Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hunter didn’t want to know how long he’d been pacing. He didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been in their barracks by himself, just waiting. But the numbers were like blinking red lights behind his eyes, flashing crimson and reminding him how many hours he’d been doing this, just walking back and forth right beside the door.

Three hours since he’d been released from the lab for the day, his scheduled assessments complete until they resumed tomorrow. Two and a half hours since Crosshair and Wrecker had to leave for their own trip to Nala Se’s testing area.

Two hours since Tech should have been back, and there was still no sign of him.

Every one of Hunter’s instincts screamed at him, demanding that he leave the silent box of a room he was in and search the halls until he found his younger brother. His brain, on the other hand, the part of it that was further removed from his primal side and more logical than the rest, insisted that would be a mistake. He needed to be here when Wrecker and Crosshair got back…and even as stealthy as he could be, he shouldn’t wander the halls alone. It was against Nala Se’s rules and left the one who went by himself vulnerable to bullying or attack. The four of them had agreed to the “no one goes alone” rule long ago, and he didn’t want to be the one who broke it.

But Tech was out there alone. 

A sharp growl rumbled in the back of his throat, and his jaw began to throb from the strain of grinding his teeth. Ten minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes and if Tech wasn’t back by then, he’d go out anyway. If he didn’t find him right away, he could always check back here for his other brothers and then they could all go search for –

A soft, waspish sound seized his attention and he froze.

Hunter’s pacing halted so abruptly that his boots squeaked on the tile, and tilted his head to the right. The footsteps repeated themselves at a regular rhythm, the tread lighter than Wrecker's and a bit more methodical than Crosshair’s. Ninety-Nine was rarely able to come to see them this early in the evening -- that wasn't his footstep anyway -- and it certainly wasn’t a Kaminoan or another clone. 

With those thoughts running through his mind, the tracker didn't wait to confirm his hopes with the added weight of a familiar scent or heartbeat. He sprang toward the door and punched in the code just as the footsteps reached the threshold.

The door hissed open and Hunter’s heart lurched in his chest when he saw the person on the other side. “Tech?”

His little brother was standing silently outside the barracks, looking blankly back at him with weary amber eyes. He was hugging himself tightly, his hands tucked away like he had expected Hunter to open the door, to be waiting for his return. 

Hunter swallowed. He knew that look and that unusual, almost hunched posture that made it look like Tech was trying to make himself even smaller. His little brother had been pushed to the brink with whatever tests had been done that day.

The long-haired cadet gently reached out and placed his hand flat on the back of Tech’s shoulder, taking care not to grab him or pull on his reds as he guided him inside. “Come on,” he said softly.

The other boy put up no resistance, and within seconds Hunter was settling him on his bunk, watching carefully for any other signs of discomfort. Tech’s heartbeat was a little faster than usual, but he didn’t seem scared . He just looked…exhausted.

“Do you wanna clean up?” he asked. He kept his voice down as low as he could without whispering.

As he expected, Tech shook his head in the negative. The other cadet scooted back on the bunk so he could lean against the wall, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he maneuvered his shoulders into a comfortable position against the siding. His arms were still wrapped around his body but Hunter was glad to see that some of the tension was gone already.

The older boy set to work, checking off a mental list as he went. Lula, extra blankets, keep the lights off. He took the pillow from his bunk but left the other two where they lay, so that Wrecker and Crosshair’s places were ready for them when they returned.

He looked over to his own bed and to the earphones that lay abandoned close to the edge of the mattress. They didn’t cancel out as much noise as he would have liked them to, but they did muffle the louder things that had the potential to put him on edge. He grabbed them and headed back over to Tech.

His vod’ika didn’t move, still and quiet as a mouse as Hunter tucked the pillows on either side of him, covered him with both blankets, and carefully nestled Lula between his reds and the fabric, so he could easily get to her if he wanted to. Sometimes he wanted the stuffie after a long day, sometimes he didn’t. Wrecker wouldn’t mind when he got back.

With the nest constructed, Hunter tilted his head slightly to the right and double-checked Tech’s heart rate. It was almost back to normal now, and he felt himself relax a little.

Tech usually liked to be left alone when he was like this – not left in the room by himself, but far removed from anything else going on, his siblings close by but not near enough to make him feel smothered. Hunter understood and turned to leave, as usual. He could keep himself busy until the other two came back, most probably by worrying but that seemed to be what he was good at lately. Or maybe he could find Crosshair’s paint and finish the little skull he’d sketched out on the wall near his pillow.

Before he could make up his mind, he felt a hand close around his wrist and he nearly jumped out of his skin. When he turned back toward the bunk, he was met with Tech’s brown eyes looking dully back at him. 

Hunter’s heart clenched at the change that had taken place in his brother’s eyes. They were devoid of their usual glow, even with the yellow goggles still reflecting a little light off the lenses and onto his cheekbones. “You okay?” he asked, worry worming its way deeper into his bones. 

Tech’s fingers tightened a fraction around his wrist, then tugged. Those big eyes were fixed on Hunter’s face.

A single, softly-spoken word broke the quiet and Hunter’s heart. “Please?”

Hunter didn’t hesitate. He scrambled onto the bunk, sitting just close enough to Tech that he could lay his arm across his shoulders without messing up the pillows. After a moment, Tech let him pull his goggles off his face and Hunter set them off to the side. The older boy glanced over to make sure his younger brother was still alright with the situation, and smiled when he saw Lula crushed against Tech’s chest. She was used to Wrecker’s squishing hugs, so he wasn’t concerned about Tech squeezing her too tightly. 

Hunter settled back against the wall again and breathed out slowly, letting his shoulders relax as he felt Tech shift closer to him. Tech wasn’t usually a cuddler. He didn’t dislike physical contact as a rule -- he just preferred to be on the outside of the vode pile so he could escape if he began to feel like he was getting suffocated. Even sitting this close to someone when he was stressed or tired was beyond his usual levels of comfort. 

Which is why Hunter had to try hard to hide his surprise when his little brother leaned over and lay his head on his shoulder.

Hunter froze, but Tech didn’t seem to notice. He pressed his face into Hunter’s reds, sighing again as he turned his body so that he was effectively curling into his brother’s side, Lula held firmly against his chest and the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

The older boy recovered quickly from the surprise and shifted so that he could wrap both arms around his brother. One hand strayed to Tech’s hair and carded through the light brown locks.

Tech snuggled a little closer, until Hunter could feel his heart beating against his own chest. The next whisper was more level than the last one, calmer and less tense.

“Thanks.”

The word echoed in Hunter’s young heart and lit a contented spark deep inside. He smiled and kept running his fingers through Tech’s hair, his own reply quiet but determined and sincere.

“Always, vod’ika .”

Chapter Text

Hunter was exhausted – beyond exhausted. His bones felt like iron rods trapped in limbs of cement flesh and he was sure he couldn’t take even one more step without falling down into a senseless heap of bandages and bacta.

But he did. He forced one foot in front of the other, each movement feeling like an impossible feat, and dragged himself across the Marauder’s cabin toward the bunkroom, toward the others who were suffering like he was.

Or in the case of one, more than he was.

Crosshair was in his bunk, facing the wall and already asleep. After seeing to Hunter’s wounds, Tech had immediately followed the sniper to the bunkroom, too tired even to berate his oldest brother as he usually did about refusing medical treatment until the last second. Instead of taking refuge in his own bunk, though, the squad engineer had decided to invade Crosshair’s and lay sprawled out beside his younger brother.

Hunter didn’t blame him. After the things they had seen in the past few days, none of them wanted to be alone tonight.

The wounded sergeant made his way to Wrecker’s bunk, trying to ignore the throbbing in his temples that was nearly making him dizzy. His biggest little brother sported even more bandages and bacta patches than he did, having taken the brunt of the injuries because of his size and sheer pigheadedness. Wrecker was unfailingly willing – borderline eager – to put himself at risk if it meant keeping his brothers safer, and that was exactly what had happened on their assignment. 

The fighting in the northern hemisphere of Balafar had been fiercely dragging on for months, with supplies and reinforcements for the Republic arriving at the front irregularly due to the sabotaging and surprise attacks of a dug-in guerilla presence. These were natives of the planet, well versed in its topography and the natural chokepoints of the land-based resupply lines, which were the GAR's only option while the air forces still struggled to dislodge the massive guns installed by the CIS. 

The Batch's mission had been to clear a path free of Separatist control so the supplies could be shuttled through, and once that was accomplished to try knocking out a gun or two to assist with the greater battle. It was a difficult undertaking but Hunter had expected that – that was pretty much the only kind of assignment the experimental squad was given. He had anticipated a vicious battle against the enemy, that he and his brothers would have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground they wrenched from Separatist hands.

He had not expected to leave the landing zone and immediately encounter the site of a massacre.

He had not had a single clue about the village. None of the scant maps had even hinted that there was a settlement of any kind on that side of the river, at least not one so far to the east. Tech had clocked some abnormalities on the flight in but they all assumed that it was just the scanners glitching, since all the GAR’s equipment seemed to have a hard time reading Balafar’s ragged terrain. Hunter hadn’t thought about it again, because there had been no life signals.

As he found out, that was because there was no life left to find.

He and his three squadmates had combed through every house, every heap of ashes, every destroyed outbuilding. Tech and Wrecker had even put out the flames that still smoldered in a few of the homes and searched for hidden basements where any survivors may have sheltered, while he and Crosshair dug through the rubble.

They had found no one. Not a single being had survived the guerillas’ rampage. 

Hunter had called in the situation while the others began burying those they had been able to pull from the wreckage. The scent of burned blood had mixed with the smoke of the still-burning homes and caked into his nostrils. He’d been sick three times before they had finished and he was pretty sure he would be again, if he didn’t keep the images and smells of the slaughter far from the forefront of his mind. 

He wasn’t the most concerned about himself, though. He was primarily worried about Wrecker.

Clone Force 99 was an elite squad made up of highly skilled commandos. All four of them had been trained from the moment they’d been decanted for the sole purpose of becoming the most deadly soldiers in the galaxy. But they had never quite been what their creators wanted, and Hunter knew that they were not just soldiers. They might have been cloned instead of conceived, but they were just as capable of crushing or soaring emotions, of feeling, as any other sentient.

Wrecker had always been the most soft-hearted of the four brothers, ever since they were cadets. Hunter remembered thinking, when he was younger, that when the Kaminoans had engineered Wrecker to get so big they hadn’t counted on his heart growing with his muscles. He had seen the pain in his brother’s eyes when they had come upon the scene, the way helplessness blended with anger and sorrow until the only thing that was left was dull, throbbing heartache.

Hunter had been an ori’vod long enough to know that Wrecker wouldn’t want to talk about it. Not tonight, at least. He could hear the uneven thudding of the bruiser’s heart and he knew he was awake, but there was no reason to speak. 

The sergeant noticed something at the foot of Wrecker’s bunk just before he stopped beside it, and glanced down. His vision wasn’t nearly of the same caliber as Crosshair’s but even in the dark, he could pick up the familiar outline of Lula, her stuffed black-and-red form leaning against the wall. Beside her, nestled next to the tooka as if sheltering under her floppy, well-worn ears, was one of the scorched, torn little dolls that they had found in the street that ran through the village. 

Pain seared Hunter’s heart but he pushed it away, and stopped just long enough to close his eyes for a brief moment of silence. Then he sank to his knees beside Wrecker’s bunk, and lay his hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

Wrecker’s back was to him, his face turned to the wall, but Hunter knew his features were pinched in sadness. His massive shoulders trembled slightly under his ori’vod’s bandaged fingers, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest as he tried to contain his rage and sorrow at the remembered scenes that were no doubt playing out in his mind.

Hunter sighed and leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against Wrecker’s warm blacks and struggling to hold in his own emotions. He tried not to enjoy killing, tried not to allow himself to become the savage, living weapon that his creators had tried to produce in their labs – but he knew that tomorrow, or the next day or the next, whenever they caught up to the guerilla fighters, he very likely would.

But that was for tomorrow. For now, he would stay with his brother, and keep the nightmares away.

Chapter Text

Hunter winced as Crosshair’s fingers dug into his bicep but he managed to smother the grunt of discomfort that almost escaped. The sniper had gone through enough in the previous hours – the sergeant certainly wasn’t going to complain about his tight grip. Hunter continued to run his knuckles in careful circles between Crosshair’s shoulder blades and rested his cheek against his brother’s white curls, sighing quietly.

Now that his youngest brother was finally accepting some comfort, Hunter felt he could breathe more easily. The starchy, sharp sensation of pain that had awakened him was fading slowly, but it was fading, and he was beginning to feel a little drowsy himself. With the sniper practically curled into his chest and a blanket thrown over both of them, the bunkroom's chilliness was quickly giving way to a comfortable warmth that tugged at his eyelids and made his brain a little sluggish.

He wasn’t too sleepy to still feel guilty, though. The sting of knowing Crosshair had been lying here since lights out, his head pounding and the muscles around his enhanced eyes twitching and tensing from strain, was only secondary to the stabbing regret that Hunter hadn’t noticed sooner – and that his younger sibling hadn’t told him. Crosshair was incredibly attuned to his brothers and he knew Hunter would blame himself for not realizing what the snow and blinding sunshine was doing to his eyes, so he had tried to hide it. 

Hunter blamed himself anyway. He could have sensed it, could have realized sooner. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t change that. Now that he did know, all he could do was sit here with his brother and try to comfort him through the remnants of the debilitating migraine. He could wrap his arms around him, wait until the medicine started to work, and keep him company. Granted, Crosshair was asleep, but still…

Hunter started and blinked rapidly. He must have dozed off – he certainly didn’t remember closing his eyes.

He felt Crosshair stir a little beside him, and held his breath, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently woken up his brother. After days in the snow and ice, trekking through endless cold to find their target, all his brothers needed to rest.

But Crosshair only snuggled a little closer to his ori’vod and went back to his precise imitation of a dead man. His breathing was even and relaxed, and his heartbeat thumped steadily in Hunter’s ears, the pulse reassuringly calm.

Hunter smiled softly and let his eyes flutter closed. He’s okay now , he reminded himself. Crosshair was right here, holding onto him with a death grip with his head tucked under Hunter’s tattooed jaw.  

Maybe he could doze off again, just for a little bit. As long as he stayed where he was, Crosshair would be fine.

Before he even finished the thought, Hunter was already asleep.

Chapter Text

Hunter rocked gently back and forth, careful not to cause any more discomfort for the vod in his arms. His wet hair was dripping onto the back of Echo’s neck and onto the blanket wrapped around the cyborg’s shoulders, but he couldn’t really help that at the moment. It was nearly midnight and he had just gotten out of the shower – he always opted to go last, choosing to check on his siblings and make sure they settled down after the charged days they often had. Usually he would end up having to remind Tech he needed sleep and take his datapad, or have to tell Crosshair and Wrecker to give up on whatever they were squabbling over. Tonight, he had stepped out of the fresher to the faint but distinct sound of a sob, followed by a quiet whimper. He had known immediately who it was and beelined to Echo’s bunk. 

Now the cyborg was curled up against Hunter’s chest, his face buried in the sergeant’s fresh blacks and his flesh hand fisted into the fabric. A few tears were still damp on his cheeks but he’d wrenched back enough control to distill the pain to groans.

“Shh,” Hunter soothed softly. He didn’t know what to do beyond that. The painkillers they had on board didn’t seem to work for the kind of pain Echo’s prosthetics could cause him, on nights when his body tried to reject the reality of his augmented frame and ripped away limbs. He had given him what meds he could and could only wait it out with him. “I’ve got you.”

Echo pressed closer and ground his teeth so hard Hunter winced at the sound. When he could finally speak his voice was cracked and mangled, dragged through his teeth in a hiss.  “It just hurts.”

Hunter held his brother closer and bit back a growl. He could smell the prickly scent of pain, so white-hot it singed his nose and made him want to sneeze. He felt Echo trembling against him and rage flooded his veins, burning in a fury as he remembered the faces of the Skakkoans in Purkoll. He’d only seen them for a moment, but he could recall their stench as if he were standing in that hall all over again – a mean, methane scent that bit at his senses and conjured up a snarl from deep in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he had remembered the creatures and had the sudden urge to hunt them down for a little practice in disembowelment. 

But none of that was helping Echo.

The sergeant counted to five and breathed out slowly before he trusted himself to speak. “I know.” He ran his thumb back and forth over the scar on the back of Echo’s head, the one that his headpiece usually hid from view. He wasn’t sure what it was from and he was nearly positive he would never ask. He knew from experience that there were some scars and nightmares left better unexplored. “I know.”

Echo let out a shaky breath. “Thanks,” he muttered. The words were muffled by Hunter’s shirt but he got the point.

“Always, Ey’ika ,” Hunter assured him. He pressed Echo’s head over his heart and felt something in his chest let go when his brother seemed to relax a fraction more. “Always.”

Chapter Text

Ninety-Nine was as careful as could be while he finished bandaging the angry red abrasions, but he felt his patient’s sensitive muscles twitch underneath his fingertips. He winced as he tied off the gauze. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asked. He already knew the answer, but Hunter would never volunteer the information and he wanted to be sure that he hadn’t missed anything regarding the injury.

True to his usual steady nature, the cadet in question was sitting quietly on the bunk as the bandages and bacta were applied. He hadn't so much as flinched the entire time – the older clone had only known he was hurt because of the holes in his pant legs – and even now he was just existing there, his big amber eyes watching his brother with a characteristic combination of curiosity and warmth. 

“Not really.” The little voice was still cheerful, light like the rare rays of Kaminoan sunshine. Hunter meant his words to be reassuring, but his ability to hold back most expressions of pain was a subtle reminder to Ninety-Nine that as experimental clones, his vod’ike were used to worse than scraped knees and bruised elbows.

He needed to push those thoughts aside. He couldn’t let them eat at him – it was a constant struggle, but one he had to continue if he wanted to be the cheerful and supporting ori’vod these little ones needed him to be. “Let me see your hands,” he said softly. 

Hunter promptly held out his hands, kicking his feet slightly as if trying out the tightness of the bandages. Ninety-Nine inspected his vod’ika’ s fingers and palms closely, trying not to notice that they were almost the size of his own. 

They’re all getting older , he reminded himself soberly. And so are you .

“Just a few scratches,” he confirmed. Though Hunter had said he had caught himself on his hands when he had fallen on the storm drain grates, his knees seemed to have taken the brunt of the tumble, leaving his hands relatively unharmed.

Hunter nodded but didn’t pull his hands away. He was looking at Ninety-Nine now, not just observing but watching. His eyes had that little golden gleam that the maintenance clone had come to recognize as concentration – which was usually a sign that his little brother was focusing his strange senses.

A flicker of understanding replaced the gleam, and the cadet slumped a little on the bunk, his shoulders loosening. Ninety-Nine realized in dismay that Hunter must have sensed his melancholy by – whatever he did. His oldest vod’ika could always tell when the others were upset or unhappy, and Ninety-Nine’s emotions weren’t safe from detection either.

“Why are you sad?” Hunter asked quietly.

Ninety-Nine didn’t even ask what had given it away – his heartbeat, his nerve pulses, his scent . He had stopped trying to understand Hunter’s mutations and had resigned himself to just helping the cadet live with them. “I’m…thinking, about some things,” he admitted.

That was another side effect of Hunter’s abilities. It was absolutely no use trying to lie to the little cadet – he’d sniff it out eventually, and it was usually sooner rather than later.

“Like what?” 

Instead of answering right away, Ninety-Nine reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. He tried to smile but he knew it turned out a little more regretful than he would have liked.

“Like that, I won’t always be here to bandage your scrapes,” the older clone said softly. “Or keep all of you out of trouble.”

Granted, most of the trouble they got into wasn’t entirely their fault. Sometimes it was, but even then he couldn’t really bring himself to scold them. 

Hunter looked at his feet for a moment, contemplating. He didn’t seem to mind Ninety-Nine’s hand lingering on his head, so the older clone gave in to the temptation to run his gnarled fingers through the boy’s dark curls as he waited for a reply.

After a few seconds, Hunter looked up at him with such a glow of confusion that it physically hurt Ninety-Nine’s heart. “But you said if we remember somebody, they’re always with us,” the boy protested. He blinked quickly and scrunched his nose, trying to make the concept fit the previous statement. “Right?”

Ninety-Nine nodded, hoping to hide his own rapid blinking. When his vod’ike were younger he had mentioned one of the other clones he had known before – his number had been 4382 but Ninety-Nine had always called him Tricks, due to his mischievous nature – and had to explain why they had never met this fun person he told them about. A slight pang appeared all over again when he remembered how one day the cadet had been fit as any other but the next, he had fallen ill.

On the third day, he had been gone. 

“Right,” was all the older clone could say. He had heard Skirata and some of the other Mando trainers refer to their culture’s understanding of remembrance for the dead and had thought it the best way to explain the concept to four young, confused cadets. Apparently, it had stuck better than he assumed.

“Well, I’ll always remember you.” Hunter’s tone had dropped even lower but the words were startingly determined. “So you’ll always be with us.”

Ninety-Nine was not prepared for the wave of complicated emotions that washed over him – happiness, more sorrow, dread for when that day would come. Instead of crumpling beneath it, though, he just held out his arms.

Hunter instantly burrowed into his blue uniform, his small hands gripping the back of his shirt as if he’d never let go. Ninety-Nine wished he never had to, that his little brother would never know the pain of losing a sibling.

But there was nothing he could do about that. What he could do, was take comfort in the love he shared with his four little brothers – and that no matter what, he would be remembered. 

“I promise, I won’t forget.” Hunter sighed the words quickly, then pressed his face deeper into his ori'vod's shoulder. 

Ninety-Nine smiled to keep back the tears that suddenly stung his eyes. He knew Hunter would remember – and so would he. Even when they were separated by time and eternity, he would never forget his little brothers.

Not even after the stars burned out.

Chapter Text

Wrecker was going to kill his brother.

Well, maybe not kill him, he conceded in his mind, the thought distracted as he focused on finding his target and getting back to the Marauder. But I’m gonna put his favorite tea on the highest shelf I can find.

It would serve Hunter right for trying to hide from them like this. For trying to hide from him. 

Wrecker paused abruptly and glanced at his surroundings. There weren’t many places he or Tech would have been able to hide. Maybe Crosshair, with their little brother’s crazy love of climbing trees – plus snipers had to be good at laying low. But Hunter was a tracker by nature, every part of his DNA having been edited and enhanced for just that purpose. He could find anything or anyone, the best effort at stealth still an open book to his senses as he picked out every little detail that chronicled their path. With precisely modified genes and a lifetime of training to hone his skills, Hunter could uncover anyone’s tracks, no matter how well they tried to conceal them.

Unfortunately, it also meant that he could hide his own very, very well.

Regardless, Wrecker would be able to find him…eventually. But after what Tech had told him, he would prefer to find Hunter sooner rather than later. 

The big man lowered his voice as much as he could, wincing as he remembered how sensitive his brother’s hearing could be during one of these episodes. He certainly didn’t want to give him a headache – or worsen the one that he was very likely already experiencing. That desire tempered his call, which was already more worried than annoyed in spite of his earlier grousing.

“Hunter?”

This close to the ship, he hadn’t really thought he would get an answer. He was shocked when he heard a slight rustle to his left, the kind that he wouldn’t have heard if Hunter didn’t want him to.

“M’here.”

Maybe it was supposed to be two words, but whatever Hunter had left the Marauder for had twisted them into a single, mumbled one. 

Wrecker didn’t care how muffled or unintelligible it was. Now that he knew that this was one of those episodes, the kind that numbed Hunter’s tongue and sent needles of discomfort prickling over his skin, he reacted without replying and turned to the left.

He found Hunter sitting not three strides from where he had been standing a moment before and knew immediately that the tracker was not doing well. He was sitting against a tree with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on his forearms. His long hair hung loose, the red bandana that usually tamed it clenched tightly in his fist. 

The sergeant didn’t look up when Wrecker crouched in front of him, but when the ridges of his armor squeaked together, the demolition engineer saw him flinch. 

“Sorry,” Wrecker whispered. He debated if touching Hunter’s shoulder would be a good idea, just to let him know that he was there if he needed him, because it certainly looked like he did, but he decided against it. 

“Tech noticed you actin’ weird after we landed,” he explained, half-apologetically. He didn’t like intruding on Hunter’s moments alone when the sergeant actually got the chance to have a few – stars knew the three of them were a lot to put up with – but in this situation, it wasn’t wise for the other man to be on his own. “Figured I’d come check on ya.”

Hunter raised two fingers on his right hand, the one not holding the bandana, in reply. 

Wrecker wasn’t happy with the got it sign, though. “Did you take the meds?” he asked softly, or as softly as he could. Why couldn’t his voice be more suited to a whisper? Sometimes Crosshair remarked that he didn’t have a quiet bone in his body, and that was, unfortunately, mostly true.

The sergeant didn’t respond right away, not even with a hand signal, and the worry that had laced Wrecker’s tone earlier decided to solidify in his gut. Even if Hunter didn’t always tell them when he needed a break or that something was wrong, he would usually medicate the problem himself, at least. He had had to take the pills Nala Se created for him for so long that he said he hardly minded them anymore. 

Wrecker’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. So why –

“We’re out.” Hunter’s words were tense and exhausted, and his squinting eyes matched when he looked up at Wrecker from beneath his shaggy hair. “ Been out.”

The younger brother stared down at the older, a wave of cold concern breaking over him, flashing up his arms and neck.  How could they be out of that, of something Hunter needed? Tech wouldn't have let their stores get that low, no matter what.

Except…

Wrecker wanted to kick himself for forgetting. 

They could only restock those meds on Kamino, and had planned to when they were able to get a few days’ leave. But after their last short-notice assignment turned into three, then four, then five other missions, that leave was now a distant daydream as their path was charted farther and farther from the ocean planet where they had been created. 

Now Tech’s clipped insistence that Wrecker be the one to find Hunter made sense. With as close an eye as the other engineer kept on their supplies, there was no way he wasn’t aware of the problem, but he also knew that there was nothing he could do to fix it. As Wrecker recalled how pinched Tech’s face had looked when he was speaking to him, he thought now that there had been a shine of guilt in his older brother’s eyes.

Not that he felt any different himself. They were all guilty, not of ignoring Hunter’s predicament but of trusting him to let them know that he was in one.

Even with his brain surely feeling like it was about to pound out of his ears, Hunter could still figure out what was going on in Wrecker’s head. 

“‘ll be fine,” he insisted. He swallowed and made an effort to steady his voice before he continued. “I just…needed a minute. Away.”

And that broke Wrecker, because to hear Hunter admit that he needed anything was like watching the sergeant cut out a part of himself – the gritty, stubborn section of his soul that never faltered – with a dull knife. Tech had hardened all the electronics in the ship long ago, shielding Hunter from them to the best of his considerable ability, but when the tracker was already suffering from an overload, even the residual pulses could send him over the edge. Already without the usual medicine that helped him cope with the backlash of his enhancements, the sergeant did need to get away.

Wrecker sighed, and gingerly settled himself against the tree beside Hunter. He wasn’t so close that he was touching his brother, unwilling to add to the assault of sensory feedback he was already dealing with, but just close enough to let him know he was there.

He wanted to put an arm around his shoulders, to reassure him in some way. But that was what he wanted, not what Hunter needed, and Wrecker was always careful to adjust to what his siblings required when they were wounded or in pain. And despite the lack of visible injury, Hunter was wounded, just in a way that few people could understand. 

Something clicked in Wrecker’s mind. There were very few people who knew the particulars of Hunter’s “defectiveness” and even fewer who would even have access to Nala Se on Kamino...but one person who fell under both categories was Cody. Nala had never allowed the 99s to ship supplies off-world before – she had always been adamant that they return for the medicine and other items for security reasons, which Wrecker thought was just an excuse to make sure they didn’t skip their mandatory, personalized tests – but Cody might be able to convince her it was necessary, this one time. And even if she didn’t listen to the commander, Cody’s Jedi would certainly get involved. He seemed to like them well enough after their few encounters, and he wasn’t called the Negotiator for nothing.

His spirits lifting a little, Wrecker tapped a message into his comm device. Being careful to turn away from Hunter to try to lessen the electronic waves that made their way toward him, he told Tech of his plan as concisely as possible.

He only had to wait a few seconds before he got a reply.

Crosshair is calling now.

The big man smiled widely. He had no doubt that Cody and General Kenobi would come through, which meant that Hunter was one step closer to not having to suffer through any more of these episodes without assistance.

 Wrecker sat back against the tree and glanced at Hunter, his smile softening a little when he saw the tracker was dozing. Hunter needed the sleep – that was always something he needed – so he would wait to tell him about his idea. Maybe by the time the sergeant awoke, Crosshair would have heard back from Cody.

The bruser ventured to reach out and press the back of his hand to Hunter’s forehead, keeping his touch as light as he would for the most intricate of wiring procedures. Hunter was warmer than usual but it wasn't as bad as Wrecker expected. He would send another message to Tech and ask him to have something ready for a low fever when they got back. He needed to tell Crosshair to make sure Cody asked for a double amount of the pills, too, so they wouldn’t run out again if they didn’t make it back to Kamino for a while.

Wrecker made a quick list in his mind so he could send it all in one transmission, then checked on Hunter again. The sergeant was still asleep, but his hands were still clenched and it looked like he might wake up at any moment, even though there were dark circles beneath his eyes that told his brother he needed much more than a catnap.

Wrecker quickly made a note in the message before he sent it, telling his other two batchers that Hunter should be taken off watch for the immediate future. He got two quick pings in the affirmative, and smiled. He might not be able to understand Hunter’s pain, but he certainly wasn’t going to let him go through it alone.

Once they got back to the ship, he would even make him a cup of that smelly tea.

Chapter Text

Please please please be okay …

The plea ran through Rex’s mind like a mantra, the prayer he didn’t have the breath to verbalize as he raced through the jungle foliage. Knee-high ferns slapped at his armored legs with loud fwaps, and he had to duck under thick vines that hung down just low enough from the faraway canopy that one wrong step might have turned their corded loops into a noose. 

He scared up a few colorful fowl that beat the air in irritation and screamed at him while he crashed beneath their perches, but most of the wildlife had already vacated the area. Rex didn’t make a hobby of the study of birds and such , but he had a fairly good idea that they didn’t like to hang around for firefights – which is exactly what tended to occur if one stumbled upon a roving security squad. Add a certain long-haired, snarling commando and his barking dual blasters to the mix, and you ended up with the kind of noisy, violent affair that sent blood flying in all directions and left deadened silence in its wake.

Hopefully, Rex didn’t end up with a dead vod’ika , too.

The captain charged ahead, his combat boots thudding against the ground, loud enough that he was sure everyone in the immediate vicinity was aware of him but somehow not so loud that he could hear them over his pounding heart. He crashed through an exceptionally dense bunch of ferns, focused on the strips of bright light he could see spearing through the thick trunks of Ampohr trees ahead – then a ball of crimson plumes suddenly materialized in front of him, darting up from the ground in a panic and flying smack into the front of his helmet.

“What the–” Rex stuttered and cursed as he stumbled, red flooding his HUD as he tried to keep his footing. He almost slipped on the loose soil and scattered, decomposing leaves that cluttered the jungle floor.

He reached up to swat the bird away, but the thing had already reoriented itself. With a maniacal caw, almost as if the creature had meant to slow him down, it went shrieking upward toward the canopy above, a splash of red that was quickly lost in a swaying sea of neon and earthy greens.

Rex growled in frustration, sinking his gloved fingers into the soft, decaying wood of a dead stump and pulling himself up so quickly that the slimy bark came apart in his hand. But he got back to his feet and raced toward the light again, his stomach flipping with the thought of what he might find beyond the trees.

~~~~~

Rex smashed through the last shield of brush, both blasters raised, and strode into what could almost be called a clearing. The brush was sparser here for an area of nearly three hundred feet, and there was a conspicuous hole in the canopy above, as if some towering tree like the ones he had dodged on the way had once claimed this space but left no successor after its time. The warm ochre sunlight that washed in from that gap in the treetops sent shadows dancing around the ferns and wild, thorny undergrowth that ringed the space, and made the puddle of blood near Rex’s feet pop with an intensity that made it almost seem to glow.

Rex glanced at the crimson pool just briefly before moving on, unconcerned with its presence or that of the body it was deepening beneath as long as neither of them belonged to Hunter. And as far as he could tell, none of the six still forms at the opposite end of the clearing or the three that were scattered in twisted postures at his feet had long brown curls or gray-and-red armor. Nine unfriendlies, just as Hunter had barked into his comm before turning all his attention to the battle at hand. They were all dressed in the muted greens and browns of the native militia, a fragmented coalition of guerrilla groups who had been taken in by the Separatist forces stationed on this moon and convinced to run security for their R&D facility, as long as they received plenty of armaments in return. 

In a way, he felt bad for the devils, wished there could have been a way to avoid more violence, more killing, even if that’s what he was born and bred to do. But they had just tried to kill him and Hunter, and through that could have caused the deaths of countless other clones who wouldn’t have had the intel they had obtained. That made him feel less bad for them and more grateful that he wasn’t one of the bodies strewn on the jungle floor. 

Stepping forward with calculated, wary precision, he held his arms at a ninety-degree angle, blasters charged, his wrists braced for recoil if any of the unmoving figures decided to be less unmoving. But all the bodies on the ground remained motionless, a few flies already gathering in the air to see what the fuss was about. Rex glanced at each one’s face as he passed, and was relieved to recognize the same indigo, sharp-boned features as the three other militia members he had left sprawled near his own position a klik away. He didn’t see any smoky-colored armor with red accents, or a grinning skull tattoo, or a mane of long hair that, in his opinion, should have been at least trimmed long ago.

But after that beat of solace passed, a new worry flooded in to take its place. Because if he didn’t see Hunter, and there were no more opponents that the sergeant could have followed into the deeper shadows… then where was he?

Rex opened his mouth to call his brother’s name, but clamped it back shut at the last moment. He breathed in slowly, then focused on the hiss of his helmet filter as he exhaled and tried to think like Hunter. If the tracker was wounded – and there was a very good chance that he was, given the circumstances – he certainly wouldn’t be waiting out here in a relatively open space. It may have been the best place available to make a stand, but staying in the ring of sunlight without knowing if their presence had been called in would have been more than foolhardy. No, Hunter hated being vulnerable in any way – it was how he had kept himself and his squad alive for so long despite their wild career – so he would have probably gone to where he was most comfortable, where he felt safe.

Rex stood where he was for a few seconds longer, quietly double-checking his count of the dead and letting his lungs get their fill of air after his charge through the jungle. Then he let his blasters fall to a low ready at his sides and turned back into the undergrowth – into the shadows.

~~~~~

The captain would have stepped on Hunter if he hadn’t heard a faint growl just in time, a whispery rumble that simultaneously filled him with relief and sent a shiver down his spine. Turning to the right, he holstered both blasters and pushed his way into a thick patch of ferns, scanning the area. It took a surprising few moments to pick up the heat signature on his HUD, but then again, Hunter was good at hiding, especially from other soldiers.

The captain’s quiet call came out as a sigh when he saw the gray-and-red figure leaning against one of the smaller Ampohr trees. “Hunter!” He waded through the green, trying not to sound like a drunk bantha in the process, and plucked off his own helmet as he knelt next to the sergeant. He could see blood sprayed all over Hunter’s armor, but most of it was drying already and likely didn’t belong to the tracker. The crimson splattered around the collar of his curiass and the way Hunter’s hand was pressed hard against his stomach, just where the bulky armor gave way to a less-rigid protective layer, was enough to make Rex’s heart jump in his chest.

He was surprised that the sergeant hadn’t acknowledged him yet, and that only deepened his concern. He should have at least turned his head or raised a hand by now to tell Rex he knew he was there – even if his HUD was damaged or he didn’t want to move at the moment, he should have caught his scent on the air or heard his approach through the undergrowth.

The captain set his helmet beside him on the ground and reached out to lay his hands on Hunter’s and pull it up. Like many other troopers, the ninety-nine had painted his bucket to mirror his tattoo, and the skull seemed to be snarling at Rex, a trickle of someone else’s blood stained over its battered white cheekbone. “Hunter?” he asked again.

There should have been a short, muted hiss as the helmet seal depressurized, but the sound didn’t stop, even after Rex had the bucket halfway off the sergeant’s head. His worry-clouded brain registered why only after he heard the snarl explode from the confines of the helmet. 

“Hunter, it’s me!” He jerked his hand back with a hiss, but not in time to escape the flashing white teeth and a shocking semicircle of pain that seized his hand and crunched . 

The grip released him with a startled breath, letting go as quickly as it had latched on. Rex swore and yanked away again, his hand throbbing as he pulled back a torn glove and maybe a broken pinky finger. His dangerous brown gaze shifted to burn holes through Hunter’s forehead, but all the ire immediately drained away when he saw how dull the tracker’s usually sparky eyes were, how much confusion swirled in the amber, unfocused depths.

Hunter tried to spit, his head lolling to the side against the rough bark as he tried to look the captain in the face. His voice was hoarse and raw when he managed to wrangle it past his teeth. “Rex?”  

Rex felt the pain in his hand shoot up to the tips of the last two fingers, and when he cast a quick glance at the injured appendage, he saw a chunk of black material fluttering from his glove. He ignored it. 

“Yeah, Hunt’ika , it’s me.” Amusement rose up in his throat unbidden, and he chuckled. “Y’know, Cody said you’d grown out of biting.”

Hunter blinked back at him with bleary eyes that said he was too out of it to be entertained. Rex shrugged it off, smirking a little in spite of himself, and reached for the bloodied cuirass.

~~~~~

Rex idly watched the sunlight, or what little splashes of it could drip through the thick canopy above, dance over the dark green fern leaves, and wondered how much longer they would have to wait before the Marauder touched down. Not that he wasn’t willing to sit here a while longer, leaning back contentedly against the tree Hunter had chosen as a resting place and enjoying the cool shade. He just wanted to get the datastick back to Generals Skywalker and Fisto as soon as possible – and he wanted to get Hunter to Kix’s medbay before the sergeant regained enough of his faculties to complain.

As if he knew the subject of his thoughts, Hunter stirred slightly against Rex's side, and when the captain glanced down, he was surprised to see his little brother's shining, golden eyes blinking open again. He wasn’t precisely sure what kind of drugs had been in that tranquilizer dart he’d found in the tracker’s hand, but the corresponding wound in his neck, where there was a tiny sliver of exposed skin between helmet and blacks, had confirmed that they’d been dumped into his system sometime during the firefight. He hadn’t thought they would have worn off this soon.  

“What time s’it?” Hunter asked, his voice foggy and full of gravel. Stripped to the waist of his bloodied armor, he looked better than he had when Rex had found him, but when he tried to focus on his ori’vod’s face, his eyes still crossed.

Nope, still loopy . Rex smiled sympathetically and kept his arm wrapped around Hunter's shoulders, being careful of the bandages that were snaked high around the sergeant’s chest. He wasn’t the best field medic in the GAR, but he was all Hunter had until their evac showed up, and he had done his best with what they had in their packs. 

He didn’t think Tech would have too much to yell at him about. The wound that had bled all over the sergeant’s chestplate had been a messy but relatively shallow graze above his collarbone – certainly not enjoyable, but not life-threatening. The sergeant had a few sore ribs and maybe a tiny bit of a concussion, but what could have happened, Rex would be only too glad to give that report to Clone Force 99’s self-appointed medic.

“Don't worry about it,” he answered in a hushed, hopefully soothing voice. He tightened his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, pressing him securely into his side and smoothing the rough pad of his thumb over his blacks. “Go back to sleep, vod'ika .”  

"M’kay." 

Rex smiled, despite the situation. If only Hunter were this docile when he wasn't high.

The tracker squirmed a little to get comfortable, and huffed as he let his head fall back against Rex. “M’sorry I bit you,” he said mournfully.

The captain barely smothered his snort in time. “It’s fine, Hunter.”

“No s’not.” His words were slurring now from the intoxicating mix of drowsiness and dope. “I bite hard .”

Rex coughed, holding up his free hand to hide a smile. “Would you believe me if I said it didn’t hurt?”

“Nuh-uh.” Hunter almost shook his head, then he winced and just stayed put, exhaling deeply. “E’vn Wrecker –” he yanwed. “– says ‘t does. I got sharp teeth.”

“Okay, well it’s fine, just like I said.” Rex patted Hunter’s shoulder. “I also said go back to sleep, remember?” Because if you don’t knock back out soon , the captain thought to himself. I’m gonna end up laughing at you so please go back to sleep! 

Hunter gave a growly sigh, but didn’t try to fight it. He just settled into Rex’s shoulder, managing to elbow him in the ribs twice before he was comfortable, and let his eyelids flutter closed again. 

As the sergeant dozed off again, Rex looked him over one more time, making sure there wasn’t any kind of injury he had missed. He didn’t see any – there was a two-inch gash right above his left eyebrow that he couldn’t remember being there before, but it was nothing to worry about. When it scarred, the skull that covered that side of the tracker’s face would just gain a little more character.

Hunter hissed softly in his sleep, frowning at something he saw behind his eyelids. The skull pulled into a copycat grimace, wrinkling around the sergeant’s nose, and Rex had to grin.

He had only ever known Hunter with the tattoo, but after hearing the sergeant grumble about the first time Cody had seen his face decor and nearly crashed out, he almost wished he had seen him without it. When he looked at Hunter’s profile, as he did now, the sergeant looked so young and tubie-faced that he had a sneaking suspicion he might have gotten the ink just to make him look older, or a little fiercer. It was certainly effective on the first meeting, but now that Rex had gotten to know the relatively squishy, genuine vod’ika beneath it, the snarling skull became more ironic than anything else, and kind of adorable. 

He would have to ask Tech if he had a holo of pre-ink Hunter – or he could go to Cody, he thought suddenly. The commander had known the ninety-nines far longer than he had, and probably had snapped a few photos along the way.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t asked before.

He would have to do so without his own troopers around, obviously. They all treated the ninety-nines as slightly feral, usually annoying little brothers now, so they still liked to rib them, even if it was truly all in jest. Jesse thought Hunter’s skull looked stupid, of course, but with the monstrosity that was plastered on his own face, Rex didn’t think the lieutenant was qualified to talk about anyone’s tattoo. 

Hunter hummed softly and pressed closer to Rex’s chest. The same elbow dug into the captain’s side again, but he only grunted and shrugged it off. If bruised ribs were the price of keeping his vod’ika upright and comfortable, he’d gladly pay it. 

He looked down again out of the corner of his eye at the younger clone and smiled. He was eager for the drugs to wear off and for Hunter to get an all-clear from Kix, but he was also ori’vod enough to admit that he liked snuggly Hunter – even if he was preceded by bitey Hunter, who was less fun to interact with. 

Rex flexed his hand and watched the line of purple bruising move with his pinky, a half-circle that corresponded to Hunter’s surprisingly strong – and yes, sharp – teeth. He wondered if Tech would give him a shot or Hunter, and grinned.

Hunter shifted restlessly again, but Rex couldn’t tell if he was in pain or just uncomfortable. He held onto him tighter and kept his voice low. “It’s okay, vod’ika, ” he reassured him. “I’ve got ya.”

To his surprise, the sergeant immediately went still. He didn’t wake up again until the other four batchers came crashing through the ferns and vines to retrieve them, and even when he did, Rex didn’t let him go.

Chapter Text

Echo tried to focus on the screen in front of him, but the words kept blending into their pristine ivory background, swirling in confusing little eddies just beyond his capacity to focus – which was limited at the moment, to say the least. 

The cyborg thought his current inability to pay attention was understandable, given the circumstances, but it was frustrating nonetheless. After two more attempts to force the words to make sense, he finally gave up and abandoned all hope of distracting himself. Metal knees creaking just slightly as their still-new joints adjusted to accommodate his movements, Echo rose from Wrecker’s bunk and went to stand by the barracks door. He crossed his arms, stared at the dimly glowing, almost taunting keypad, and waited.

They shouldn’t have been gone this long. He had been released from the Kaminoan labs after only an hour of poking and prodding and he was half technology at this point, a clone unlike anything the longnecks had been able to create. Surely his brothers should have been back by now.

After just a few moments of standing, he became aware of a dull aching in the small of his back, right where the lowermost Skakkoan implant had been screwed into his bones. The wounds from those days in that other lab, the one where all this hardware had been grafted into his butchered body, had healed by now, though being shoved directly into a stasis chamber had prolonged the process, but for once it wasn’t his scars that were aching. For some reason, his cybernetics didn’t exactly seem to like the new prosthetics Tech had crafted for him. The old technology was trying to adapt to the new, trying to relearn how his legs moved and figure out how the bionic portions of him should interact with the biological ones, but it was taking longer than it should have, according to Tech.

Another twinge smacked him squarely in the middle of one of his altered vertebrae, and he shuddered as white-hot irritation trickled through his nerves. He should have done as Tech suggested and run a full diagnostic earlier to find the problem, but he had planned on doing that when the engineer got back. He hadn’t expected any of Clone Force 99 to be stuck with the Kaminoans this long – Wrecker had said that these kinds of between-missions tests didn’t usually take more than a few hours, and while the big softie would have certainly gone out of his way to soothe Echo’s anxiety about the whole affair, the cyborg didn’t think he would lie . He was too trusting for that, and expected that trust to be upheld and returned.

So why aren’t they back yet?

Echo checked his internal chronometer again, even though he had been counting the seconds since he’d returned from his own scheduled time in the medical wing and didn’t need to reverify how much time had passed. Those “few hours” had turned into nearly eight, and now he was worried – especially because the last time he had been able to find one of his brothers’ comm signals on Tech’s datapad, they hadn’t been in the medical wing of the facility. They had been below the facility, in the subterranean levels.

So far, he had been trying not to think about that. Now that he was, a shiver that was completely unrelated to his implants ran up his spine and seeped into his rapidly beating heart.

Like most other clone cadets, Echo had heard the rumors about the subter labs. Older cadets whispered about them at night, when they thought their younger vode were asleep in the pods below. He remembered hearing hushed fears of what was being created down there; that many of the geneticists who focused on research had been seen filing out of the access tunnels as a group, as if there had been something down there they all wanted to see. In a fit of reckless curiosity, a  few of the sixth-years had broken curfew one night by hotwiring one of the dorm panels, intending to find out what was going on in those labs. They had returned shaken, crawling into their bunks with a brief but wide-eyed explanation: they had only made it to the second level down before turning back, because they had heard something. Their brothers had snickered at them, but the sixth-years had insisted that what they heard was wild – feral, even. That it had sounded as if Tau Sol was experimenting on some kind of animal down there beneath the waves – that he would be lucky if whatever made that kind of noise didn’t rip his elongated throat out before he was done.

No one had been surprised by the confirmation that Sol was down there. They had all known, somehow, that while Nala Se was in charge as usual, her more brutal colleague had a great deal of responsibility regarding whatever was down there. Knowing from personal experience and yet more rumors what kind of being Lama Su’s cousin was, they had immediately been afraid.

Echo had been afraid, too. So had Fives. He remembered curling up with his twin in one pod, grateful for the company and warmth of his brother in the night, even if space quickly became cramped for two rapidly growing cadets. He remembered asking Fives what he thought was down there. Fives had said he didn’t know – that maybe one day, they could find out. 

Now, Fives was gone. He would never know what the older cadets had heard that night in the underwater facility.

But as Echo continued staring at the door, his heart thumping more wildly behind his durasteel ribs with every passing minute that his new brothers didn’t return, he had the terrible, sinking feeling that he did .

~~~~~

It was hard for Hunter to explain how sensory overload felt – at least his particular form of sensory overload, the kind that was created by a backlash from the enhancements he’d been specifically engineered to endure. Sometimes it felt like a terrible sunburn, as if heat was blooming in every pore and seeping down beneath his skin to burn away at every fiber of his strained, aching muscles. Sometimes it felt like an icy torrent of rain pelting him from above, a chilling flood surging up to drown him from below, all cold and shocking and coming together with an awful trembling that started in his gut and ended at his fingertips, curling his hands into useless, tingling things while the rest of his body and his fractured mind struggled to stay on the close side of sanity.

Right now, it was both.

He stumbled out of the access tunnel, cursing as the sunlight pierced his eyes. Sunshine never managed to penetrate very far beyond the thick fog that eternally blanketed Kamino’s lower atmosphere, but even the dimmest rays seemed to target him specifically today, boring through the sergeant’s bruised eyelids and slicing mercilessly into pupils that were already dilated, already achingly sore from the bright LEDs that lit the subter labs in a sterile, white glow.

At least it’s not raining . He was accustomed to finding the good in everything, even in the living hell his life had a tendency to turn into as soon as the Marauder touched planetside. Rain would have been torture after that bout of testing – Kamino’s cold tears plunking down to torment burning skin, a steady assault of heavy, bullet-like drops that smelled deceptively fresh though he knew they would only taste like acid on his sizzling tongue. Everything would taste like that, for a while – like he swallowed a mouthful of static and couldn’t spit it out. He should be used to it by now – he should be used to all of this by now.

He wasn’t.

The medical droid that had followed him from Tau Sol’s underwater haven was getting closer now, catching up easily even as he shuffled away from the tunnel as fast as he could on numb legs and feet that stung with every step he took, the sharp metallic feel of the platform punching through the soles of his hastily re-tied combat boots. Hunter’s senses caught fire as it came closer, the electricity that powered its ugly little form sending his mind blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl.

Once it was beside him, hovering far too close for Hunter’s shredded nerves to handle, it squawked to life with a screechy voice that echoed in his brain and made him want to claw his ears off. “CT-9901 is to return to the designated barracks and remain until further–”  

The rest of the order was cut off by a raging snarl and an angry fist that shot out and punched the droid square in the chest. It squeaked in offense and alarm and went shooting back toward the tunnel that led beneath the sea, thankfully taking its buzzing, burning electricity with it.

Hunter hissed and clenched his fist even tighter, trying to keep his nails from biting into his palm as his knuckles tried to convince him that they were broken, splitting, bleeding. They weren’t, but that’s what it felt like. He shouldn’t have hit the thing – the only one truly hurt was him – but when he couldn’t show pain, anger would do. Rage was acceptable, out here in the open, where others would immediately notice and exploit any other emotion. Only when he got back to the barracks, back to his brothers, could he crumble into himself and let them be the shield he was forcing his anger to be for him now. 

If he could get back this time, that is. He couldn’t exactly see where he was going, with his eyes closed, and his nose felt like it shouldn’t even be on his face anymore so he couldn’t smell his way back. He wasn’t used to being so disoriented on the planet where he’d been raised – vulnerable, yes, far more so than anywhere else in the galaxy – but not lost, alone , practically blind . Sol had never done so much with his eyes as he had this time – that was always what he wanted Crosshair for. 

Hunter had thought when he was released from the lab that his thumping, slightly off-rythym heart couldn’t take anything else today. He had been wrong, because as soon as he inadvertently allowed the thought of where his brothers were, of what he knew was happening to them at probably that very moment, the pulsing organ nearly hammered right out of his chest, stealing his breath and forcing him to lean against a nearby building for support. He panted as he tried to wrest back control, reminding himself that they would be alright – they had to be. This wasn’t any worse than anything had been before. They would be okay, as long as he didn’t try to find them. As long as he didn’t do what he was created for, and track them down and destroy whoever had taken them. As long as he stayed out of it.

The ninety-nines had lived with this kind of testing their entire short lives, just like their older brother before them. At one time, Hunter knew that Ninety-Nine had been terrified that the exams would kill them, and he had shared that fear. Now that he and his three remaining batchmates were older, though, and had proven their worth on the battlefield, he knew Nala Se wouldn’t allow them to be killed or seriously injured, at least not on purpose – as long as they followed the rules. 

Even from his earliest cadethood, he remembered all four of them accepting those rules to stay alive, to keep each other alive, knowing what happened when they interfered. That’s why they had stopped trying to, as soon as their young minds had been able to piece together the meaning of punishment and how it was so much more effective when it was dealt to someone else. No matter what, he couldn’t interfere, which meant he couldn’t go looking for his brothers, because if he found them he would do exactly that.

And he didn’t want to cause any pain today, not for them. He was sure they already had enough of their own that would have to be dealt with when they were also sent back to the barracks – and so did he.

Hunter tried to force his eyelids apart, just so he could get his bearings again – he wished he knew what building he was leaning against, but all Kaminoan buildings felt the same and his skin was on fire anyway – but the sunlight seared his retinas as soon as he tried. He choked back a snarl as he closed his eyes again, then braced himself and raised his face into the breeze that was peeling off the foaming waves.

His vertebrae felt as if they were popping out of place in his spine one by one, but he pushed through the feeling until he caught a familiar scent on the air. It didn’t smell quite as much like home as the Marauder did, but it was the closest thing they had while they were recalled.

The sergeant took as deep a breath as he could stand, then pushed himself back upright. He wobbled in place for a moment, reorienting himself to the platform he was standing on, to the scent on the breeze. Then he gritted his teeth and started forward again, toward home .

~~~~~

Echo was still at the door, still replaying hushed nighttime conversations in his head and trying not to tremble as he realized their meaning, when he heard something moving outside the barracks walls.

His heart skipped a frantic beat. Crosshair had told him as soon as they touched down on the tarmac that no one else ever came to their barracks. Their holding dorm had been tucked away behind benign storage bays and massive backup generators on purpose – they could remain there out of sight, out of mind, and presumably out of trouble until they were summoned by their creators. 

So if no one ever came back here except the ninety-nines, which one of his brothers was limping so badly?

At the cyborg’s request, Tech had turned up the sensitivity of the hearing aids that were nestled on either side of his headpiece, but Echo was sure he could have heard the unusual scraping of a shoe against concrete and metal grating even without the auditory help. He didn’t even wait for the shuffling footsteps to reach the door before he was punching the code into the keypad, trying to will the quickly-sliding door aside even faster with his mind,  and lunging out of the room. 

A feral, snapping growl brought him up short just as he cleared the threshold. Echo froze in place, holding his hand and scomp arm out in a gesture of harmlessness as he stared disbelievingly at the figure in front of him. 

“Hunter?” he choked out.

The sergeant looked like he was barely able to hold himself up, his body visibly trembling as he tried to stand in place and squint at Echo from between swollen, bluish eyelids. His bandana was missing and his hair hung loose and wild, curtaining his drawn face with brown locks that were curling under the misting spray of a sea that was never still. He wasn’t wearing armor – each ninety-nine had left their plates stacked neatly beside their bunks once they received their summons – and clad in just his blacks he looked even more worn than usual, more tense and wound up, like he was ready to spring. Echo saw his shoulders quivering through the dark, thick fabric with a shudder that was half pain and half anger, and realized belatedly that the tracker’s teeth were what had flashed in the rare beams of sunlight when he had opened the door. Hunter must have heard his approach but not understood it – maybe he was too disoriented to recognize who had been coming out of the building.

The sergeant didn’t look injured , but Echo could see that he was hurting badly, maybe in ways the cyborg couldn’t understand. 

But at the sound of his new brother’s voice, Hunter visibly relaxed. “Echo?” he stammered, almost as if his teeth were chattering. 

Echo did not like how the tracker had to split his name up into separate syllables to wrangle it from his lips, or how the shaking grew worse in the few seconds it took for his body to realize he wasn’t under attack. “Yeah, it’s me,” he answered, trying to keep his voice low and soothing as he ventured a step forward. He had to fight to swallow the lump that formed in his throat when he realized Hunter was hugging himself tightly, his forearms pressed into his stomach and his hands clutching his sides with matching death grips as he quivered in the sunshine. “Come on – let’s go inside.”

The ease with which he was able to tug the sergeant forward alarmed Echo as much as the other man’s appearance. He had never seen Hunter so unresisting and lethargic, so… exhausted .

It took a dozen small steps for Hunter to cover the distance that Echo had just crossed with barely two strides – he was limping worse than Echo had assumed from the sound, his left leg threatening to buckle with every shuffling movement. When he finally got the sergeant inside the barracks, the cyborg shut and locked the door. The other batchers knew the code, or he could open it for them if he heard them ahead of time, but he didn’t want anyone else barging while he tried to figure out what was wrong with his brother, no matter how rarely visitors might wander past the storage units.

Hunter’s eyes were just barely open, just a sliver of his golden irises visible as he stumbled to the nearest bunk and immediately lay down, his face pressed into the pillow. Echo thought he had passed out and was already reaching to check his pulse when he spoke.

“O-others aren’t here?” he rasped out softly. 

“Not yet. I was waiting for all of you.” Echo switched off the lights, because that seemed to be what was hurting Hunter’s eyes, and knelt beside the bunk, ignoring the creak of his knees and the sharp pain that sliced through his spine as he did. He glanced over the sergeant’s body once more but still didn’t see any wounds, unless there were a few hiding under the tracker’s blacks. Somehow, he had a feeling there weren’t, that this was something that went beneath the skin, maybe deeper than he could fathom. “Maker, Hunter – what happened ?”

“T-Testing.” Hunter ground out the word between clamped teeth. They really were chattering, Echo noticed with a start – he was either cold, or in shock, or both. He turned his head minutely so he could peek out at Echo with one dully shining, half-closed eye. “How long?”

“It’s been almost eight hours since you left.” Echo spoke in nearly a whisper, trying not to add to Hunter’s discomfort by raising his voice, but it was a hard tone to maintain when it felt as though his insides had just been doused with cold water. Hunter didn’t know how long he had been gone? Was this happening to the other three right now?

Hunter didn’t nod – he looked like he might cry if he tried – but the sigh that escaped into the pillow held enough relief that Echo took it as a positive sound. “They should be back soon,” he said quietly. He was slowly curling into a ball on the bunk, gradually drawing his legs up toward his torso as if he could hardly move. 

It looked like one of his sensory overload episodes, Echo thought, but a million times worse than anything he had seen while they were in the field. And the sergeant still looked more weary than he had ever thought he could, more… frayed .

The cyborg had so many questions he wanted to ask, that he needed the answers to – what this testing was for, what to expect when the others returned, who he needed to kill. But not now. Right now, Hunter needed him. 

The sergeant was completely in a fetal position now, with his face to the wall and the pillow still pressed into his face. Though his teeth weren’t chattering as badly anymore, he was still shaking and hugging himself tightly, but Echo didn’t know if a blanket would hurt the situation with his enhanced nerves or help.

“Are you cold?” he asked quietly. 

Once more, Hunter didn’t try to nod. “Yeah.”

Echo moved as lightly as he could to unfold the blanket that was on the foot of the bunk, then draped it carefully over his brother. Hunter shuddered at the fabric met his blacks, but he didn’t shake so much after Echo tucked the edges in around his body to keep in the heat. “Thanks,” he managed to say, curling in on himself even more.

“No problem.” Echo reached out slowly with his flesh hand and cautiously laid two fingertips against Hunter’s temple. The tracker bristled at first but relaxed again immediately, his eyes not so tightly shut with the lights off. 

Echo felt his heart rate pick up again when he felt the fever burning beneath Hunter’s skin. He ran his fingers slowly through the tracker’s long hair, hoping the usually soothing movement would help now, too. “How many pills do you want?” He knew Tech had counted out three for the episode Hunter had experienced after the incident with the stun blast, but that had seemed significantly less of an emergency than this. 

He heard a soft sound that was almost a groan and felt his heart break at the defeat that flooded Hunter’s voice. “Can’t take any,” Hunter whispered. “Gotta wait a few hours, or they might–” He coughed, and shivered under the blanket. “–react with what he gave me.”

There was very little doubt in Echo’s mind as to who he was. 

Murderous, boiling rage bubbled up unexpectedly in his chest, pushing past the anxiety and worry he felt for his sibling and very nearly taking over his body. He wanted to punch something – actually, he wanted to send his scomp spinning through Tau Sol’s wretched skull in some form of a convenient accident – and he almost let his anger take control, almost let it steer him away from the barracks and to the underwater laboratories he had grown up fearing, to the Kaminoan he and Fives used to whisper rumors about after lights out and the three other brothers who he didn’t have back yet.

But he couldn’t leave Hunter. He wouldn’t. 

And Hunter had said that Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair would be back soon. And Tech had said – Echo winced at the memory. Tech had said that Hunter always had it worse than the rest of them did after the tests. Maybe the other ninety-nines would be alright.

Either way, Echo couldn’t make himself leave Hunter’s side. He crouched there in the dark for a long few seconds, trying to think of what to do, how he could somehow make this situation better than it was. 

Finally, he rose and strode as quietly as he could to another bunk to retrieve a second blanket. He unclipped his scomp attachment and set it on the table – he could live without that, but he needed to keep his legs on for when the other three got back, so he could jump up if he needed to without worrying about falling flat on his face. Then he crept back over to Hunter, blanket unfolded and ready to be deployed like the first one.

He layered the blanket over Hunter’s thankfully still form, noticing that all but the least of the shuddering had stopped, then hesitated a moment before crawling into the bunk alongside his brother. He listened and watched for the slightest sign of pain, but he didn’t hear any. 

Hunter didn’t move until he reached over to make sure the blanket hadn’t been disturbed. Then he turned over, hissing softly as he moved, and leaned directly into Echo’s open arms, pressing his too-warm face into the crook of the cyborg’s neck. 

Echo blinked rapidly as he tentatively wrapped his arms around the sergeant and pressed him just a little closer to his chest, trying to convince him to relax. He hoped his cybernetics weren’t adding to the tracker’s pain, but Tech had preemptively done everything he could to mitigate that effect and he didn’t think Hunter could have hidden something like that in this state if they were.

 “This okay?” he whispered.

Hunter muttered something unintelligible into Echo’s collarbone, but from the way he buried his face in his blacks, Echo assumed it had been meant positively.

“I can't make it stop hurting,” he whispered apologetically. “But I can stay with you until it’s over.”

Hunter nuzzled into his brother’s warm blacks and sighed softly, trying to distance himself from how bad he still hurt and how cold his insides still felt. He wanted to thank Echo, to apologize for needing so much comfort, but Echo was running his fingers through his hair again, and the arms around him were warm and safe, and he knew somehow that he would have time to tell him those things later.

For now, he allowed his aching body to melt into his brother’s chest, inhaling through his nose to wash out the remnants of the sharp, clinical smell of Sol’s lab with the familiar one of the barracks and Echo’s own unique scent, one Hunter had already committed to memory alongside his other siblings’ in case he ever needed to find him. Careful fingers grazed his scalp and unravelled some of the tension that was still bound up in his shoulders, helping his mind to stop telling him the world was about to explode. He’d survived another bout with his creators, and his brother was here to protect him now, to card his fingers through his hair and hold him close and promise that everything would be better after he went to sleep.

Was Echo telling him to go to sleep? Hunter wasn't sure. He was already halfway there when he realized the cyborg was speaking, and by the time he decided to try and decipher the words, he was completely gone.

Echo smiled softly as he watched Hunter drift off into even breathing and a hopefully peaceful slumber. He hardly dared to breathe, unwilling to disturb the sergeant even a little now that he was comfortable, but managed to rearrange the blanket that had been disheveled when Hunter rolled over without waking him up.

He could ask all his questions and plot necessary deaths later. Right now, he planned on staying right here at his brother’s side, for as long as he needed him.

“ Gar're morut'yc , vod’ika ,” he assured him gently. You’re safe, little brother .

And that was a promise Echo didn’t intend to break.