#tbb crosshair whump

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 14

Part (14) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

For those who didn't read that Bane fic, I've been feral about FINISHING THIS DAMN ARC. So, apologies: I owe loads to responses, and I'm so, sooo grateful for everyone's kind comments! But it's done!! Finally! Now, I get to catch up on some fics I'm super excited to finally read, and will actually take some time to say hi to everyone 😅

Warnings: Reference to mortal danger, more brotherly teasing, angst, horrors of war, ableism toward a child, sexism if yuh squint, reference to medical procedures

WC: 9,027 (...oops)

Mandoa Translation: osik buurenaar   -   shit storm

I’d yet to meet the Alpha-class clones, but tales of their ferocity and intellect were legendary, as was their brute strength. I wondered if they stood taller than other clones, if a divide lay between them and their brothers because of differences neither could control. How would they measure against the unique men of this squad? Would they find themselves celebrating each other for what power stemmed from those differences? Or would that divide become even more pronounced amidst “defects” and “abnormalities”?

When I thought of the Alpha-class, I couldn’t help but picture some slight variance of Wrecker. Maybe they wouldn’t share that innate warmth and joy so pronounced in his mismatched eyes, but I couldn’t picture them without that stature so many immediately feared, without the shocking mass of muscle that gave his every movement a sense of command that was so readily abandoned beneath the ease with which he smiled and laughed.

Even if they shared some facet of his physique, there was a gentleness about the lounging man sprawled out atop his bed that I couldn't imagine mirrored in anyone else.

I looked at his hands, at the thick calluses and scars earned from a lifetime of danger and pain, and yet, when he touched me… I thought of those days when Tech writhed at the mercy of that wretched withdrawal, how tentative Wrecker's movements had been as he dragged his thumbs so carefully down my palm as though I might break at the slightest misstep. I thought of how small my hands looked beside his; how small I looked beside him, and I marveled anew at that gentleness. He could be a monster. He could use his strength and size to bully other's and instill fear. But, instead, he lowered his voice in the presence of a frightened child. He laughed when his brothers needed a moment of levity, and he touched me with only the softest of caresses. No. I couldn't imagine the alphas as sharing that gentleness. Even if there were some similarities in the breadth of their shoulders, there was a strength to Wrecker that few understood, and even fewer had the means of sharing in.

Bickering gradually shifted to boasting as Wrecker recanted the destruction wrought upon the Separatist transfer station after I'd had to leave, again surprising me with the revelation that nearly half of the hanger caved in from what I only then realized were strategic placements of bombs to target load bearing struts. That's why we’d been able to escape the planet with relative ease.

“You used over a dozen explosives to bring down half of a hanger.” Crosshair sneered. “I took out their secondary power transformer with one shot.” I rolled my eyes, my own attention tuned to the inflamed limb beneath my hands, watching for tension or flinching as I slid my palm firmly along tendon and muscle to gradually draw away the swelling.

“Hey, your target was meant to be a target! They were countin’ on it getting’ blown!” Wrecker argued proudly, but the way Crosshair's body suddenly tensed left us both hesitating.

“Clearly.” Silence followed the hushed growl, taunting what flicker of reprieve that moment of brotherly teasing had briefly allowed. Wrecker's expression twisted with every ounce of guilt and regret I could feel churning in my own gut, the slight misstep treading just close enough to remind all of us of the very horror I’d hoped we might help Crosshair forget, even if only for those precious few minutes.

Without warning, I stood, snatched the pillow from Tech's bed, and chucked it at the broody sniper, instantly earning something torn between a gasp and a shout as he shot up, clawing at the thin cushion, lips wrenched into a seething snarl. Wrecker was stunned for just a handful of seconds before letting out a barked laugh.

“Every single one of you only barely walked away from this Force-forsaken mission, but you did walk away.” My voice went quiet; firm. “Your eyes… Wrecker’s knee… Tech’s arm…” I didn’t mention Hunter… There was still too much anxiety surrounding his injuries… And I knew I didn’t need to speak his name for both of the men around me to wilt beneath the fear of how close we’d all come to losing him. Not even Echo managed to escape unscathed.

“Even by our standards, this mission was an osik buurenaar from the start, but I'm going to make damn sure you all heal up just fine.” Wrecker let out a quiet, humorless huff of agreement, gaze falling to absently watch the leisurely movements of my hands working over the swollen tissue surrounding his knee once more.

The rage faded almost reluctantly from Crosshair's face, pillow still held before him though now free of the way his fingers once dug into the miniscule padding.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He muttered after a moment, and I glanced toward the suddenly resigned man with a flare of confusion, a quiet, “what?” escaping before I’d registered what he’d said.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He repeated, more clearly emphasizing the flow of each syllable. “If you’re going to go around playing combat medic, at least get the damn swear words right.”

“Play?” I nearly snarled. Whatever taste of fire the word was meant to have, however, vanished beneath the laughter I couldn't quite silence, but Crosshair responded only by shoving Tech's pillow atop his own and making a show of lying back down.

“Ah, we used to say it the same way.” Wrecker dismissed with a lazy brush of his hand. “Prob’ly still would if Echo hadn't gone off on the lot of us anytime we said somethin’ wrong.” He added with a roll of his eyes, but there was such an obvious affection in the subtle upturn of his lips, it proved infectious, and I quickly found myself smiling softly as well.

“I suppose if I heard someone say ‘kraff' instead of ‘kriff', I wouldn't be able to take them seriously, either…” I muttered with a small huff.

There was still a heaviness weighing down the air in the bunk room, but it wasn't quite so tainted with that almost frenzied panic, and I vaguely realized that Crosshair wasn't shaking anymore, at least not enough for the metal frame of his cot to betray. His shoulders were still set beneath a lingering dread that sent a deep ache twisting through my chest, but his breathing was far more even.

I caught Wrecker's gaze returning to the raised bed endlessly, his own worry painting a subtle crease between his brows that lingered until his own breathing finally began to slow, body gradually sinking deeper into the thin mattress beneath him as the careful dance of my hands drew the tension from first his injured leg, and then the other purely for the glee of what pleasure that touch brought him.

“Started taking bets on him passing out like that.” Cross said dryly as Wrecker's snores echoed quietly around us.

“What? On if he falls asleep during a massage?” I tried to keep my relief secret at the simple evenness of his voice.

“Not ‘if'. We bet on how long he lasts.” I let out a small snort before reaching across the massive clone to slip his blanket over him.

“Most of you guys fall asleep at some point during them.” I retorted as I slowly pushed myself to my feet, arms raising to stretch over my head with a small grunt, and I relished the little rush of affection at his muttered growl of objection.

“What are my chances of convincing you to eat something?” I asked after a moment of silence. No… not quiet silence. The air cyclers hummed softly beneath the distant thrum of the engine in a gentle song that so easily faded into the background, but there was a comfort in it, in the promise it represented as we fled through the dim of hyperspace.

“Low.” He grumbled almost petulantly, drawing a snort from me.

“Too bad.” There was a subtle threat in the gentleness of my reply despite the warmth woven through the words, and something between a growl and a groan voiced his obvious disdain. I'd only barely begun to move when his hand suddenly whispered over my shoulder, freezing me in place. He remained pointedly turned away from me, and my heart broke upon noting the faint tremor still seizing through those nimble fingers. It was subtle but undeniably there.

I instantly reached up to cradle his hand between mine, touch delicate even as I shifted to press my lips firmly to his knuckles.

“Do you want me to stay?” I barely breathed the words against that callused skin, against the scars from too many injuries to remember as my thumbs trailed the ridges of tendons stretching toward his wrist. He hesitated, and I could see how tightly his jaw ground shut, but then he gave a tiny nod. I needed no further encouragement, hold tightening briefly before releasing him to climb the narrow ladder, movements careful as I crawled into the too small bed beside him.

He didn't fight the way I settled against him, arms looping around his head to let my fingers trail through messy, silver curls long since left in perfect disarray from too many hours trapped in bed. He merely let me hold him for a long moment, body stiff, but then he shifted into me, face hiding against my chest as his arm slipped around my back, clawing at the skin-tight fabric of my undershirt, and I knew this was something we’d never speak of later, that his pride would never have let him cling to me like this absent a need too great for words to ever begin to portray.

“After the war ends, I'm going to buy us a real bed.” There was a new kind of quite softening hushed promises whispered through the curls twirling between my fingers. “Something big… maybe a round one.” He said nothing; made no show of tilting his head in an eye roll I couldn't see nor scoffed with some mocking dismissal, but I knew he was listening. “Put it right in the middle of a room with lots of windows - keep you from sleeping in until noon.” That, at least, earned a small groan that left me chuckling softly against him.

“Maybe I’ll sneak out before you wake up,” I continued, lips just brushing against him, “surprise you with a cup of caf.” His hand slowly crept up my spine, head shifting ever so slightly toward me, and I was all too eager to answer in kind, heart leaping at the taste of him as though I hadn’t kissed him a hundred times before, as though I didn’t know every divot of his body as intimately as I knew my own. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I lost myself in him. It didn’t matter how chaste the caress of his lips was; how gently they pressed against mine with words he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud, still, it left me breathless as he quietly pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him before that accursed apology faded, chest swelling with a carefully slowed, deep breath.

“I know.” I whispered back, cheek shifting delicately against him. “I know.”

I hadn’t meant to stay with him. I’d meant only to grant him a moment of reprieve from the terrors he wouldn’t be free of until those bandages finally came off, but the way he held me, the hesitation in how slowly that tension finally began to ease from his lithe form, the rare display of unconditional trust revealed only as consequence of forced vulnerability… how could I walk away from that?

Only after my arm had long since lost all feeling and the Marauder’s light faded with the automated façade of a night cycle did I began easing myself free of him. He barely shifted, the gentle ebb and flow of sleep still mediating unrushed breath as I slipped down onto the empty frame of Hunter’s bed.

No one had passed through the bunkroom in those few, precious hours I shamelessly squandered toying with silver curls and tracing senseless shapes atop now laxed muscles. I wasn’t surprised that Tech was surely still nestled in the worn pilot’s chair, but Echo’s absence left me growing even more anxious.

Footsteps carefully softened, I started silently toward the aft of the ship, but the rear cargo room was empty, and only Hunter lay within the medbay. I nearly walked away, intent on scouring the entirety of the damn ship to find the impossibly illusive arc trooper but found myself pausing at the offensive disarray of the room before me. Empty wrappers circled the misaligned cots like spent confetti, and the empty saline bag still hung over the mattress Crosshair had fled, crumpled blankets a testimony to his frenzied movements.

A few minutes… I could spare a few minutes to reclaim some semblance of order from the horrid chaos still so evident in abandoned vials of spent medication and crudely discarded syringes, and if I stole a couple seconds in between to merely watch the steady dance of that tiny line across the screen of the cardiac monitor, to slip my fingers against bronze skin and simply feel the heat of him, to count the lazy beat of his pulse and study the way his chest rose and fell with breath that I could still taste on my lips as I’d forced air into his lungs; if those brief, stolen moments saw me holding my own breath lest it tremble as I fought back regrets and what-if’s and if-only’s, then that was a delay easily dismissed beneath the weight of a relief I’d never grow weary of cherishing.

How many times had I done this? Lost hours in the meditation of cleaning and organizing and recording an inventory destined to prove inaccurate as supplies mysteriously vanished in the days to come? My bed now lay atop its frame once more. The trash was gone and the floors scrubbed clean of stains. I heard the clatter of my datapad hitting the counter before understanding why my grip had suddenly failed me, eyes wide even as I found myself frozen, some haunting doubt yet forbidding me from turning around, from glimpsing the source of that tiny sound. It was barely more than a huff, breath hitching in the echo of a pain transcending the residuals of sleep. But it was there.

Only when that faltered gasp just hinted at a groan did I finally turn to face him. Tension coiled through his jaw, brows twitching absent the strength to truly furrow above weakly pinched eyes, strained inhales bucking as broken ribs rebelled from the abuse, and, in an instant, I was at his side, knees aching from how harshly I dropped to the ground beside his cot, hands hovering uselessly above him as years of medical training abandoned me.

“Hunter?” His name left in a barely audible gasp, but it was enough. His lashes fluttered, some fleeting sound just catching in his throat. “Hunter! Hey-hey-hey, easy; you’re alright.” I don’t know what comfort he could find in the rapidly whispered words as I fought against a rushed flurry of too many emotions to begin to quell, but his head shifted toward me nonetheless, and when his eyes opened, when I saw the subtle hints of green woven through umber and gold, when I knew, free of that crippling uncertainty, that he saw me… that he knew me, I couldn’t help but sob, hands sliding so carefully about his cheeks as I leaned down to just touch my forehead to his.

“H… Hu-… d-dammit…” I couldn’t force my voice steady enough even to breathe his name, entire body suddenly trembling with the apex of a fear I’d barely allowed myself to acknowledge until faced with the blessed proof that it was baseless. He made no attempt to push me away, eyes open just enough to meet mine as I trembled against him, and when his hand managed to slide about my elbow, grip weak but undeniably there, I found myself sobbing even harder, shoulders bunching about my chest in some futile attempt to regain a control that was too eager to cave just as I so nearly managed to force myself to calm.

“Y… you can’t d-do that to me again.” I ordered, shameless of how hopelessly my voice broke, thumbs sweeping across still bruised skin with a tenderness that should have brought a flush to my cheeks. I wanted to ask what litany of thoughts danced behind those eyes; wanted to hear him recant the impossible breadth of incalculable possibilities he seemed to consider even now before allowing himself to respond, but something about the softness of his expression as I pulled away to better see him, the gentleness of his gaze as his head shifted in a tiny nod left me staggering far too much to even remember how to speak. Only when another too-deep inhale left him flinching in pain, did I finally remember myself.

“Don’t… don’t try to move, yet.” I ordered, chest bucking with a quiet sniffle as I turned sharply away from him, hands reluctantly abandoning his warmth to snatch at nearly supplies. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, but this will kick in quickly.” He watched idly as I flooded his IV with pain meds.

“M… ch… ch’st…” I grimaced at the barely audible attempt at speech.

“Broken ribs.” I explained. I wasn’t surprised at how quickly his confusion shifted to something quiet, haunted, and I knew I didn’t have to explain further.

“We’re about a day out from the Vigilance.” I murmured. “Everyone’s on board – they even got the Senator out.” His eyes still held a darkness I knew only time might ease, but he gave another nod in response, this one quick; distracted.

When I found myself reaching for his hand, I couldn’t say if it was for my own comfort or for his, but neither could I deny the thrill in feeling how readily his fingers slipped between mine. It took only a moment longer for that clarity to fade, taking with it the tension and pain coiling through still exhausted muscles.

There were still too many uncertainties surrounding his condition to truly relax… I could still only guess towards how long he’d been down before I found him… how long he’d been dead. Five minutes… that all it took for a normal human to suffer brain damage. Hunter wasn't a normal human… but it felt like so much longer than five minutes had passed between the moment his comms went silent and when his heart finally began to beat again…

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling his knuckles up to brush lightly to my lips. “Maker, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” I didn’t think he was still awake, but his hand shifted to slip softly against my cheek, eyes glancing only briefly toward me before falling shut once more. “D’dn’t… do an… ‘nythin’ wr’ng…” He mumbled, lips barely shifting around words that sounded almost more akin to a soft growl than true speech as drugs and exhaustion left his already smoky voice an even deeper rumble.

“You were only there because of me…” I wasn’t sobbing anymore, but there was no hiding the depth of sorrow threatening to bring a fresh wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you’d… I… I thought I lost you…” I barely breathed that devastating truth, fingers sliding delicately up his arm as though there was still some danger of him slipping away from something so simple as a rough touch. His thumb trailed along the ridge of my cheek, the movement faltering, stuttering, as though he kept forgetting he was doing it, but it was all the softer for it.

“M… ‘m here…” He murmured, face so perfectly laxed that it seemed only seconds before sleep might reclaim him, and there was something frightfully beautiful about that; that foreign calm softening his features; how young he looked absent the constant furrow between his brows from the crippling weight of leading his brothers through dangers far greater than any should be forced to suffer through. Like this, that faded tattoo looked almost comical against a youth that was so easily overlooked beneath the veneer of war-hardened soldier, and I couldn’t ignore how my heart jumped at the sight even as his touch finally stilled.

It was selfish… stupid… but I didn’t want him to sleep yet… I wanted to hear him whisper to me in that sleep-draggled voice; I wanted him to promise me that he’d be okay – that we’d be okay…

“… Hunter?” His name slipped from my lips before logic could force it back, and I found myself holding my breath as I awaited some response. My chest bucked with a jilted exhale when none came, jaw tensing against an entirely different taste of regret even as I strained to grasp the relief of being spared whatever senseless thoughts had led me to call out to him with that almost shy whisper.

Heart still racing, I carefully set his arm down before thoughtlessly reaching across him to resettle the blanket over his still bare chest as though it might ease the image of what dark bruises marred bronze skin from a memory too eager to forget those wounds in favor of gentler times; when he lay atop my bed for reasons veiled in therapeutic touch, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing our every interaction beneath a shame and guilt that had nothing to do with my profession.

I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to rest. Not when he slept so peacefully barely a meter away; not when Crosshair lay curled atop his own bed in the neighboring room suffering beneath injuries threatening his very identity. I needed to calm down; to breathe; to quiet those raging emotions lit anew beneath the terror of losing him and the blistering relief following in the wake of seeing his chest rise, of hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing it would never be enough.

-

We didn’t have sonics on Agamar. There was no reason for them. Water was plentiful and clean, and there was no substitute for the numbing pleasure of feeling it wash the tension and dirt and anxiety away. Only luxury vessels could afford to waste the extra weight and space needed for such extravagances, however, and the pulsing pressure callously beating the grime from my skin offered none of the gentle clarity I’d hoped for upon hiding myself away in the utilitarian fresher. At least I was clean…

The Senator had nestled himself among a handful of spare blankets with Areeya in the cabin, and neither stirred as I made my way toward the narrow ladder dropping down into the cockpit. Tech wasn’t studying his datapad, nor was he tinkering with some half-built weapon or tool or “upgrade” to the Marauder. He was merely watching the infinite trails of stars shooting past us at speeds I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I didn’t sit down in the empty co-pilot chair, instead granting whatever unspoken excuse or forgiveness or feigned ignorance I needed to lower myself to the ground beside him, back pressing against the uncomfortable ridge of dented durasteel framing his seat as my head tilted just enough to rest against the side of his thigh. From the corner of my vision, I saw how quickly his attention shifted, wide eyes studying me with a confusion I should have felt guilty for causing.

“Are you… alright?” He asked hesitantly, hands torn between releasing their hold on the controls and grasping them even tighter.

“Hunter woke up.” It wasn’t an answer, but those few words held far more value and interest than any false platitudes I might offer, and Tech instantly responded with a flurry of relief and hope and then dread as that silence lingered. “I think he’s okay.” I added far too belatedly, earning a sharp breath from the brilliant pilot. “It was just for a minute… Painkillers knocked him back out pretty fast.”

“But he seemed… coherent?” Tech pressed, hesitant to allow himself to cede the fears lingering in the unknowns.

“There wasn’t time to really assess him, but… he was aware.” I explained, knowing such a meager reassurance would offer just as meager a balm to the what-if’s still hovering over us.

“I think Echo’s avoiding me again.” I continued with a heavy sigh.

“I do not believe so.” He responded after a brief pause. “We were just discussing the redesign of his upgraded prosthetics. He’s been working on them in the gunner’s nest during flights.” Surprise and understanding rushed through me, gaze turning back toward the ladder as though there were some chance I could see him from here.

“Huh… that’s… that’s good.” I murmured, and I couldn't say with any certainty if the relief in my voice outweighed the disappointment. Logically, I knew there was likely little I could honestly contribute in light of the incredible breadth of knowledge shared between Tech and Echo, but a part of me had hoped he might still find a reason to seek me out, if only for some fabricated uncertainty regarding nervous system integration or proper fitting of the socket, or just to share in the progress they'd made… but there was still too great of a divide between us… too much confusion toward where we stood with each other… too many blameless apologies neither would accept. And the non-stop sprint from one mission to the next offered little chance of privacy in which we might talk it through…

“When is this going to end…”  I think I hated myself for letting those words escape, for letting him hear the weight in them, the threat of a hopelessness we couldn't afford to feel lest it rob us of the will to keep fighting.

“I presume you're not referring to our rendezvous with General Kenobi's flagship.” It wasn't a question, and I didn't need to voice the answer screaming in the pregnant silence that followed as eyes barely open beneath the remorse and weariness that had forced me to purge that wretched plea from myself to begin with rose just enough to see a heartbreaking glimmer of concern staring down at me through topaz lens.

“Traditionally, enlisted servicemembers are deployed for no more than one point five cycles between mandatory leaves… Medical emergencies aside, you haven't taken-"

“Don't.” I interrupted quietly, begging him to rid even his thoughts of what he was implying. “You… your brothers… This is it, for me.” I let my head shake almost lazily against his leg, dismissing the very notion of changing that. “I don't have anything else… I don't want anything else.”

“I'm… not sure that level of dependency would be considered healthy.” My face instantly pinched in offense before noting the teasing glint just toying with the edges of his lips enough to draw faint creases along the corners of his eyes.

“I know your sleep schedule, Tech… You really don't want to talk to me about unhealthy dependencies.” I shot back, challenge clear even through the grin lighting my words, but his smirk only grew.

“Clones were designed to have far superior tolerance to both physical and mental deficiencies.” He didn't brag with that haughty lilt intent on belittling others, nor was it quite accurate to call it pride as he recanted that sales pitch I so loathed every time I heard it in the almost musical cadence of the Kaminoans, but there was an air of confidence driving his boast that was so hard to argue with… still…

“Don't give me that ‘superior genetics' osik! Tolerance doesn't make you immune to going days on end without sleep.” I retorted with a scowl ruined by the smile I couldn't fight from my lips. “Especially now with your arm practically hanging off…” His lips bunched, gaze dropping to the thick bandages about his still immobilized arm with an impatient exhale that sent a sharp flare of guilt through my chest.

Head pressing just a touch harder against him, I raised my hand to lightly brush against his elbow, the touch aimless beyond the compelling urge to offer some reassurance amidst a silent apology.

“The war…” he didn't look at me as he spoke, the elegance of his voice lowering into something just shy of a whisper, “An ending of some manner is inevitable, of course… and though it is impossible to say with total certainty, statistically speaking, the Republic appears to have a far greater likelihood of victory.” There was something teeming beneath words not necessarily meant to offer comfort so much as to state simple fact, something dark and forbidden but too dreadful to ignore. “Unlike the Republic, the Separatists forces are dependent on very few, individual leaders, namely General Grievous and Count Dooku, both of whom often participate directly in armed combat despite the obvious shortcomings of such a strategy given how vital their lives are to the war effort.” I could hear him tapping softly against his other thigh, alternating between his ring and middle fingers with an almost frenzied pace.

“Tech?” I barely breathed his name, a gentle, worried question sown into my voice that quickly drew his eyes back to mine for just a moment before returning pointedly toward the viewport. He wasn't tapping anymore; the muscles atop his jaw bound tight as he thought over what he might say next.

“You speak of the war ending as though it will solve more problems than it will create… but for us… for clones… We have no place in this galaxy beyond the battlefield.” I couldn't breathe as he finally purged that horrid truth, watching aghast as his lips drew into a thin line even as they shifted for a moment longer in silence before continuing. “There are more than twenty million clones currently serving in the Grand Army, in addition to those still in training on Kamino.” He spoke slower, now, allowing the brief moments of quiet to scream everything he wasn't supposed to say, everything he wasn't supposed to think.

“I fear it would be naïve to assume a government reluctant to provide adequate funds for even basic supplies during active war to willingly support the clones once that war is won.” There. There was the heart of that darkness. It wasn't rare to hear him speak with disinterest or even disdain toward matters he believed to be obvious or simply irrelevant, but this went far beyond that. Poison seethed beneath a flurry of repressed emotions: rage, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, fear… He was suffocating beneath it, body nearly vibrating despite the icy calm in eyes still studying the star trails gleaming through the duraglass.

“Hey.” The gentle murmur left on a slow breath. My arm draped tentatively over his lap, knees curling beneath me as I turned to face him, to reach for him with an almost desperate need to offer some glimmer of comfort or, if none could be found, to join him in that darkness if only so he wouldn't be alone in it. “I don't know what's going to happen,” I answered, voice only just loud enough to twirl through the air between us before fading absent the faintest echo to prove they’d ever existed as my fingers trailed softly up his cheeks, “and I wouldn't know where to begin with fixing any of that… but I meant what I said.” The depth of the promise burning through my words finally managed to draw his gaze back to me, and I held him even more gently for it. “This is it for me… whatever happens… I'm with you.” He was silent for a moment longer, but I watched as that fury slowly quieted, and I didn't know if I wanted to sob or scream or rage at its loss.

“There is high probability that peace may see us all homeless.” What sharpness that warning was meant to have dulled beneath the tentative hope that only grew as I offered him a weary smile.

“I've been homeless since Wolffe blew up my ship.” I answered with a shrug, and my heart leapt at the tiny huff of laughter it drew from him.

“Manual labor is also a possibility.” He pressed, almost teasing me.

“Are you really going to question my brute strength again?” I shot back, unable to stifle my own laughter at the blush dancing up his neck that he couldn't hide regardless how quickly he turned back to the viewport.

“You’re a medic.” That flare of lightness faded, his voice going quiet once more. “You would have ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.” My touch shifted purposefully back down his jaw, willing his gaze to return to me.

“And you're a genius.” I replied, a tenderness to my voice that I could only hope might reach him. “In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” He stared at me in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No.” My smile only grew, aimlessly tracing the lower ridge of his goggles with my thumb as though there was some hope of sweeping away the line I knew they'd leave in his softly tanned skin.

“I said I was staying until you told me to leave… might put up a fight even if you tried.” I added, nose scrunching beneath a coy sneer. His lips started to pull into a grin but paused, stifled by a sadness I wasn’t expecting and didn't know how to begin to address.

“Hunter and I already planned it out, you know.” I whispered it, as though revealing some secret conspiracy, head tilting to rest against his thigh once more as I looked up at him. “We’re going to become explorers. All six of us.” The skeptical frown that overtook his slender face was a far more welcomed sight than that sadness was, and I didn't hesitate in sharing the joy it brought me, my own lips stretching wide as I beamed at him.

“We’ll settle foreign worlds… discover knew lifeforms… establish relations with never-before-seen sentients… again.” Despite himself, that little smirk again played with lips bunching in a vain attempt to hide the subtle interplay of pride and excitement at the memory of being the first to manage communication with those nearly subterranean, insect-like inhabitants that had so nearly killed me with their poison arrows, the wealth of discoveries he got to make and record and share with the galaxy because he was able to learn their language in a matter of hours, and I couldn't help but echo that excitement.

“As alluring as that plan might sound, being “explorers" is unlikely to provide the credits needed for such a lifestyle.” He reminded unapologetically, a very real concern that I was perfectly happy to ignore.

“So, I'll freelance here and there.” I replied lightly before adding, “‘Ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.’ Right?” He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't need to. We both knew it was an impossible dream… but that's what dreams are for: granting a glimpse of better times and better places absent the limitations of a reality far too unforgiving of factors beyond anyone’s control.

“It would be far more logical – and lucrative- for us to freelance.” I thought over his reply for a moment before shaking my head, expression falling.

“I don't want you to have to fight anymore…” I whispered, shifting slightly so the words were muffled against his leggings, “especially not in someone else’s war...”

He didn't respond, and when I finally looked back up at him, I understood why. The beauty beyond the viewport was forgotten, as was whatever embarrassment or doubt had pulled his gaze so pointedly away from me. He stared at me as though he'd just solved some great mystery, and the answer was something he wasn't prepared for, something he couldn't fix. He stared at me as though that knowledge would haunt him for eternity. There was a sadness to it, but it wasn't marred by regret. There was guilt, but there was also gratitude, and when his hand finally abandoned the controls, when he let himself reach for me, the backs of his fingers just brushing the hair from my eyes before sliding down to the curve of my jaw as though mapping the planes of my face by touch alone, I found myself consumed by the weight of that silence. I felt no need to break it, to offer either word or touch in return, but nor could I breathe beneath it, as though the slightest movement might scare him away.

He was the first to breach that quiet, but he did so gently, chest swelling with a slow breath, eyes closing for just a moment before again returning to the viewport, but he didn't pull away, hand instead shifting to softly cradle the side of my head, gloved fingers sliding carefully through locks of my hair, and, with a sigh full of my own relief and gratitude and exhaustion, I nestled more comfortably against him, legs stretching out across the cockpit floor as my cheek rested heavily atop his thigh, relishing in that moment of quiet with him for however long it might last.

-

“I carried your worthless shebs down the damn mountain. If you can’t even manage a ‘thank you,’ the least you could do is let me sleep.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that their first interaction after so nearly losing each other would be to fight, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from sinking beneath a low sigh.

“You shot me.” Crosshair snarled, and I had to keep from rolling my eyes as I began carefully unwrapping the bandages about his head, silently thrilling in the relief of hearing the clarity in Hunter’s voice.

“I stunned you.” Hunter retorted with nearly the same degree of annoyance. “You’d been screaming for half a klik – made sure every damn clanker in that forest knew exactly where we were.” I felt Cross stiffen, his thin lips pulling into a subtle frown as his hands tightened around the edge of my bed, and I had to bite back the cringe pulling at my own lips, the worry that maybe I should have allowed them some separation, at least until tempers weren’t already strained beneath injury and fear. He’d almost refused to enter the medbay despite his eagerness to be free of those dreaded bandages, relenting only after I threatened to drag him there by force.

Those threats haunted me in the moments that followed; in the hesitation jilting his every movement despite how vehemently he tried to hide it; how violently he refused to hold onto me for guidance even when he nearly tripped over Hunter’s mattress in search of my own, waking the Sargent with a start.

“I’ve carried each and every one of you,” I grumbled loudly, “You don’t see me moaning about not getting a damn ‘thank you’… and I told you to let me help – won’t be doing either of you any favors if you go falling over each other like that…” I added sternly to Crosshair, silencing them both.

We were mere moments from finally reaching the Vigilance, and I knew how much worse Crosshair’s anxiety was sure to get the instant he stepped foot off the Marauder without the use of his eyes. I’d initially intended to wait another day, but his scans were promising enough to relent if only to spare him that added dread.

“There’s still bacta on your eyes,” I warned, voice softening, body leaning forward just enough to subtly press my thigh against his knee in a silent offer of reassurance, “So don’t freak out when everything’s still blurry.” He answered only with a small grunt but didn’t pull away from my touch. I could see how closely Hunter was watching us, his own breath held despite the strain it surely placed on his ribs in those final moments before the wrappings fell away.

Crosshair didn’t move for a moment longer, eyes closed in a final display of that heartbreaking fear; clinging to that last moment of uncertainty for what glimpse of denial it granted before he’d have to face the reality of his injuries.

When he finally forced those sharp eyes to open, his entire body went taut.

“I know.” I murmured gently, hand whispering over his. “Blurry is okay. What we’re worried about is dark spots; gaps where you can’t see anything.” He tried not to show that growing panic, but his brows furrowed further together with each passing second, and I found my movements hurrying if only to keep him from falling too deeply into his own thoughts.

“I want you to keep your eyes on mine, Cross. Using your peripherals, let me know when you can’t see my finger.” I didn’t bother reminding him that everyone had a blind spot, that the small junction where the optic nerve connected to the retina robbed everyone of a sliver of sight so small as to be unnoticeable, aware of how familiar he was with not just the general anatomy of human eyes, but of every way in which his own eyes differed, how they were better. Still, his hand tightened even more around the lip of the bed when my finger wandered toward the edge of his vision.

“There.” It was only because of how intimately I knew him that I heard the hint of panic in that hushed word.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, cadence carefully even as I slowly moved my finger before him.

“No.” It wasn’t a whisper, but the relief was so consuming as to rob even the rasp from his voice, and I readily mimicked that relief with a gentle smile, thumb trailing softly along the edge of his hand, heart jumping when he released his grip on the mattress to tightly lock his fingers through mine.

As I repeated the test on his other side, I remembered trying to guide him through an exam to test the range of motion in his hands after a complication threatened the nerves stretching down his arm, the skepticism in his deadpan glare as he watched me model the movements. There were no reservations now; no doubt toward my motivation nor skill or devotion, and that only heightened both the stress in bearing the responsibility of their care as well as the joy of helping them through injury or illness or insecurity.

“Now the fun part…” My warning was lost beneath the mirth still lighting my voice, and he had to force himself to pay attention. “We still need to rinse that gel out.” Even that failed to sour his relief, and I found myself murmuring lest I breach that precious moment of calm. “We can do that in the fresher – let you clean up a bit easier after.” I offered, earning an almost dazed nod from him as I stepped back, hand tightening once more around his before sliding away. “Let me grab a few things, then I’ll be right behind you.” He hesitated only briefly, mind belatedly making sense of what I’d said before pushing himself to his feet.

He paused once more just before reaching the door, attention shifting down to where his brother still lay in a slight daze of his own, though one of medication more than euphoria.

“Thanks.” It was quiet, but no less earnest for it. Hunter held his gaze for a moment in silence before giving a small nod, a flare of something ancient and powerful and safe burning in his eyes. He’d nearly died – had died – saving his brother, and that look screamed just how willing he was to suffer that agony a thousand times over if it meant his family would be okay.

“He was awake,” I murmured, still watching the door long after it slid shut behind the lithe sniper, “when I was… when I was trying to bring you back.” I hesitated before looking toward him, an apology screaming through my eyes even as I continued speaking, my own worry about how that trauma might yet haunt Crosshair superseding the fear that I was revealing truths he might never have wanted revealed. “I’ve never seen him like that…” He didn’t respond for a moment, jaw tensing with a guilt that left my heart writhing in my chest.

“… how long was I…” He didn’t say it, narrowed eyes staring blindly through the far corner of the room.

“I don’t know.” I answer quietly. “A few minutes?” A silence stretched between us; a silence that wasn’t meant to be broken for want of guidance or reassurance.

“I’ll asked Wrecker to bring you your datapad.” I sighed, finally moving to gather my supplies. “And a shake.” I added more firmly, glancing back to catch his eye to clearly voice the unspoken threat. He answered only with a small smirk, and I didn't hide the weight that fell from my shoulders in that moment. He was okay. Crosshair was okay. Wrecker, Tech, and Echo were all healing. Maker, we'd made it…

“I’ll come back to check on you soon.” With that parting promise, I finally followed after his brother, arms locked around jugs of saline and large flush syringes.

“Good luck.” He called after me, and I made sure he could hear my scoffed laugh of a response.

-

If there was some great difference between the Vigilance and the Negotiator, my untrained eyes couldn't see it:  same interplay of muted grays lining the hanger floors and walls; same curtains of blue light illustrating massive shields, same precise orchestra of soldiers marching in perfect synchrony across the gaping stretch of space between transports.

No… not the same… Surely the soldiers hidden beneath the ivory and gold armor of the 212th weren't the same as the ones I’d walked past so many months ago on the Negotiator. Those men were gone… How many? Why? Part of me wanted to blame the General, to shout at him purely to grant my rage and sorrow some outlet greater than merely allowing the anger to simmer in my chest. I wanted to accuse him of callously throwing away their lives, ask if he even knew the number of clones killed under his watch… but I knew that rage was born of a sorrow he felt just as keenly.

I’d only spent maybe an hour with the Jedi master; back when my own armor still gleamed white and I’d barely begun to develop some early taste of acceptance from the men who now held more of my heart than was right or proper or fair. Back then, I kept waiting for him to justify my prejudice, to shift blame and dismiss me with little more than rote reassurances and empty promises. Instead, I’d left that meeting with a sense of comfort, tentatively confident that he wasn’t there purely to placate me but to earnestly try to help. He cared. And I found myself mourning him just as strongly as those who’d fallen with his previous flagship, certain that he would never be free of the weight of loss growing ever heavier with each day the war continued.

General Kenobi was there when we landed, flanked by teams of medical staff with the Marshal Commander at his side. I saw them from only a fleeting glance, attention focused on addressing the pair of medics that had broken off from the main group to help transport Hunter. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo stood in formation behind the Senator. It was the first I’d seen of the arc in days, and there was a bittersweetness in that, in finally finding him only now when circumstance forbade me from speaking with him, not while Tech was providing as succinct of a debriefing as he was capable of and I was moments from taking my leave to oversee Hunter's care.

“I'm not sitting in that thing…” The words snarled from just within the Marauder where one of the Vigilance's men awaited with a hoverchair.

“The hell you aren't.” I snapped, shoulders pulling back as I turned an impatient glare toward the man leaning hazardously against the metal doorframe, jaw clicking shut around the curse burning atop my tongue to see him standing at all.

“It’s just outside the hanger. I'll walk.” He pressed with an impatience of his own.

“How about I neutralize those pain killers? See how eager you are to argue then.” His eyes narrowed with a slow, tense exhale just shy of a growl. “Chair or gurney.” I continued sternly. “Those are your choices. Or I can see if General Kenobi wants to do that force thing and magic you over there.” I added with a devious smirk. His lips drew up in a scowl just enough to flash a glimpse of clenched teeth, but, begrudgingly, he lowered himself into the hoverchair. The trooper behind him didn't linger, instantly moving forward before the unruly Sargent could voice further objection.

“Miss?” A voice called just before I started after them, and I turned to find the Senator approaching me, a confidence in his stride that was frightfully absent from eyes left almost timid from all he'd had to endure since his capture. He'd barely spoken to anyone beyond his daughter during the flight, movements almost neurotic beneath the desperate need to keep her close, to keep her safe, and none of us could truly begrudge him for that self-imposed isolation. Now, though, he’d ventured across the handle of meters separating us, for the first time since boarding the Marauder leaving the girl just beyond his reach.

“Senator.” I greeted with a small bow of my head.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.” There was still a slight tremor to his voice, and I wondered how he’d be able to return to politics after this, how he’d sleep knowing exactly what it meant to put himself and his family the spotlight like that.

“Just doing my job, sir.” I replied, though the automatic response wasn't without warmth. Still, he quickly shook his head.

“You took care of my girl… There's nothing in this galaxy that means more to me than her…” he pressed, and I had to bite back the flare of annoyance with a slow breath.

“I treated her injuries… but they were the ones who took care of her.” I said firmly, nodding to where Areeya was bouncing happily from Tech to Crosshair before, steps just a touch more hesitant, treading to Wrecker. The towering man instantly lowered himself onto a knee, and I cringed at how it surely strained the injured joint, but his scarred face was nothing but gentle as he smiled at the child. She tentatively reached for his hand. I couldn't hear what he said, but it left the girl giggling loudly, tiny fingers clutching onto him.

“He went back for her – hobbled through a burning ship with a dislocated knee because he was the only one who knew where she was.” I told him quietly as we watched the scene unfold. I vaguely noticed Tech's attention shift to watch the handful of troopers escorting Hunter to the medbay, and, with a final flurry of words, started toward us.

Areeya released Wrecker to free her hands for some frenzy of movements I was too far away to even try to interpret, and my heart jumped to see Wrecker respond in kind, movements hesitant and clumsy, but even from where I stood, I could see how the attempt left the girl bursting with glee, and without warning, she threw herself forward, arms straining to wrap around his broad chest.

“She’s… she’s signing.” The senator gasped.

“Yes…” Tech hummed thoughtfully. “We were curious as to why she was initially so opposed to that form of communication when she clearly has a fluent grasp on the language.” The father seemed to deflate around a heavy breath, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“She… overheard her mother… My wife means well, truly, but… she doesn’t have much patience for our daughter’s… unique preferences.” He explained tensely. “She worries that, by giving Areeya an alternative to speech, we’re enabling her mutism.” I tried to speak, but Tech quickly cut me off.

“On the contrary, limiting anyone, particularly a child, of some means of communication is more likely to further isolate them and harm both social and mental development.” There was an edge to his voice, and I wasn’t surprised to note the subtle line forming between narrowed brows. “Whether her mutism stems from a reluctance to speak or an inability, neither is grounds for depriving her of what means of self-expression she does prefer.” I half expected the senator to balk at his blunt words, tensing in preparation to get between them, but the man before us merely closed his eyes beneath a weariness that left my heart aching for him.

“I know.” He barely whispered, looking back toward his beaming child. “…I know…” With little more than a final, shaking breath, he started toward the girl once more, steps slow; heavy.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He didn't look at me as I whispered it, but I could see the stiffness in his shoulders as he watched the man approach Wrecker next.

“I'm eager to see the results of Hunter's scan.” It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. I let out a quiet sigh before nodding and, shoulder brushing lightly against his, turned to finally follow the path toward the medbay, allowing myself some solace in the safety of finding ourselves on one of the most prized ships of the GAR, in the knowledge that, here at least, I could finally see that my men received the care they needed, the care they deserved, even though I knew that this glimmer of respite was bought by blood and was doomed to be stolen from us far too soon.

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[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.

[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.)

[electrikworm]

Hold on Tight

Relationships: Hunter & Wrecker, Crosshair & Wrecker, Omega & Wrecker, Echo & Wrecker, Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Crying, Mention of what happened on Eriadu, Chronic Pain

Summary:

Wrecker's very physical affectionate, which he loves to show by hugging his siblings. Here are five instances where he does just that.

Written for the @wrecker-week Bingo prompt "Hugs"

Word count: 2,431

Read on Ao3

Work Text:

Hunter stares at Wrecker as his vod'ika stands towards the back of the ship, arms awkwardly wrapped around himself. He's fighting a losing battle against the rising tears, Hunter can smell that from across the Marauder, can hear Wrecker's attempts to silence it.

It's far from the first time Wrecker's cried since Eriadu. Hunter's senses make sure he's aware of every time his brother does so. He's left Wrecker to it every time, not wanting to intrude.

But something feels different this time. Hunter heard Wrecker start to fight back tears about ten minutes ago. After the day they've had, turning up with nothing but dead ends, Hunter had expected it. But about two minutes ago, Hunter started watching his brother. Wrecker keeps adjusting the way his arm's are crossed over his chest. Almost like he's trying to hug himself.

That's when Hunter makes a realisation, something suddenly clicking in his brain. The Sargent had been so caught up in how he doesn't deserve being comforted by his brother for failing the squad on Eriadu, that he'd completely forgotten to consider that Wrecker may have been offering to hug Hunter because he needed one too.

Wrecker stopped offering after Hunter rejected him the third time and it had been weeks since then. Hunter should have noticed.

“Wrecker?” Hunter calls across the ship.

Wrecker responds by hastily trying to wipe his face. “Need something sarge?” he responds, voice tight. Hunter doesn't know what to say, so he just nods as he closes the distance between him and his vod. “Hunter?” Wrecker asks, voice distorted by the remainder of tears as well as concern.

Hunter just wraps his arms around Wrecker, squeezing him tightly. It takes a second for Wrecker to respond, to return the embrace. Wrecker's body trembles as he holds Hunter, tears flowing freely.

“I'm sorry,” Hunter mutters, his own resolve crumbling not long after Wrecker's. He muffles his own sobs against his brother's shoulder. Hunter doesn't know if he's apologizing for Tech's death, Omega's abduction or the fact his own guilt made him leave Wrecker to suffer on his own. But Hunter just keeps apologising over and over, not really sure what else he even could do.

-

According to Tech, it'll take them another twenty minutes at least to arrive at the battlefield they're joining. Wrecker's feeling more than a little jittery. They've been cooped up in the Marauder for hours and Wrecker's bored. It's been far too silent for far too long and it's driving the demolitions expert a bit crazy.

But, a solution for that soon arises when Crosshair steps out of the cockpit, propping his Firepuncher up against the wall as he adjusts the strap on his breastplate. A grin spreads on Wrecker's face as he stands up, crossing the ship as quickly and quietly as he can. As soon as Crosshair's in range, Wrecker grabs him, pulling him into a tight hug. Even in armor, Wrecker easily lifts his brother off the ground as he squishes him against his chest.

Crosshair lets out a startled yelp, quickly reverting to his usual grumpy tone. “Put me down Wrecker,” he huffs, failing to push Wrecker away as he squirms in his arms.

“No,” Wrecker counters, grinning to himself.

“I'll break your nose with my forehead if that's what it needs for you to let go, di'kut,” Crosshair hisses. Wrecker can tell he's bluffing, because if he wasn't, Crosshair would have acted on the threat already.

“I don't think you will,” Wrecker quips, shaking Crosshair from side to side lightly. The sniper grumbles, muttering swears and insults under his breath. Then, with a loud sigh, Crosshair stops struggling, leaning into Wrecker's hold.

“If I forget any mission prep because you distracted me, I'm hiding Lula somewhere where you won't find her for weeks,” Crosshair threatens. Wrecker laughs, knowing Crosshair won't act on that either.

“Admit it, you like being hugged. That's the only reason I haven't been stabbed with a toothpick yet.” Wrecker laughs as Crosshair responds with another irritated huff.

“It would be a lot easier to stab you if you weren't crushing my ribcage.” Crosshair tries to glare at Wrecker.

Wrecker isn't holding his brother that tightly, but still loosens his grip on him, just to be sure. Despite that, Crosshair still doesn't try to fight Wrecker off again, leaning into him slightly instead. That's all the confirmation Wrecker needs.

As much as Crosshair denies it, he's almost as bad as Wrecker when it comes to how much physical affection he needs. Wrecker doesn't mind, he's happy to pretend he just does this to annoy Crosshair if that's what it takes.

-

It's not like Omega's never been hugged before. After finding out about the concept, she'd asked Nala Se. Over the years, Nala Se gave in a few times, giving Omega what she wanted. But, Kaminoan's don't hug much, so Omega always felt like Nala Se didn't really know what to do.

Things are different now that Omega's with her brothers, especially with Wrecker.

Hunter doesn't really hug back, though he accepts Omega hugging him. She'd seen him when Wrecker hugs him, and Hunter doesn't always hug back either. Tech isn't a massive fan of touch, so Omega tries not to bother him too much. Echo's hesitant about hugging Omega, almost like he's worried about something, but he does hug her.

Wrecker's by far the easiest. Omega doesn't even have to ask him, he just seems to know when Omega needs to be held. She'd never had anything like this before.

Omega spots Wrecker talking to Echo, so she walks up to him and just stands there. It doesn't take long for Wrecker to glance down at her with a smile. He doesn't interrupt what he's saying as he reaches down and scoops Omega up, supporting her on his hip. Omega leans into her brothers side.

“Everything alright, 'mega?” Wrecker asks. Omega nods. It's hard to return the hug to Wrecker because his shoulders are so wide, but Omega still tries.

Echo and Wrecker are having a quiet conversation about a past mission that Omega halfway listens to. They joke, laughing ever so often. Omega doesn't get everything they say. They try to include her, explaining things as they go on, but Omega doesn't mind. She's content just understanding parts of it as she's held in her brothers arms.

This is so much better than being on Kamino, so much less lonely. There were more people in the labs, Omega was almost constantly around someone. But none of them were like her brothers, like Wrecker. None of them ever thought to hug her.

-

“Echo?” Wrecker asks, putting a hand on his new brother's shoulder. The demolitions expert had woken to Echo mumbling in his sleep, chest heaving. He must be having a nightmare. After everything that happened to him, Wrecker wouldn't be surprised. He has nightmares about a lot less.

When Echo doesn't respond, Wrecker shakes him as hard as he dares. That does the trick. With a gasp, Echo bolts upright, immediately swinging his hand at Wrecker. The ARC hits hard, making Wrecker stumble backwards a little. Echo stares in Wrecker's direction, shaking as he struggles to breath.

“You need something Echo?” Wrecker asks, taking a step towards his ori'vod. Realisation filters slowly into Echo's eyes.

“Wrecker?”

The large clone nods. “Looked like you were having a bad dream. Felt wrong to leave you like that.” Wrecker takes another step forwards. When Echo doesn't react negatively, he eventually settles next to Echo on the sleeping rack.

“Thanks,” Echo sighs, rubbing his hand across what's left of his other upper arm. Wrecker decides to take a risk and wrap his arms around Echo. He can back off if Echo tells him to.

Echo doesn't. Whilst he seems a little surprised at first, he quickly returns the gesture one handed. He holds on to Wrecker tightly, which the demolitions expert is more than happy to let happen.

“Want to talk?” Wrecker offers. Echo hadn't shared much about his time as a prisoner of war.

Echo shakes his head. “Nothing to talk about,” he says. Wrecker would argue that that's not strictly true, but he isn't going to push Echo. It's not like talking about problems is something any of them are particularly good at. “It's just, since Skako Minor, I can't really bare to be alone.”

“I can stay here,” Wrecker offers, adjusting how his arms are wrapped around the ARC trooper. Echo nods.

Moving back on the rack, Wrecker leans against the wall. Like this, he can stay there all night if he has to and it won't even be that bad for his back. Echo leans against his side, moving the blanket he'd been sleeping with so it covers both him and most of Wrecker's legs.

“Thank you,” Echo says, sighing as he relaxes a little.

“Any time,” Wrecker responds. He'd do so for any of his brothers, and Echo as the newest member of their squad isn't excluded from that.

-

Tech drops his project, an attempted modification of his datapad, in his lap a little too harshly as he glares over at Wrecker. The largest of Tech's brothers has been sleeping in the co-pilot seat, though “sleeping” is a stretch. He keeps shifting about, distracting Tech with the movement he keeps seeing in the corner of his eye and the noises Wrecker is giving off. Tech's tried to be patient with his kih'vod, but it's really beginning to annoy him.

“Wrecker, if you are having trouble sleeping here, I suggest you relocate to the sleeping rack. Ask Crosshair to share, I know there's enough place to fit both of you,” Tech sighs. He doesn't get a lot of peace and quiet on the Marauder, so he'd prefer the little time he does have to be undisturbed.

“Hunter's got a migraine, remember?” Wrecker groans, trying to draw his knees up onto the chair. His size makes it awkward for him to do so, forcing him to put his legs back down on the floor. “I don't wanna wake him.” Turning his head to face Tech, the light of hyperspace illuminates his expression. Wrecker's eyebrows are drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line. Tech recognizes the face as one of discomfort instantly.

“Is your back giving you trouble?” Tech asks. That would explain the constant squirming and restlessness. Whilst Wrecker's often got an excess of energy, the whole squad is exhausted. Going off of data Tech's collected over the years, everything points to Wrecker falling asleep in minutes. Tech should have connected the dots faster, should have noticed that Wrecker's chronic pain is keeping his from resting.

Wrecker chuckles dryly. “Bit of everything really.” He lets his head drop backwards against the chair, looking up towards the ceiling.

“Why didn't you say anything?” The whole squad is difficult with medical care, but Tech had thought they finally convinced Wrecker to bring up when his muscles are hurting.

“No point in doing so. We ran out of heat patches and I don't want to be poked with needles,” Wrecker grumbles, shifting the way he's sitting again. They ran out of heat patches a while ago, but hadn't had the time to restock them. The GAR doesn't supply them, so getting any is always a pain. Tech's been looking into an alternative, but they hadn't had time to organise one. Perhaps a heated blanket, if they could get their hands on one.

“You still should have said something. We have med patches which could at least serve to take the edge of,” Tech says as he places his datapad aside.

“Didn't want to bother you,” Wrecker replies with a shrug.

Tech sighs as he gets up. “Don't keep sitting in the co-pilot's seat. You know sleeping in the chairs makes your back worse,” he reminds his brother, striding towards where they keep the smaller first aid kit tucked away in the cockpit. When Tech turns back around, two med patches in hand, Wrecker's seated on the floor with the blanket he'd had across his knees before draped over his shoulders. He looks miserable.

All it takes is a tap on his shoulder for Wrecker to move so Tech can sit down behind him.

“Roll up your blacks,” Tech says, peeling the med patches out of their packaging. Wrecker groans under his breath as he moves the fabric of his shirt upwards and out of the way.

The first patch is applied to Wrecker's lower back, the other to the upper half, right near his neck. Tech takes care to smooth them down fully and helps Wrecker fix his blacks without dislodging the patches. Placing a hand on Wrecker's shoulder, Tech's about to stand up, but Wrecker turns to him with his eyes wide, almost pleading.

“Do you want me to stay?” Tech asks.

“Only if you don't mind,” Wrecker mumbles.

Tech sighs again. He won't be getting any work done that night, but his vode are more important than any of his projects. Tech isn't always comfortable with physical touch, neither is Hunter some days. Wrecker's become very good at reading those situations and giving them space when they need it. Right now, even as Tech settles next to Wrecker, the demolitions expert makes no move to get closer to Tech. Taking matters into his own hands, Tech wraps his arms around his brothers broad shoulders and starts manoeuvring him to a more open section of floor. It would do Wrecker good to lay down. Wrecker immediately leans into Tech's touch, holding on to him firmly. It's obvious from how Wrecker clings to him that the discomfort is worse than he'd let on to and had being going on longer than Tech thought. With how Wrecker's holding him, it takes a few attempts to get the two of them laying on the floor. Tech readjusts the blanket, making sure it covers Wrecker. It's hardly cold in the Marauder and with his brother glued to his side, there's no chance of Tech experiencing the downsides of sleeping without a blanket. Tech runs his hand across his brothers back, hoping to distract from the pain his body is causing him with the gesture. Being forced to lay down combined by the warmth of the close proximity is making Tech start to feel the effect of how long he'd gone without sleep.

Without wanting to, Tech falls pray to the clutches of sleep as well. The last thing he's aware of is Wrecker mumbling a quiet thank you into his shoulder.

[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.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Refusal

Fandom: The Bad Batch

Word Count: 1,695

Summary: Echo refused to scream. He's been here for hours, days maybe, but time didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that the batch was coming. They would always come.

--

Sooooo I had this idea about the batch swooping in when Echo has been held captive and I couldn't get it out of my head so here ya go, a section of a fic I may very well one day write about how far the batch will go to protect one of their own.

Warnings: blood, restraints, injury, violence.

Echo refused to scream. 

That’s how he ended up here.

The man who had him chained to the floor, knees forced under him, neck aching heavy with the weight of the restraint. His wrist had long since bled and scabbed and bled again, scomp held down at a bent angel, broken and spinning without his control. He reeled back, metal over his knuckles that he planned to strike at Echo once again, trying to force him into submission. 

Echo refused to scream. 

What drowned out his ears instead was alarms blazing overhead. Red lights blinked furiously. With a sneer his captor spit down at him. 

“Are those your pets?”

Echo spit the blood off of his lips. It splattered on the floor. “They aren’t pets.” He spit it out with as much vitriol as his raw throat would allow. The man above him swiveled, listening to the unmistakable sound of droids taking blaster fire, hitting the ground in a heap of wire and metal. Echo forced his head up, bloodshot eyes burning. “We’re a package deal, you see. A team. A squad. I save them. They save me. It’s kind of our thing.” Indistinct yelling rose from the nearby hallways. They were close, they were coming. Echo smiled through teeth he swore were chipped and lips so cracked it stung. “So, no, they aren’t pets, as you so kindly keep referring to them. But they are mine.” The door to the room he was being held in shook as something heavy was thrown against it. His captor flinched away from it while Echo’s body relaxed. Another slam against it and it bent. 

Wrecker. 

Something wedged its way between the doors, metal groaned as it slid apart, enough to get a hand inside. That hand was joined by another and the door was pried, inch by agonizing inch, apart. Eventually someone got impatient, cursing loudly, and big brawler hands gripped each edge. Metal bent backwards, rattling in complaint. 

“And they hate you for what you’ve done.” It bit from between Echo’s lips just as the door was pried open, metal screaming while Wrecker yelled. Even with the helmet on Echo sensed the fire, the way he plunged forward. His captor threw a punch but Wrecker caught it, bending his wrist back so thoroughly Echo swore something snapped. 

All the energy in his body drained, plummeting to the floor. He would’ve hit it if it hadn’t been for Tech’s - he knew it was Tech - hands gripping his chin and pulling him up, scanning to assess his injuries. Crosshair had moved to crouch directly next to him, handing off a med kit to Tech that was flung open quicker than his mind could keep up with.

Around him things blurred. They were there. Everything was fine now. He let his head fall forward again, caught this time on the warm toughness of armor plating. Someone’s shoulder was pressed against his forehead. Hands searched around his bound wrist for a release, gently but appraising, directness in the pressure. 

Tech. 

There was a deliberate squeeze to his arm then the hand moved to grab the chain holding him to the ground, lifting it to alleviate some pressure on his neck. Echo couldn’t help it, he sighed in relief, sinking further into the feeling of armor. Armor. Clone. Protection. Safe safe safe safe. He could feel Tech shuffle around to the back of him now, giving up on the wrist restraint to try and free his legs. Something clanked against metal behind him but he couldn’t turn to watch what was happening. Tech was muttering something under his breath, something acute, exact, but meant to comfort. 

Well, it comforted Echo at least. 

He focused instead on the hand now sweeping over his naked back. The firepuncher laid on the ground in front of him, abandoned on the floor in a way Echo had never witnessed before. Instead both hands were occupied, trying to both hold him up and together at the same time. Echo didn’t need that. He was fine. It took more than this to break him after everything he went through. 

“I’m fine.” Echo swore he said it outloud, the hand at his back even stuttered in its path, but he was ignored. Instead the body - Crosshair’s - shuffled closer to him, covering him in a protective bubble while they worked to free him. Something behind him lit, a laser-torch flame, and the sound of cutting metal pierced his ears. Echo squeezed his eyes shut, remembering that noise, hating that noise, but he didn’t struggle. No, it was Tech, and this was Crosshair and they’d never hurt him. Never never never never. 

A sickening crack broke through the flame and Echo, exhausted, tried to lift his head. He couldn’t get far, instead turning so his sweaty forehead pressed into the space between helmet and shoulder, getting eyes on what was happening in the rest of the room. 

“What makes you think you can take one of my own from me?” Hunter bit out. He was in the face of that man while Wrecker held his arms. His nose was bleeding now. Had Hunter hit him? Echo couldn’t remember now. Was that the sound? Hunter’s hand gripped his face, pulling him up to look into the visor of the helmet.  

“Hunter-” Echo began but he was cut off when Hunter’s fist hit him again. No, stop! Echo’s mind reeled, screamed, spiraled. He couldn’t move, not until Tech got the binds off, but Hunter had to stop. This would ruin everything. He tried to squirm but Crosshair’s grip held him tight, tight while lasers cut into the binds at his ankles. Hunter gripped the front of his shirt between shaking fingers, angry and ready to pull apart the floorboards if he had to. Rip through walls, burn the facility-

“You picked the wrong clones to fuck with-” 

“Stop!” Echo’s voice croaked between them and Hunter’s pulled back fist waited, paused in its path. This was his chance. He felt the binds on his ankles snap, Tech freeing him with a flick of a wrist. “Enough.” His voice was like a bomb, piercing in its finality.

From there he could hear Hunter’s unhappy sigh. “I am the sergeant here-”

“And I’m your second.” Echo coughed, blood splattering down the front of Crosshair’s chest plate. “Listen to me.” For what it was worth Hunter did let him go. Even Wrecker loosened his grip, allowing him to kneel on the ground instead of hanging suspended in the air. 

Hunter turned, flinging his arm out. “Echo, look what he did to you!” What a sight he must be. How long had it been? Hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore. Wasn’t sure he knew how to get up and walk out of here. 

“He knows where they are.” It was like the world stopped, each of them pausing. Even Tech stopped cutting away at the bind on his neck, pausing briefly before continuing. “That’s why I let him feel like he won for so long. We need what’s in his head.” Disgruntled was as nice a way as Echo could put how Hunter behaved after that, waving his hand so Wrecker stepped back from the man now panting on the ground. 

Instead Hunter approached the three of them on the ground. His hand searched around Echo’s headpiece, partially in comfort but mainly to find if it had been tampered with, swiping to check for bloodied fingers. Nothing had been inserted, couldn’t have been, but Hunter checked regardless. Knew it made Echo’s heart beat calmer to know. 

“Why’re you calling them off now? Feeling remorse already?” The voice he’d grown to know was smaller now, more fearful. When he had Echo tied down he had a boisterous roar of a voice, taunting and cruel. Now he was nothing but fear.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Echo said as the restraint around his neck popped off. A groan cut through his throat as Tech removed it, laying it on the ground next to the firepuncher. “You have more to answer for than this.” Now that they’d gotten into a good rhythm Tech was able to remove the wrist and scomp restraint without much difficulty. Maneuvering him around so Tech could get to it without lasering skin was difficult but he managed to do it without burns. 

Hunter watched carefully as Echo was able to straighten, back aching with the new motion. “Wrecker, help Echo.” Hunter instructed before practically stomping off to grip his captor by the back of his hair, ripping his head upwards to look Hunter in the helmet. “We’re taking you to the Republic. Maybe the Jedi will know what to do now.” He let his head fall back down again but Tech was already snapping stun cuffs on him and lifting him from the ground, keeping a close eye on his movements while Hunter pulled him along by the cuffs. 

“They will. They’ll know.” Echo assured, although he wasn’t sure what he was assuring them of. Wrecker had already gotten his arms under Echo’s body, lifting him so he could curl against Wrecker’s chest. Warmth. Safety. Wrecker. “General Kenobi, General Windu. They’ll know what to do.” The beep alerted him to another scan. 

This time Tech tsked. “We have to get him to a medical facility.” 

Echo’s bleary eyes watched them move around him, Wrecker holding him close, body shaking. Was he okay? Had something happened? They had to be okay. 

Crosshair had collected his firepuncher already, now standing facing that man. That horrible, terrible man. His shoulder shook, seething anger pulsing through him, heat radiating from his body wound so tight he could snap. He stepped close enough that barely a centimeter was between them.

“If Echo dies there will be nothing standing between you and me. Understood?” Crosshair’s threat lay low in his chest. A promise. A vow that if he saw Echo’s blood on that man’s hands then it was over. Nothing would save him. Not even the long arm of the Republic. Echo vowed to stay alive just to keep it from happening. 

Crosshair’s word was as good as an oath. 

[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!

[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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[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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[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…

[electrikworm]

Like New

Relationships: Crosshair & Wrecker, Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Injury Recovery, talk of seizures and decommissioning

Summary:

After the explosion that took Wrecker's eye and hearing on his left side, he has to paint his new helmet, Crosshair helps him, worrying about how safe deploying Wrecker now really is. But, there's nothing he can do against the decisions that are made for them by the Kaminoans.

Written for the @wrecker-week Bingo prompt "Armor painting"

Word count: 2,024

Read on Ao3

New helmet under his arm, Crosshair walks to the Marauder. His footsteps echo across the hangar, feeling eerily quiet at the moment. Tech takes care to land the Marauder in the less active hangars when possible, but as much as Crosshair values the peace and quiet, away from too many regs, it's still putting him on edge. The Marauder's ramp is still down, just like Crosshair left it. Walking up it, he finds the inside exactly the same as twenty minutes ago too. Wrecker hasn't moved a bit, still sitting on the lowest rack, back leaned against the wall, Lula clutched to his chest.

His damaged eye, his blind eye, Crosshair reminds himself, is pressed closed, the other half lidded. The injured half of his face still looks raw, irritated, seemingly only held together by strips of medical tape and sutures. "I'm back," Crosshair announces. The door's in Wrecker's blind spot like this and he doesn't want to spook his brother. Wrecker nods, pushing himself upright. "Everything good?" Crosshair asks, not really sure what to say. He's not suited for this. Kark, he's probably the worst choice out of the squad to handle a situation like this. It's a cruel stroke of fate that the man most suited to handle this is the one that's in need of emotional support. "I feel great," Wrecker lies, rolling his shoulders and grinning at Crosshair. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Can't wait to get back out there and fight!" Even that lack's Wrecker's usual enthusiasm. Wrecker isn't ready to fight again, the Kaminoan's never should have cleared him. But of course they did. Hunter and Tech are at the briefing for their next mission, a mission that takes place in one night cycle's time. They put Wrecker through the wringer to test his capability to keep fighting. Crosshair doesn't want to know what would have happened to him if he had failed. But, unsteady as he still was, they'd deemed him fit for combat. Without dealing with his blind eye or deaf ear of course. Fixing those would be expensive and put Wrecker out of commission for longer. Crosshair just hums in response to Wrecker's clearly false answer. Wrecker's been a lot more quiet since the explosion, it's unnerving. Not for lack of trying of course, Wrecker's been near constantly trying to act like he always does. But Crosshair's not fooled, nor are the rest of the squad. Wrecker's tired and in pain, even if he tries to hide it. And then there's the seizures. They showed up suddenly after the explosion and just keep coming back. There's no saying if they'll ever stop. As much as the doctors had argued that it's just a natural part of the injury Wrecker sustained, Crosshair can't help but not trust them.

What if the next time Wrecker drops, he doesn't get up any more? They rushed everything with the recovery, what if they missed something vital? The confusion's getting better at least, but that's a small mercy. Crosshair places the helmet, Wrecker's new helmet, down on the rack beside him. The explosion shattered the old one, leaving a big hole in the left side. It wasn't salvageable. "You'll probably need this," Crosshair says. Wrecker turns his head to see what Crosshair's indicating. His eyes seem to light up at the sight. At least his good one does. The other has become dull, blood vessels that burst inside it being the only colour left in it. Wrecker places Lula down on his other side before scooping up the new piece of armor. He's still getting use to his lack of depth perception, almost knocking the helmet off the rack before correcting his movement. "I got it!" Wrecker announces quickly. Crosshair hadn't even noticed that he's held his hand out to stop the helmet from falling, so used to helping his vod out by catching things he knocks over. "It's exactly the same as the old one," Wrecker beams, turning it around in his hands. Wrecker had been somewhat upset at the loss of his helmet, Crosshair's certain he wouldn't have been as happy with something completely different to his old one. "I thought you might like to paint it, so you're not going out there looking like a shiny," Crosshair says. There's also the fact that Crosshair doesn't want his brother to die in unpainted armor, even if it's a thought he doesn't like. Their squad may stand out, but at the end of the day, they're still just numbers to the higher ups.

They'd seen as much time and time again growing up, just had it proven again when Wrecker was almost decommissioned for being caught in an explosion. If Wrecker has to die, Crosshair would at least like for him to have the dignity to do so in armor that's personalized. Of course, Crosshair isn't going to let it come to that. He's going to be watching Wrecker's back constantly over the next mission. If there's any threat of him seizing or the injury getting to him, Crosshair will get involved. It's very likely they'll have to give Wrecker stims to get him through the next few missions. But as long as they do get him through the missions, that's all that counts. "Thanks Cross," Wrecker says. A look ghosts over his face, telling Crosshair that he'd shared the same thought he had. Once again Crosshair is struck with the fact that he doesn't know how to handle this. "I'll grab the paint," Crosshair mutters, already walking off. It takes some rummaging to find the cans of paint. They all use red, but Tech uses the most white. Crosshair's still baffled that Tech's stuck to the stupid idea to paint the entirety of his armor white. He's stopped arguing about it, since Tech clearly won't change his mind. Grabbing the few paintbrushes they own too, Crosshair makes his way back to Wrecker, sitting down next to him. Opening the can of white, having to fight the dried paint trying to keep the lid stuck, Crosshair places the paint between himself and Wrecker. "There," Crosshair says. "All yours."

Crosshair sits at Wrecker's side, cleaning his Firepuncher. Or at least pretending to. He spends much more time listening to Wrecker, watching him paint. Crosshair never thought he'd miss Wrecker's voice so much as when he was out cold after the explosion. He didn't talk much shortly after waking either. At least that has fixed its self.

Wrecker's never been very good at focusing, always being easily distracted by the smallest thing. Now, concentrating seems even harder than otherwise. He keeps interrupting painting to talk, mind wandering all over the place. Usually, Crosshair would at least pretend to get annoyed with his vod. He can't even bring himself to do that right now.

Once the white paint is applied, Wrecker sets it aside to dry a little. The edges aren't as neat as with his old helmet, but that can always be fixed later, when Wrecker's feeling better. Wrecker pauses, just looking at Crosshair.

“Need something?” Crosshair huffs, putting his rifle down.

“Have we got any new med patches?” Wrecker asks, looking away from Crosshair. The demolitions expert is always difficult about medical aid, but he's been having an even harder time articulating what he needs about this injury.

“I'll check,” Crosshair says, knowing full well Tech came back with a lot more medical supplies than they're allowed. The sniper hasn't got the slightest clue where Tech stole them from, but doesn't really care either. It's not their problem any more.

Crosshair fishes two from their medkit, getting the bandage scissor whilst he's at it. Med patches combat pain locally, so it's good to split them up and spread the effect over Wrecker's injured side as well as possible.

Most of Wrecker's injuries still have bandages and tape covering them, stitches still very visible. The med patches are stuck between those areas, making their removal less difficult. They need to be changed a lot more frequently than the bandages.

First, Crosshair peels the old patches off Wrecker's face, one just below his cheek bone, the other to the top of his skull. There's a third on the back of Wrecker's neck. The rest are less easy to get to, requiring Wrecker to slip the sleeve off his shoulder. Despite the action clearly paining Wrecker, he refuses Crosshair's help in freeing his shoulder.

Wrecker's shoulder is a mess, even after multiple skin grafts and an absurd amount of bacta injections. It's clear how much Wrecker favours that side, even when under a lot of pain killers. Crosshair isn't sure he'll ever get the same range of motion he had before the explosion out of the limb.

New med patches applied, Crosshair helps Wrecker with his sleeve before sitting back next to him. It's eerily silent, not something the inside of the Marauder is often.

“I missed you,” Crosshair says, words falling from his lips without being planed.

“You weren't gone that long, half an hour at most,” Wrecker replies, nudging Crosshair's side.

“Not when I was getting your helmet,” Crosshair glares. “When you were passed out in med bay after blowing up.”

Wrecker doesn't say anything in response, picking at the sleeve of his blacks.

“You should finish your helmet,” Crosshair says, abruptly changing topics.

“Right, can't go out there without everyone knowing what squad I belong to,” Wrecker laughs, opening the red paint and taking a second, thinner paintbrush.

Crosshair pretends to clean his rifle for a little longer, but soon can't take his eyes off of Wrecker struggling to paint the 99 on the front of his helmet. It keeps looking like he's about to do it, but he hesitates every time. Wrecker's usually steady hands are shaking.

“What me to do it?” Crosshair offers. Wrecker nods.

Taking the helmet and paintbrush from his vod, Crosshair quickly completes the 99 neatly. The paint runs a little, but that only makes it more accurate to the original. Crosshair holds it out to Wrecker once he's done.

“Thanks Cross'ika,” Wrecker beams, turning the helmet as he looks at it. Crosshair doesn't have the heart to complain about the nickname.

“No need for that,” the sniper mutters. Crosshair feels like he should say something more, but the words evade him. This really isn't his thing.

Thankfully, he isn't left to struggle for long, their ori'vode interrupting the conversation by entering the Marauder.

“Look,” Wrecker announces, holding up his helmet. “Cross did the 99 for me. It'll be almost like I never blew up in the first place.”

Crosshair frowns. Wrecker keeps wanting to do that, pretend like nothings happened. But it's not that easy. He's half blind and deaf now, and his balance isn't the same. Crosshair's still not entirely sure the seizures will ever go away. Sooner or later, Wrecker's going to have to stop pretending he's fine.

“It does look nearly identical,” Tech says, adjusting his goggles as he leans down to look at the helmet.

“I'm glad to be back,” Wrecker says, swinging his arm around Crosshair's shoulder, squishing him slightly. Crosshair doesn't miss the wince Wrecker tries to hide beneath his laugh.

“Well, it would be a much wiser move to let you recover longer,” Tech says, displeasure on his face. Wrecker shakes his head.

“Nah, that place was driving me crazy. I'm happy to be out,” Wrecker laughs. Getting up on shaky legs, he hugs Tech too, reaching blindly to pull Hunter into his embrace as well.

Watching the way Wrecker moves, Crosshair knows there's no good way this mission can end. But, it's the hand they've been dealt by the Kaminoans, and it's not like Hunter will just let the whole squad run off. How would they even survive without the supplies the GAR assigns them?

Hesitantly, Crosshair stands too. He leans onto Wrecker, loosely laying an arm around his back. If Wrecker doesn't make it, Crosshair's going to kill everyone involved in deciding to deploy him this early. That's the best promise Crosshair can make him right now, even if it's not a particularly good one.

[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.

[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