Chapter Text
Fives hates Coach Krell from the moment he first sees him.
The man studies him with pursed lips, brow creased in disgust and fingers drumming on his hips as if he's just waiting for Fives to screw up. He waves Tup off when he tries to explain his presence, and instead strides right up to Fives, gaze roving over his body before settling on his face.
Some primal instinct in Fives's chest screams danger.
"You're that Fett kid's bratling," he gruffly accuses, and Fives squares his shoulders. If Krell thinks he can intimidate him with a few muscles and a glare, he clearly doesn't know him.
"And you're a high-school phys-ed teacher," he retorts, lips quirking into a smirk. "Between the two of us, I think I know who's got it better right now."
Krell's expression curdles, and Fives inwardly congratulates himself. He's not here for teachers to like him, and he's honestly not expecting to be here long at all. Asserting dominance can't hurt, no matter how long he does or doesn't stay here.
"Ten laps!" Krell barks, and Fives gives him a mocking salute before turning to the track. "Make it twenty, Fett!"
Fives doesn't bother telling him that neither his nor Echo's family name is actually Fett, and then promptly realizes he can ignore the last ten on a technicality. There's nothing more fun than absolutely ruining a gym teacher's entire career.
Tup falls in step next to him, eyes wide with a combination of shock and concern. "What are you doing?" he asks, and Fives arches a brow at him.
"What are you doing?" he retorts, and Tup sighs.
"We all got ten laps. What are you doing? Why do you want to make him mad at you?"
"Shabuir," Fives thinks, then replies out loud "because I can." Tup's brow creases with worry at that, and Fives's heart twinges a bit at the sight. He really is a good kid. "He's gonna hate me," he shrugs, "so why not just get it over with?"
"Fett! 5385! Keep it moving!" Krell snaps, and Fives blinks, unsure of what, if anything, those numbers mean. Tup must recognize it, though, since he ducks his head, jaw working a bit as he picks up the pace.
"What were those?" Fives asks, and Tup shakes his head.
"He calls everyone by their student numbers," he whispers, casting a quick glance at Krell to ensure his focus is elsewhere. Thankfully, Krell seems to be tormenting another student for the moment, so they're free to talk. "Mine is 5385. He's just calling you Fett because he doesn't know yours yet."
"Dick," Fives growls, and Tup chokes on a laugh.
"Fett!" Krell roars, and Fives picks up the pace a bit. Not because he wants to, of course, but because he both can and because he doesn't want to get detention on his first day.
He shakes his head a bit at that thought, banishing all thoughts of a blond possible-brother from his mind. He is absolutely not going to become some kind of goody-two-shoes because Rex has shown him a scrap of kindness. It's too soon to trust him - too soon to trust anyone, for that matter. Rex is trying, of course, but Fives just can't trust him yet.
He doesn't know if he ever will.
That's a problem for future-Fives, though. Present-Fives is still running around this track with a chipper child-eyed kid in tow.
He spares a glance at Tup, and the kid grins back at him, eyes scrunching up a bit with the force of his delight. God, of course he'd end up with the one starry-eyed kid who'd smile like that over something as stupid as a passing glance. Of course he'd end up with the kid that reminds him of Echo in all the deepest ways.
He yanks his train of thought away from his twin before it can go any further, and instead chooses to think a bit more about literally anything else. Surely, surely school can't be worse than his fucked-up family life.
"What's your brother like?" he asks, throwing his Hail Mary into the air and hoping it lands. Tup brightens impossibly further at that - score - and starts to chatter about his twin, hands gesturing even as they loop around the track.
Fives, who is bad at listening but worse at dealing with any kind of emotion, does his best to tune in.
"I have to ask," Echo starts, swinging his feet through the air as his gaze drifts to the skyline, "have you ever skipped class before?"
Dogma's quick head-shake confirms that no, he hasn't, and Echo snorts a bit, leaning back on his hands. They're on top of the school's little-used playground, Echo's hands wrapped tightly around the metal monkey bars and legs dangling over the mulch. Dogma sits with much less ease, legs wrapped around the struts in a desperate bid to keep his balance, and Echo doesn't bother telling him that the way he's sitting is only making him more likely to fall. Dogma looks about two seconds from a heart attack, anyways.
"If you're so nervous about skipping," Echo shrugs, "why even come? Just go back to class."
Dogma hesitates a bit at that, and Echo watches as a bit of the tension paradoxically drains from his frame. "Principal Windu told me to keep track of you and make sure you were doing okay," he murmurs, and something in Echo's chest softens a bit at that. "Specific directions- specific directions outrank general rules."
Of course he has a justification, Echo thinks, though he only reacts with a snort. Dogma bristles a bit at that, anticipating an attack, but Echo just blows a strand of chin-length hair out of his face and turns his gaze back to the sky. "Calm down," he sighs, tracking a moving ship as it streaks across the cloudless expanse of blue. "I'm not gonna push you off the bars."
The way Dogma's grip tightens around the bar indicates that he didn't even consider that a possibility, and Echo snorts once more, leaning over to nudge him with one elbow. "I said I wouldn't," he laughs, "not that I would."
Dogma makes a valiant attempt at loosening his grip, but only ends up awkwardly redistributing his tension into his shoulders. Echo just sighs, and slides over a bit to brush his flesh arm against Dogma's.
"I know what it's like to be scared," he hums, "so you can trust me when I tell you you don't need to be scared of me."
Dogma studies him, gaze sharpening as it flits over Echo's face. "How," he demands, but it's phrased a bit more as a rhetorical question than an actual request.
Echo gets it. He's sure he knows what Dogma's thinking - "how could this delinquent with a fucking metal hand ever be afraid of principals and school rules?" Joke's on him, because Echo's got more years of being afraid than Dogma has of life.
"You're afraid of them because your parents will get upset with you," he states, and much to his surprise, Dogma shakes his head. Well, then.
"They say I could be something," he murmurs, and ah, that's it. Echo understands that - clinging to any bit of positive reinforcement and wanting desperately, wholly not to let down anyone who believes in you. He recognizes it, too. "I don't- I don't want to let them down."
Echo sighs a bit, taps out a little pattern of one-two-six-twenty-four-one-twenty on his thigh, and leans over to bump Dogma's shoulder with his own once more. "The fact that you care means you won't," he assures him, and Dogma turns to stare at him. His gaze is something deadly, Echo thinks, and slides away a bit to escape the full force of it. "Take it from me," he continues, turning his stare to the cloudless sky, "it's when you don't care that you let everyone down."
Echo's pretty sure he let his mother down every day of his life, but he did it less when he was actually caring. What a statement that is.
"You memorized factorials," Dogma blurts, and Echo arches a brow, unsure of where he's going with this and how he knew. "I saw you- on your leg. Tapping the first five factorials. You- the mathletes team could use you!"
Echo arches an eyebrow at that - slowly, for peak dramatic effect - but to his credit, Dogma doesn't waver. "We need more members," he insists, "and you- Principal Windu would probably overlook a lot of stuff if you joined!"
Echo snorts - what else is there to overlook? - before a thought occurs to him.
Overlooking things? Overlooking things such as discontinuing sessions with the quack therapist with the horrible sweater? Overlooking things and doing a bit more math?
Oh, this is relapsing. Is it relapsing? There's not much worse for Echo's street cred than joining the mathletes, and it's a bit hard to be a delinquent when he's going around solving math problems, but he's already fucked that up, hasn't he? Him and his stupid little pity party, him and his weakness that made Fives upset. He can't just lean on Fives again - not when he's already hurt him with his own problems.
Yeah. He can't reach out to his twin again until he's able to stand on his own feet. He can't do that to Fives - not when Fives is tearing himself apart to keep Echo safe. He can't reach out to him until he can stand strong enough to take a normal fucking slap without blinking and seeing his mother in Fives's place.
He can't do that to him.
He digresses. Fives has a way of side-tracking his thoughts at the best of times, and today is far from that.
He opens his mouth, ready to give Dogma his quick answer-
"Alright."
He shuts his mouth an instant later, bewilderment washing over him before draining away to leave horror in its wake. Why did he say that? He's been doing so well, doing so well at being tougher and stronger and better and now he's just fucked it all up again.
Dogma, though, looks like he's just been given the greatest gift of all. He's smiling fully, uninhibited by fear or stress, and something in Echo's heart melts at the sight. "Thank you," he breathes, and Echo has the sudden and sinking feeling that he's signed up for a lot more than he anticipated.
"Welcome back!"
Rex stares at Anakin for a moment, doubt coiling in his gut at the sight of an apparently intact station. He doesn't trust Anakin, Jesse, and Hardcase in the slightest when he's there, much less multiple days entirely unsupervised. He's sure that there's a structural failure somewhere that they've just shoved an engine in front of like some awful holodrama - so sure that the laugh track is already playing in his head.
Oh, he can see it now. Rex and His Three Ill-Advised But Well-Intentioned Coworkers, coming soon to datapads near you.
Actually, well-intentioned might be stretching it. Rex doesn't know whose idea making a waterslide with the fire hose was, but he doubts it was suggested in good faith.
"You have too little faith in us," Jesse quips, sauntering up to bump his shoulder with his own. "We can handle things on our own!"
Rex arches his brow, and Jesse withers under his glare. "For a while, at least," he amends, and Rex barely restrains a snort. That's more accurate.
"Whatever you say," he shrugs, reaching up to run a hand through his shaggy hair. God, it's been too long since he got it cut. "Jesse, check the gear. Hardcase, grab a couple of the kids on probation and scrub down the engines."
Jesse and Hardcase reply with a perfectly-executed "yessir!" that has some distant part of Rex glowing with pride. They play hard but work harder, and there's nobody Rex would trust in the station more.
"I already talked with Hawk this morning," Anakin cuts in, strolling towards the lockers in a way that invites Rex to follow. He falls in step next to him as he always does, and Anakin's lips quirk into a faint smile as he crosses his arms across his chest. "They're funneling the normal number of reports to us again - Jesse filed for a lower caseload last week, since I was on part-time and you were off."
"You're not still on part-time?" Rex asks, unable to keep a bit of genuine bewilderment from seeping into his voice. Anakin's lips quirk into a full-on grin at that, and he leans forwards to bump Rex's shoulder in a way that's wholly unprofessional.
It's a bit different when it's your captain, Rex thinks, and even more different beyond that when your captain is more tactile than a lonely octopus.
"Padme told me to come back," he grins, and ah, that explains it. "She sends her best wishes, by the way, and says if you ever need anything she can help with, she's happy to help."
Somehow, Rex doesn't doubt that she means that. Padme Amidala may be one of the most influential senators on Coruscant, but for as long as Rex has known - or, more accurately, known of; his interactions with her are generally limited to the times when she comes for firehouse events or stops by to give Anakin something he left at home - her, she's always been willing to help anyone who needs it.
"That goes for myself as well," he reminds him, and Anakin's grin deepens.
"We already owe you a ton of favors," he points out, and Rex blinks, trying to remember what, exactly, he means. "After that time a couple months ago when we got stuck on Hoth and you organized the firehouse to take care of Luke and Leia since Ahsoka had to go home, I think she'd arrange a murder if you asked."
"That really wasn't much," Rex protests, and really, it wasn't. Anakin called him in a panic asking if he'd be willing to look after Luke and Leia for a bit since Ahsoka had class the next day, and a lot of the boys were already at the fire station for one reason or another. Rex honestly thinks that more firefighters came in throughout the night just to see the captain's kids - Coric even started knitting them matching 501st sweaters. "The boys loved it. Really, I should be thanking you."
"Still," Anakin states, and Rex tugs open the locker room door before them, ushering Anakin through before heading in himself. "Thanks- you don't have to do all this, though."
"You're my captain," Rex replies, and to him, it's just that simple. Anakin's a good man, and a good captain. He's always been there for all of them, and Rex sees no reason that he shouldn't return that loyalty in kind.
Much to his surprise, though, Anakin just snorts, striding over to his locker and tugging off his hoodie. "I'd hope," and his words dissolve into grunts for a moment as his head gets stuck in the voluminous fabric, "that we'd just be friends at this point." His head pops out from the base of his sweatshirt, and he tugs it off his arms, tossing it to the bottom of his locker in an undignified heap. "I mean, I figured that's kinda already what we had going on, since you felt comfortable enough to yell at me..."
The memory of what, exactly, Anakin's referring to smacks him in the back of his head, and Rex wants to shrivel up and die. "I apologize for that," he states, and Anakin's lips curl into a crooked smile. "That was- it was uncalled for. I apologize."
"It was kinda cool," Anakin shrugs, and Rex turns his attention to his own gear as Anakin yanks off his tank-top. "I mean, I always knew you were scary, but holy shit, you're scary."
"I really do apologize," Rex insists, and Anakin snorts once more.
"For real, Rex, it's fine. We're friends - you can yell at me when I fuck up. That's just kinda how it goes."
Rex pauses for a moment, letting the words marinate in his head. He's not- yeah, he likes Anakin's company, but he doesn't want to cross any lines by assuming something that's not there. It feels wrong, somehow, to call them friends - wrong in the same kind of way that calling Fox or Wolffe his friend would feel. They've got their shit together, and they've got a life with their own people and spheres that Rex isn't privy to, which is fine! Anakin's got his twins and Senator Amidala, so far be it from Rex to assume his place in his life. It's not that he doesn't want to be friends, it just feels... wrong, somehow.
"You're such a thinker," Anakin snorts, leaning on the locker next to Rex's in a way that reminds him eerily of a high-school boy trying to be cooler than he is. Somehow, though, Anakin makes it work. "I swear, you're going to figure out a cure for cancer at some point."
"I was awful at chemistry," Rex simply replies, folding his civvies on his knee before placing them on the upper shelf. Unlike Anakin, he likes to keep his locker neat.
Anakin pauses for a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder. It's a move that's as awkward for Rex to receive as it seems to be for him to give, and Anakin removes his hand with a grimace before he starts to talk again. "I'm serious about the friend thing," he states, and Rex pointedly does not look at him as he laces up his boots. "I- I think of you as one of my best friends, so- ugh, this is hard. Just- when we're off work, or even when we're just not doing important stuff at work, you don't have to talk to me so formally. You can yell at me and stuff."
He lets the words hang, though the overall awkwardness makes them feel as limp as a wet paper towel. Rex appreciates the sentiment, though, and he dips his head in acknowledgement.
Anakin seems about to say something else, but the alarm blares before he can.
In an instant, they fall back into Captain Skywalker and Lieutenant Fett. They make it to the engines in under forty seconds, and Rex clings to his handle as Hardcase steers them out, mind already focused on the call ahead.
There's no room for fraternization in the field.
"You," Jesse bluntly states, plopping down next to Rex with a plastic water bottle in hand, "look like shit."
Rex is well aware he looks like shit, thank you very much. His shoulder still smarts from the falling beam, and from where he's sitting, Anakin doesn't look much better. The two of them were the last ones out - it was an apartment fire, and they had the misfortune to get stuck on an upper floor thanks to a broken staircase - and Rex's bones aren't thanking him for it.
"Is the captain alright?" Rex rasps, and Jesse nods, pressing the bottle into Rex's soot-smeared hands.
"Just a couple of bruises. You got the worst of it. Did I hear that a ceiling beam fell on you?"
Rex doesn't need to look to see the mirth dancing in Jesse's eyes, and he takes a swig of water instead of responding. Jesse, of course, only laughs harder at that, and Rex resists the urge to kick his shin.
"I guess it's not as bad as the captain," Jesse wheezes, "not- not as bad as captain 'this-closet-looks-suspicious'- I-"
Sadly, Rex knows exactly what Jesse's referring to. On one of his first calls with the 501st, Jesse and Anakin were the first responders to an eccentric older man's mansion, and as Jesse tells it, Anakin was so convinced that a wardrobe led to one of the secret passages the man told them about that he pulled it until it fell on top of him. Rex hasn't had the heart to ask Anakin if it's true or not.
"Shut it," he mutters, and Jesse does his best to stifle his wheezing. "Thanks for the water."
Jesse's gaze softens at that, and his lips quirk into a half-grin. "Any time," he replies, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Rex's. "And hey- don't be afraid to call for backup when you need it."
"You couldn't have made it up there," Rex reminds him, confusion already starting to set in. Talking with Jesse tends to have that effect. In all honesty, if Jesse's upset that he didn't call for backup when the main stairwell was fully collapsed and any backup would've had to come in through a ladder, Rex doesn't want to hear it.
"Not just on the scene," Jesse clarifies. "And not just today. You've got me, Hardcase, and the captain by your backs, plus Kix and Coric if you ever need them. You're not doing all this alone."
Rex squints at him, one hand coming up to scrub a bit of soot off his cheek. "Did you and the captain plan this?" he grumbles, and Jesse shakes his head.
"Nope," his friend grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I guess everyone just thinks it's something you need to know, huh?"
"I never should've scouted you," Rex mutters, and Jesse bursts into a fresh fit of laughter. "The next time the captain asks me who I think has promise among the recruits, I'm just going to tell him none of them."
"You like me," Jesse teases, and Rex pointedly ignores him.
"I'll tell him we don't need any more meddling little siblings," Rex continues, pushing Jesse to the side with a couple well-placed fingers, "running around and mothering command staff."
"Someone's gonna have to push your wheelchair soon," Jesse cheekily replies, the little shit. "I might as well get started now."
Rex jabs his fingers into Jesse's ribs for that, and he's rewarded with a high-pitched yelp for his efforts. "I'm two years older than you," he growls, and Jesse's cheeky grin returns in full force.
"And what a two years it is. You'll be crotchety and old and I'll still be young and spry-"
"You're right," Rex sighs, leaning back against the wall and directing his gaze towards the sky. Jesse seems taken aback by that, because he blinks, confusion only growing as he leans around to peer at Rex's face.
"I- wh- I am? About what?"
"You're young and energetic," Rex continues, fighting the grin that threatens to split his face, "so you should take a greater leadership position. Maybe one with a lot of requisition forms? The more the better, really."
"You wouldn't," Jesse breathes, horror slowly seeping into his voice. "You- you wouldn't. You- I'd die behind a desk! I'd wither away!"
"But you're young and spry," Rex parrots, joy only increasing in tandem with Jesse's visible regret. "You'd be fine. Besides, with me being so- what was it you said? Crotchety and old? With me being so crotchety and old, I need all the exercise I can get."
"What will it take for you to forget about this?" Jesse pleads, and Rex makes a show of considering it for a moment. It's all for show - Jesse's going to get promoted eventually; he's too good not to be - but it won't be for a year at minimum. Still, it's not as if Jesse knows that, and his ingrained brother-responses are strong enough that a trained sibling like Rex can play him like a fiddle.
This is to say that Jesse was doomed from the word "go". He may be an older sibling - if only by a couple minutes - but that holds nothing to Rex's youngest-in-the-family.
Well, former youngest. Fives and Echo are the youngest now, and Rex has a lot to teach them - if they ever want to learn, that is. He'd never foist anything upon them, especially not something this insignificant.
"Pick me up a slice of something the next time you and Kix stop by that bakery," Rex simply replies. The teasing dissipates in an instant, and Jesse leans over to elbow his arm, lips curled in a fond sort of smile.
"I always do that already."
"Should I ask for something else?" Rex counters, and Jesse pales, apparently realizing his challenge a moment too late.
"Nope! Cake is good! I hear they have some kind of new chocolate, too! Maybe I'll get three!"
Hm. That's a thought.
"I don't know what kind of cake they like," Rex thinks, and then promptly wonders why that feels like such an intense and looming threat. It's just- it's hard to explain. Cake and sweets were always something Cody used as a bonding mechanism, something he snuck to him under the lunch table at school. Nala Se never would've allowed sweets or cake, and as a result, Rex came to associate it with safety. It's one of those emotional resonance things or something - something that means more to him than literally every other normal person because his mother was a bitch.
That's a bitch. His mother was a bitch. His mother is a bitch, and now Rex is stuck with all the puppies she dumped on his doorstep. The puppies, in this case, aren't just Echo and Fives, but also all the trauma and unaddressed emotions that she gave him that he has no return policy for.
He may be getting too deep into this metaphor.
"Hey."
Jesse's hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his reverie. He turns to face his friend, nerves singing through his veins, but all Jesse has for him is a soft smile.
"You're doing alright," he assures him, and oh, Rex thinks, if only that were true.