioned toward the rear wall of the hanger. I was already running when the first explosion erupted through the air, but the sudden scream that tore through the speakers was all I could hear.

“Crosshair!” His name shouted from me in a burst of panic, but his desperate cry didn’t stop. The natural rasp of his voice broke in choked gasps between sounds of an agony that left my skin crawling. Blasterfire shrieked behind me in rapid flurries. I didn’t bother looking back, certain that Wrecker was eagerly providing a distraction to cover my retreat, but the droids weren’t fooled.

A curse caught on my lips as I dropped into a sharp slide, just managing to dart behind a supply crate as a troop of B1s trained their sites on me, and the volley of shots that seared the metal casing left my heart racing even faster. My arm was moving before conscious thought registered what I was doing, hand snatching at one of the few remaining charges. I didn’t know if this would work, fully aware that some explosives were perfectly stable until intentionally set off with a detonator. Regardless, I launched the small device toward them, HUD automatically following my gaze to lock onto it as I raised my own weapons, standing to face down the dozen droids targeting me.

The scent of burnt plastoid filled my senses before noting the faint line of red seared into my shoulder pauldron as I pulled the trigger.

Ringing. By now, I recognized the disorientated daze of shellshock and clung to the sense of annoyance rather than any fear or pain lingering beyond that confusion. Move. There wasn’t time for this… Before the thoughts even solidified in my mind, I could feel my body struggling back to my feet, balance wavering precariously for several seconds even as I staggered forward.

“…!” A voice rang loudly around me, but it took a moment of actual concentration to truly hear him. “-oc! Wha’ happened?!” Wrecker. He was shouting. I glanced over my shoulder to see him quickly backtracking toward me and gave my head a hard shake in some vain effort to clear the lingering fog.

“…m… I’m fine!” I called out, lips sluggish. “Used a charge to… clear the path.” He looked toward me only briefly before returning his attention to the encroaching units. Still, I could see the air of hesitation in his movements, the reluctance to risk creating any additional distance between us, so I took that decision away from him, jaw set as I forced myself through the still smoldering crater blown into the thick wall.

Crosshair was still screaming, growled cries catching on choppy breaths muffled behind ground teeth.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on him?” I shouted, sprinting toward the cover of trees surrounding the station as I silently cursed the steep incline leading toward the ship.

“Not yet, there’s… - dammit -... They sent a kriffing… platoon after him.” I could hear the strain pulling at his every word, and that dread returned en force, fear spiking at the thought of how easily he could find himself incapacitated as well just from exacerbating his preexisting injuries.

“Echo and I can provide backup.” Tech offered. Even his voice held that deep worry.

“No – continue with the mission. We’ll be halfway to the Marauder by the time you’d even reach us.” He ordered. “Doc-”

“I’m already en route,” I interrupted quickly, “just send me your location.” He didn’t respond for a long moment, and I had to fight to keep from shouting my impatience.

That earlier fear was gone. I barely bothered glancing between branches in search of enemy troops, the threat of what danger my brief isolation from the others might pose forgotten in the echo of Crosshair’s pain. My entire focus was on reaching them as quickly as I could, cursing every fallen log and sleek boulder that hindered my progress.

“I’ve got him.” He was panting, pain clear in the breathy words, and my heart twisted at the endless possible reasons for that pain. The keening gasps still sounding from Crosshair’s mic were the only thing silencing some sharp rebuke demanding he stop. There was no right answer here; no way forward without the risk of a sacrifice I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Might still be s… s’me droids… but think I got ‘m all.” His uncertainty was just as concerning as the slight slur dampening his smoky voice. That meant his focus was dwindling; that inhuman ability to feel the dance of electricity connecting the world around him was overcome by his own pain or exhaustion or something far worse.

“Dammit, Hunter! Just send me your location before you kriffing keel over!” I ordered harshly, no longer making an effort to mask that impatience.

“Tracker… tracker’s on… H… headed back.” Curses flowing unapologetically between ground teeth, I snatched the datapad from my waist, fingers stabbing at the screen far harsher than necessary as I locked in on his signal. The Marauder was just over a klick away, and Hunter’s signal was another half klick beyond that, speed frightfully slow as he made his way back.

“Talk to me, Hunter, or I’ll start using the karking pain scale questions.” I threatened, and was relieved to hear a huff of laughter. It was weak, but it was there.

“Damaged… damaged his helmet… Visor broke…” In an instant, that relief abandoned me. “Gave him… gave him what I had, but… it’s… it’s barely taking the e-edge off.” He panted.

“Burns?” I asked, straining to hide the depth of my fear at the very thought of what damage that might cause, but Hunter quickly dismissed that fear with something far worse.

“No… think it’s… There was a – a gas…” My stride nearly faltered. A gas… Chemical burns were far more difficult to treat…

“Listen to me: when you get him back to the ship, don’t try to rinse it out with water.” I instructed quickly.

“I kn- I know.” There was an unmistakable wheeze in the gasp robbing his retort of whatever annoyance he’d meant it to hold.

“What about you, Hunter? Were you exposed?” I made no effort to hide the harshness in my own voice, words quickly growing breathy as I sprinted from the base.

“N… no, my… my kit’s f-fine.” His response offered no taste of relief, the clear strain sown through each word quickly growing worse.

“Echo and I have secured a low-atmo speeder. We can reach you-”

“Ey, I think I see ‘im.” Wrecker interrupted.

“Ca- can you i-intercept?” Hunter’s vain attempt to maintain that indominable façade only further emphasized how just much he was clearly struggling.

“Uh… only if I start blowing stuff up early.” There was no glee in what should have been an overly eager plea, attention clearly torn between the task before him and worry for his brothers.

“Delay as – as long as you can.” Hunter ordered firmly. “Tech, Ech… Echo… con-continue a-approach.”

“Hunter, if you’re having trouble breathing again, you need to stop moving!” I ordered in a shout.

“Neg… neg’tive… Mar’der’s… in sight.” My lips curled into a snarl.

“I can’t carry you both, dammit!” There was a brief pause, and then,

“Roger.”

I was going to strangle him.

Sweat had long since soaked through my blacks. My muscles burned, blood like acid pounding through my veins, and I tried not to think about how loud my own breathing was, mic pointedly muted as I listened to quick bursts of communication bounce between the others illustrating the progress of a mission I struggled to find even a whisper of concern for. My own attention remained locked on the tracker beacon, noting how near to the ship Hunter and Crosshair finally were; how wretchedly slow their progress had become; how much distance yet lay between us as that accursed hill robbed my speed.

He didn’t check in when he finally stopped, their beacons stalling at the very foot of the ramp.

“Hunter, are you inside?” I asked. He didn’t respond. “Hunter, what’s your status?” I pressed, words growing harsher. Silence. “Hunter?! Cross, do either of you read me?!”

“The Marauder’s ramp appears to have lowered but hasn’t been closed since they arrived.” Tech’s voice was carefully even, but I could hear the faint rush of an anxiety that I had no doubt resonated between all of us.

“I’m almost there.” I assured them, and, mere seconds later, let out a sharp huff of relief upon finally seeing the very tip of the dorsal fin.

The first time I’d seen the complicated overlay of the HUD used by GAR equipment, it hadn’t been during my training to join the 104th. It was in the aftermath of a battle I’d only seen in the darkness of night, sneaking through ruined transports and far too much gore to ever be warranted under the guise of seeking peace. It was maybe the fourth such scene Emmy and I had visited. We didn’t even have a ship then; just us and a pair of overstuffed medbags with no thought toward secession or consequence or even what to do with those we tried to save.

We’d only found one soldier still clinging to life, and it had taken only moments to realize that nothing we did would save him from joining his brothers. He hadn’t blamed us. I think I wanted him to… but he merely got quiet when he understood… peaceful. He’d been a flirt, and I think we both fell in love with him a bit. He’d insisted we try his helmet on – had said something inappropriate about seeing his gear on a couple cute nurses. Neither of us corrected him, and I’d been shocked at the flurry of information that had bombarded me the instant it flickered to life before my eyes. He’d laughed. I’d never forget that laugh. It was free; weightless; haunting in a way that both crushed me and justified every risk we were taking in trying to offer what meager help we could. And then he'd died.

That nauseating hurricane of endless data and alerts was still just as overwhelming now as it was then, but I’d learned to filter it out, to prioritize only what was needed in that moment. When the sudden flash of a warning lit the screen, I didn’t hesitate; didn’t waste time for even a moment’s thought before my body dropped into a slide, just barely dodging the pair of blue bolts that screamed passed me as my hands instantly snatched the pistols from my hips, but then that wealth of data began to coalesce, and I quickly released my weapons, empty hands raising in surrender.

“Wait-wait-wait! It’s me!!” I shouted, wrenching the still flashing helm from my head, and my heart churned at the sight of the terrified girl cowering just inside the Marauder’s main cabin, at the horror and fear and overwhelming relief that left her near sobbing the instant recognition finally stole through her. Then I saw the two forms lying far too still at her feet. And that same terror ripped the air from my lungs in a sob of my own.

Next Chapter

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[ucy161]

I need help finding a fic! A bad batch fic

I dont remember much,

But basically omega is hurt or something and tech ( I believe) is examining her and it's revealed that omega was used for medical experiments and such. Tech hides his emotions in front of omega but leaves the Marauder and punches a tree and loses it to the point he breaks his armour and his hand and the others have to calm him down

Any help would be much appreciated. I've been looking for this fic for days!!!!!!!!

Thank you :))

Edit: the fic has been found see Notes for link