Chapter Text
Tech had already observed that Echo’s bunk was vacant when he woke for his watch shift, and thus it was not a surprise when he discovered that their adolescent passenger, Din, was in the cockpit with Echo. What was quite shocking was the fact that the child had managed to fall asleep in a less-than-ideal position, with his whole body curled into the seat.
Echo, however, had not joined Din in slumber, which—given his current responsibility in keeping watch—was optimal.
“I cannot imagine he will be pleased when he wakes,” Tech spoke into the open air, keeping his tone quiet enough to avoid rousing the boy. Echo spun around in his chair to face him. “That position has a high likelihood of causing unpleasant muscular strains.”
“Ah, he’s young.” Echo waved his hand. “His muscles are more relenting than ours.”
Tech rolled his shoulders, which contained an ever-present soreness as a result of his long hours spent staring down at his datapad, projects, and other tasks. “That… is a fair point.” He used his finger to push his goggles up his nose. “Well, at least you now have your bunk to return to.”
Echo rose from his seat and grimaced. He mumbled so quietly that Tech had to ponder whether Echo truly meant for his brother to hear his words or not. “If I can even get any sleep.”
Echo looked down at Din’s sleeping form, and the corners of his mouth rose. He pressed his hand gently against the boy’s shoulder before he stepped away and nodded at Tech.
“Try to keep him asleep, yeah?” Tech could easily identify the dark familiarity in Echo’s eyes as he patted Tech’s armored shoulder on the way out. “It’s a miracle he’s even sleeping after something like this.”
Tech simply returned his nod, uncertain of what to say. He was, of course, aware of Echo’s own tragedies, particularly because he played a key role in the ARC trooper’s survival, but it was not a subject that was broached often, if ever.
As for Tech, it was not something he was familiar with. Not in the slightest.
Tech eyed the child warily as he took his place in the pilot’s chair, and for some odd reason, he cleared his throat. He immediately winced to himself, all too aware of how that sound could have accomplished exactly what Echo had endeavored to avoid: rousing the child.
Thankfully, however, the boy did not stir. In fact, by Tech’s quick observations, it appeared as if he was only entering a deeper stage of slumber. His eyelids had started to flutter, indicative of him entering his REM cycle.
Tech gave his head a curious tilt. He could not imagine that those dreams would be pleasant, but so far, Din seemed to be at peace. He shrugged to himself and set his attention on his datapad.
They were making sufficient progress to their ultimate destination on Coruscant. Tech was not thrilled to divert from their original path, particularly given the fact they had been away from Kamino for more rotations than even Tech had bothered to memorize. He did, however, understand the rationale as to why it was happening.
Unfortunately, Tech did not… feel very good about it. Which was strange, considering Tech was certainly not one to operate off of mere feelings as opposed to staunch facts.
When Tech chanced another glance over at Din’s tiny sleeping form, that feeling intensified. It was a strange phenomenon. Searching for a proper explanation, Tech ruminated over what could possibly be causing this sensation, especially when he himself knew nothing of such tragedy and loss.
That was precisely when a memory reemerged, the only one Tech could associate with such heavy feelings.
Tech tapped through his datapad, committing details about their upcoming mission to memory—including all the information he could gather about the planet, its population, and its history. He was in the middle of a fascinating report from nearly two-hundred cycles ago when he first heard the muffled sound emerge from their bunks.
Instantly, Tech was alert, setting aside his datapad in favor of adhering to his duty of keeping watch. He suspected it was nothing more than one of his brothers having fitful rest, which certainly would not be the first time, but it was not a sound Tech was familiar with. That alone promised something unusual.
When Tech made his approach, he quickly concluded why the sound was unfamiliar. It was Echo, who had only just joined their squad, and he was very much awake. He was adjusting something on his scomp, seemingly ignoring the very distinct tear trails on his pale cheeks as he did so.
Tech hesitated. It was not often that he did so, but in a situation as delicate as this, with someone he had only just met, Tech calculated that it would be best to take an extra moment or two to decipher exactly how to approach the situation.
“Do you require assistance, Echo?”
Echo’s head snapped up to stare at Tech. He rubbed the sleeve on his organic arm against his face furiously and blinked a few times. “Oh, uh… sorry, Tech, I… didn’t…”
The ARC trooper was at a loss for words, it seemed. Tech assisted amidst his floundering.
“Your scomp.” Tech pointed at Echo’s mechanical arm. “Would you like a hand with that?”
Echo managed an amused huff. “Literally?”
Tech held a breath and glanced down at his own hands. “Unfortunately, no.” He offered Echo a polite smile. “I can, however, take a look at what may be bothering you.”
Echo sighed. Tech did not need to analyze the sound to sense how troubled it was. “I’m not sure this is something you can fix, Tech.”
Tech’s chin rose. “I am willing to try.”
Echo smiled, and this one was quite genuine. He let out a softer breath and nodded. “Alright. But let’s go back to the cockpit.” He swung his legs out from his bunk, and Tech gave him the proper room to maneuver himself to his feet. “I’m not really willing to wake one of ‘em up during my first week here.”
“That is a wise choice.” Tech pointed a single finger up as he led Echo back to the cockpit. “The last time one of them was roused during their REM cycle, a punch was delivered.”
Echo’s brow shot up. “Who did that to who?”
“Allow me to spare you the details.”
“Fair enough.” Echo chuckled.
Tech sat back in the pilot’s chair, and Echo took the co-pilot’s chair beside him. Tech made a motion for Echo’s scomp, though the ARC trooper hesitated before settling the cool metal inside Tech’s grasp.
“According to my quick observations, everything looks normal.” Tech’s gaze flickered over the scomp, searching for something amiss—though he failed to find it.
“Yeah…” Echo sighed again. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just… getting used to it.” Echo’s gaze shifted to the viewport, where the blue flashes of hyperspace were still illuminating the small space. “To all of it.”
Tech let go of Echo’s scomp and adjusted his goggles. “I can imagine that returning to reality from such a state of stasis is a difficult endeavor.” He paused. “Would you like to elaborate?”
Echo’s eyes fell closed. “It’s not just that.” A pained furrow knit in the ARC trooper’s brow. “It’s what happened while I was… gone. All the things that I missed.” His voice shook. “All the brothers I lost.”
Tech deflated. He glanced down, as if the floor of the cockpit would have something to assist him in this difficult conversation. He was not so fortunate.
“I lost my last batchmate.”
Tech’s attention immediately returned to Echo as the ARC trooper spoke again. His voice was even more fragile than it had been before.
“He died while I was trapped on Skako Minor. He… never knew I survived.” Echo’s breath hitched. “And I never got to be there to protect him from death.”
Tech caught sight of a new tear falling from Echo’s closed eyes, due to it reflecting the bright lights of hyperspace. He tightened his lips and reached forward to set a hand on Echo’s shoulder. The ARC trooper’s eyes reopened.
“It is not your fault, Echo.” Tech, as usual, focused on the facts, and he used them to comfort Echo the best he could. “Every clone created is aware of the sacrifices that must be made in this conflict. Your brother was aware of that when he thought you had perished, and there is no doubt he embraced that when his time arrived.”
Echo’s stare fell again, and Tech watched as his eyes darted around the small space. His voice was so low and haunted when he spoke that Tech had to strain to hear him over the thrum of hyperspace. “Rex said he was killed by another clone.”
Tech could not help giving Echo’s shoulder a squeeze as his eyes widened. That... was certainly an unusual thing to hear.
“He said that Fives wasn’t… that something was wrong with him at the end.” Echo closed his eyes again. “He was going through something that Rex still doesn’t understand, and he had even attacked the chancellor.” Echo shook his head. “And I wasn’t there for him, to help him through whatever was going on.”
“Because you were captured by the Separatists.” Tech was quick to provide more facts. “Had they not apprehended you and turned you into… this, then you truly would have perished at the Citadel.” Tech’s chest began to ache with a sensation he certainly wasn’t used to, but he surmised that it was a sad type of sympathy. “There was nothing you could have done for him.”
Echo’s eyes opened. His stare was empty as it focused on the systems displayed in front of him. “Yeah, you’re right.” He exhaled a heavy breath and gave his head another aimless shake. “But that doesn’t make losing him any easier.”
Tech frowned. Acutely aware that his factual data was not providing a solution, he withdrew his hand from the ARC trooper’s shoulder. “I apologize, Echo. I’m afraid you may have been correct before.” He pushed his goggles up his nose. “I am uncertain of how to remedy this.” Tech glanced over his shoulder to look towards the bunks. “Particularly because I have never experienced such loss.”
“Good.”
That time, it was Echo who set his hand on Tech’s shoulder. Tech was at least pleased to see that Echo’s gaze had brightened more than before, which meant that something had certainly been fixed.
“I’m gonna do everything I can to keep it that way, for all of you.” Echo nodded, the lines of his face set in palpable determination. “I never want you to have to go through what I’ve been through—and what I’m still going through.”
Tech nodded, uncertain of how else to respond. Echo gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“And thank you, Tech. You’ve helped more than you realize. Talking about it may hurt, but it lightens the load, bit by bit.” Echo managed a small smile. “Thanks for giving me the space to do that.”
Tech could only blink at Echo. Again, he was uncertain of what to say. With a mind that primarily thought in technicalities and factual data, it was difficult to make sense of something as elusive as feelings.
By the time Echo headed back to his bunk, however, Tech could not help but feel accomplished by whatever he had achieved, because it clearly had worked.
As Tech blinked down at the small adolescent in the chair beside him, he finally understood what this strange feeling was.
It was that same, sad sympathy he had felt for Echo.
For a moment, Tech looked over his shoulder, his stare attempting to follow Echo’s path. He wondered if the ARC trooper was in need of a listening ear once again, given how the rescue of this boy likely brought up those old, unpleasant memories.
Echo, however, had not asked for such assistance, and Tech was soon too occupied by the boy stirring at his side.
Tech’s eyes widened in an odd sort of panic as he watched Din lift his head. His eyelids were hooded by drowsiness, though they soon flew open as Din observed Tech sitting next to him.
“Where’d Echo go?” Din asked, his soft voice somewhat roughened by his slumber.
“Echo is hopefully headed to get some rest. I am supplanting his position so that he may do so.” Tech lifted his brow at the boy. “You ought to do the same.”
Din shifted in the seat, pulling his knees towards his chest as he wrapped his arms around his legs. Tech observed that the boy was growing more timid. “I don’t really want to go back to sleep again.”
“Why is that?” Tech gave Din a thoughtful once-over. “Is it because of the difficulties this chair is giving you? I had warned Echo about that. My bunk is now available should you wish to rest there instead.”
“No.” Din sniffed, and Tech inched himself closer to see tears lining the boy’s lashes. “I don’t want to see it again.”
“See what, exactly?”
Din buried his face into his legs, causing his voice to be muffled as he responded. “Those droids.”
“Oh.” That feeling gnawed at Tech’s chest again. He called upon his memory with Echo as he folded his gloved hands over his middle. “Perhaps talking about it would help?”
Din lifted his head to give Tech a wary look. “How?”
Tech thought for a moment before he shrugged. “I am not certain. I do know, however, that Echo has told me before that speaking about such things can be helpful, albeit painful.” He gave the boy a firm nod. “I will listen should you wish to tell me.”
Din seemed to ponder Tech’s words as he watched hyperspace flicker all around them. For Tech, it was quite reminiscent of that moment spent with Echo long ago. “Okay.” Din’s jaw tightened as he fixated his stare on Tech again. “I’ll try.”
Tech nodded, fully rotating his chair in Din’s direction. He leaned forward as well, further assuring the boy that he had his full attention.
Din watched his fingers as they picked at something on the fabric of his trousers. “It happened so fast. My parents heard the ship first, but the shooting started almost right after that.”
The boy began to rush through his words. Tech did not mind; it fit with the typical speed of his thoughts.
“We thought we’d be safe at home, but my father looked outside and saw that they were blasting doors open, so he picked me up and took my mother and I out the back door, and then we just kept running and running…”
Din’s voice began to tremble. Tech’s brow furrowed.
“It smelled like smoke, and some other stuff I’m not really sure about, and it was really loud.” Din sniffed again, wiping his face with the sleeve of his maroon robe. “My father kept saying I would be okay, but I kept seeing those droids…” he hiccuped, his voice growing quiet, “killing people.”
Din paused. Tech analyzed his expression and determined that he would be unable to speak for the time being, and so he endeavored to fill the space with facts that could potentially help.
“Unfortunately, that is what these battle droids do.” Tech adjusted his goggles as he pinpointed the correct facts to say. “Because they are not sentient beings, and they lack more personalization than many other droids, they do not have the potential to feel at all, much less understand what it means to take a life.”
Din blinked up at Tech, the corners of his mouth turned downward in a frown. “But why did they do it?” He shook his head. “We never did anything to them, Tech.”
Tech set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am aware.” He gave it a soft squeeze. “They were acting on orders from the Separatists. It… can be difficult to understand what their motivations are at times, though your homeworld is far from the only to be attacked by them in such a manner.”
Din’s head lowered again. His lips were trembling, much like his voice. “If my parents hadn’t put me down there…”
He stifled a cry. Tech moved out of his chair to kneel beside Din.
“Why didn’t they save themselves, too?”
Tech was starting to feel crushed by this sensation inside of him, tightening his chest to the extent that even the simple act of inhaling and exhaling oxygen felt like a chore. He instead focused on giving Din’s shoulder another squeeze and supplying more facts that could assist.
“It is very likely that there was no possible scenario in which saving themselves would have also saved you.” Tech’s stare met Din’s when the boy lifted his head back up. “Their primary objective was to make sure you lived, and as you can see,” Tech’s free hand gestured to Din, “they succeeded.”
Din’s eyes searched Tech’s goggles. Tech’s head tilted at him.
“It is my personal belief that your parents would have wanted you to take advantage of the life they have given you, despite the fact they are no longer in it.”
Din’s tense body began to relax, and Tech smiled to himself at the visual evidence of him regaining his composure. The boy’s wet eyes blinked a few times at Tech. “I think you’re right.” He sniffed and wiped his face once again. “But I still miss them.”
“That is natural.” Tech patted Din’s shoulder before allowing his hand to fall back to his side. “It is evidence of the genuine care you have fostered for them, as is typical in a relationship between parents and their children.”
Tech scratched the back of his neck.
“This is, however, merely a hypothesis, as I have no such experience with a parent-child relationship.”
Din’s brow furrowed. He adjusted his position so that his small legs dangled off the side of the chair. “What do you mean?”
Tech rose enough to sit back down in his own chair again. “As clones, we do not have parents. We were all created from the same genetic template, a bounty hunter named Jango Fett. Fett, however, perished at the beginning of the war, and he did not care for us the way a parent would prior to that.”
Din’s stare fell to the floor. “That must be sad.”
Tech shrugged. “I cannot mourn something I never had.”
At Din’s continued silence, Tech rotated back to his datapad and navigated to the files he intended on reading through during his watch shift. Just before he could advise the child to seek proper rest, however, the boy spoke again. “Well, maybe one day you’ll have it.”
Tech’s brow shot up as he returned Din’s glance, which was quite sympathetic. “I believe I am far beyond the point of necessitating a parental relationship.”
Din looked away for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he were pondering another alternative, before his head snapped back towards Tech. “Maybe you’ll be the parent, then!”
Tech would have gladly filled Din in on why that was highly unlikely, considering that Tech was a soldier bred for war and was thus unable to ever have a family outside of his brothers. He was, however, struck with that strange feeling again, and it was powerful enough to stop him from doing what he did best: being honest.
Instead, Tech offered the hopeful boy a small smile. “Perhaps.” He looked back down at his datapad and let out a light breath. “For now, you should at least rest somewhere more suitable than this chair.”
Din shrunk down into the chair in Tech’s periphery. “But then you’ll be alone.”
Tech shrugged without looking away from his datapad. “That is fine. I am used to it, particularly during these watch shifts.”
Din’s voice was smaller the next time he spoke. “But then I’ll be alone.”
And there it was again, that strange phenomenon that made Tech’s chest tight. He ignored it, even if he did resolve to lighten the child’s worries. “No, you will not. The bunk room is currently occupied by the rest of the squad, and though they typically do not take kindly to being woken, I’m certain they will make an exception for you.”
Tech spared a quick glance at Din to see the boy’s shoulders lifting and his eyes brightening. After another moment’s hesitation, Din nodded and slid off the chair. “Okay, fine. You said I could use your bunk, right?”
“That is correct.”
Tech was about to put his full focus onto the datapad in his hand when Din added one more thing. “Thank you, Tech. For the bunk, and…” Din smiled, “for making me feel better.”
Tech looked at Din and smiled again when that unfamiliar warmth boiled over inside his chest. He offered the boy a firm nod. “You are most welcome.”
Din returned the smile before he walked out of the cockpit and headed for the bunks. Tech watched after him only for a moment, as he was eager to get back to his files.
Still, it took longer than usual for him to focus, as Tech’s thoughts were continuously pulled back to their young passenger. He quite liked Din’s curiosity; in a way, it reminded Tech of himself.
But there was nothing to do about it, so Tech eventually pushed the thoughts from his mind and set his full attention on the glowing vidscreen in front of him.
Crosshair didn’t have to share his eldest brother’s enhanced senses to hear the child’s small footsteps returning to the bunks.
Well, eldest if he wasn’t counting Echo, though Crosshair wasn’t sure yet on whether he was ready to consider the reg his brother or not. Echo was a hell of a soldier, certainly more than deserving of his ARC trooper rank, but Crosshair wasn’t blind to Echo’s level of integration with the squad. He was well aware that Echo was still adjusting to all of their deviant natures, particularly Crosshair’s severity.
Crosshair couldn’t, and didn’t really, blame Echo for that, but it still kept him wary. Until Echo could go toe-to-toe with him the way the others could, then Crosshair couldn’t count him as a true brother just yet.
It was why Crosshair was intrigued by the boy they had saved from that pitiful settlement. Din had been able to respond to Crosshair’s harsh attempt at a joke with the proper amount of amusement, which wasn’t the kind of first impression the sniper was used to. He had been ready for Hunter’s lecture on softening up his nature for the child, but Din honestly didn’t seem to mind.
Crosshair had to give him credit for that, and credit for catching the sniper’s intrigue in general. That was a hard thing to do.
Crosshair remained where he was in his bunk, but trained his eyes upon Din’s approaching figure. Kriff , he was tiny, but that was probably because Crosshair and the squad had gone too long since they had last seen—and been—cadets themselves. Din was likely the size of one, but something about the robe he wore swallowing him up just…
Crosshair’s train of thought stopped when he saw where Din was headed. A single eyebrow shot up as he looked between the child and Tech’s not-so empty bunk underneath his own.
There was no way Tech was actually sanctioning this.
Crosshair barely bit back his groan as he sat up and swung his legs off the bunk. He rested his elbows against his knees and spoke in his usual hiss, though it was quieter than usual to keep the others from waking up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Din froze and whipped his head up, facing Crosshair with a concerned knit in his brow. “W-What do you mean?”
Crosshair gestured with his chin to Tech’s bunk. “Don’t go in there.”
Din blinked a few times before he jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “But Tech said I could…”
Crosshair snickered, causing Din to trail off. The sniper shook his head. He would never take Tech for a clueless person, but clearly, this was an oversight that even his closest brother’s exceptional mind was capable of making.
“You won’t get any sleep in there.” Crosshair hopped lightly onto his feet and turned around, peeling back the blankets to show Din what was underneath them.
Din’s eyes widened with both surprise and interest as his gaze flickered over the bunk. “Oh.” He stifled a giggle. “What’s all that stuff doing in his bed?”
Crosshair let out his own huff of amusement as he looked back at Tech’s assortment of stashed-away collectibles. It consisted of various tools, a small spare datapad, stray bolts, and other metallic items even Crosshair couldn’t identify.
“Who knows, kid.” Crosshair lowered the blankets again and rose from where he’d been kneeling. “I stopped asking him questions like that a long time ago.”
Din just shrugged before he looked hesitantly at all the other occupied bunks. “Is there anywhere else for me to go? Tech said I should sleep somewhere better than the chair I was in.”
Crosshair pursed his lips in consideration, but there was something else he needed to speak on before he could provide a solution. “Before we do that, you have to lower your voice more.”
He cut his gaze over to Hunter’s bunk across the way, which hung above Wrecker’s—though the latter’s snoring was probably keeping the sergeant’s sensitive ears occupied, anyway.
“Hunter’s enhanced senses could pick up the tone you’re using right now from at least a klick away.”
Din’s eyes widened in wonder. “ Whoa .”
Crosshair was pleased to hear the boy’s voice lowered to the proper amount. He then let out a quiet sigh as he glanced up at his own bunk.
Well, he was already awake. No use trying to go back to sleep knowing this child was wandering aimlessly around the ship.
“Here.” Crosshair patted the bunk that was far above Din’s head. “Take mine.”
Din glanced up at Crosshair in disbelief. “But you’ll need your bunk, won’t you?”
Crosshair shrugged. “I was already awake. Might as well take the time in this peace and quiet to clean my rifle, which I can do from anywhere.”
Din continued to hesitate. He looked between Crosshair and the bunk a few times, just enough for the sniper to roll his eyes.
“Arms up.”
Crosshair’s command was curt enough for Din to obey without question. Crosshair grabbed the boy underneath his arms, remaining gentle while also maintaining the proper amount of firmness to lift him. The sniper set Din on the bunk and let out a dramatic exhale as he lowered his hands.
“There. Decision made.” Crosshair turned towards the nook where he kept his weapons kit. “Now get some sleep, before we wake Hunter up and get a lecture for it.”
The boy seemed to comply, based on the fact he didn’t respond. Crosshair could hear Din shuffling around in his military grade bedsheets while the sniper grabbed his rifle and his cleaning supplies. He shoved some of Tech’s stuff to the side, just enough to make room for Crosshair to sit there.
Crosshair kept his boots propped up against the floor as he rested his rifle along his thighs and busied himself with cleaning. After balancing a toothpick between his lips, he was almost fully dissociated into his calming work, but a small voice from above managed to break through his temporary reverie.
“Crosshair?”
The sniper stopped and sighed. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers around the rifle. “What?”
There was no response for a few heartbeats. Crosshair’s patience was starting to wear thin by the time Din spoke again. “Do you ever wish you had parents?”
Crosshair’s eyes widened unexpectedly at the question. “What…” he hissed and blinked a few times while shaking his head, “why are you asking me that?”
“Well,” the boy let out a soft breath, “Tech told me you guys don’t have parents. And…”
Din paused, his voice wilting as he went on.
“I don’t have parents anymore, either, so… I guess I just wanted to know how you guys do it.”
Something in Crosshair’s chest tightened so hard that he had to take a second to remind himself to breathe. The first part of that sensation was no doubt frustration as he made a mental note to reprimand Tech for telling a child about their… complicated situation as clones. The other, though, was something largely unfamiliar, something that tugged from his chest down through his gut, almost enough to make him sick.
Suddenly, Crosshair wanted to do whatever he could to put Din at ease. Even if it meant being more vulnerable than usual.
Not a smart tactic for a sniper, but this wasn’t a battlefield, and this child was clearly no adversary.
“I’ve never thought about it.” Crosshair stared down at the rifle in his hands and held it just a bit tighter. “Having my older brothers always felt like having parents, anyway. Especially with one as protective as Hunter.”
Din hummed thoughtfully from above him. Crosshair let out a quiet chuckle when it reminded him all too much of Tech. Just how much had Tech taught this boy during their brief time together?
“Are you the youngest?”
Crosshair sighed. He’d walked right into this one, but he never quite enjoyed being reminded that he was the youngest. He had heard enough of that from his brothers growing up. “Technically, yes.” Crosshair took up his rag and started cleaning the rifle again. “But in terms of the squad, Echo was the last to join, so…”
“Who’s the oldest? Is it Hunter?”
Crosshair smirked to himself. “It’s easy to tell with him, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Din seemed to muse upon something. “I think he’s a good older brother.”
Crosshair spared a look at Hunter’s bunk. His sharp eyes provided him with a clear view of Hunter’s closed eyes, proving the sergeant was still asleep before he responded. “I think so, too.”
“So, who’s next?”
Crosshair cut his eyes towards the cockpit. “Tech. Then Wrecker.”
“And then you.” Din still sounded much too excited for a boy who needed to sleep. “How old would Echo be if he wasn’t the last one to join the squad?”
“Older than all of us.”
Din inhaled a sharp breath. Crosshair leaned out enough to look up at his bunk and send the boy a warning glance. Din looked frantically towards Hunter’s bunk, but the sergeant still didn’t move. He let out a relieved exhale and lowered his voice even more than before.
“Sorry. Um… that just makes sense. Echo told me about his batchmates.”
Crosshair’s brow shot up. “He did?”
Not even Crosshair had heard about Echo’s batch yet, at least nothing significant. He tried to fight the sensation of betrayal that rippled through his chest. It was yet another reason why Crosshair still had to keep his walls up with Echo, just for now.
“Yup!” Din clearly didn’t pick up on Crosshair’s pitiful distress. “But it’s sad. He said a lot of them died on their first mission.”
Crosshair’s shoulders fell at that. He glanced up at Hunter and Wrecker sleeping across from him, and spared another look at the cockpit. He was suddenly swept by a wave of relief over the fact that he had never experienced such loss.
Crosshair never prayed, but he did plead to the stars right then that he would never have to experience it.
“Not a very cheery thought to have on your mind while you’re trying to sleep.”
Crosshair set his rifle aside and stood, turning to face his bunk. Din tensed as if he were in trouble, but the sniper simply reached forward to tuck the sheets closer to Din’s face and sides.
“Trust me, you don’t want to pull an all-nighter, kid.” Crosshair removed the toothpick for a moment and nodded. “You can ask us whatever questions you want once we’re all awake. Just get some rest.”
Din returned the nod, smiling before he tucked his chin closer to his chest and closed his eyes. Crosshair lingered for a moment, narrowing his eyes to make sure the boy wasn’t tricking him, but the sniper could tell by the steadying rise and fall of Din’s chest that he was truly beginning to fall asleep.
Crosshair picked up his rifle and turned towards the cockpit. He stopped, however, when he felt a new pair of eyes on him. His gaze shifted over to Hunter’s bunk, where he caught the sergeant’s watchful eye.
Crosshair resisted the urge to crawl out of his skin. Of course . If he was lucky, Hunter hadn’t heard much of that particularly vulnerable conversation. He braced himself for his older brother’s teasing and a lecture about why he was holding his rifle instead of sleeping.
But all Hunter did was flicker his gaze towards Din before nodding with a proud smile on his face. Crosshair’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but the sergeant was already turning away to focus on sleeping again, this time even slipping his bandana low enough to cover his eyes. Crosshair heaved a sigh of relief and trudged towards the cockpit.
Tech didn’t so much as flinch while Crosshair made his approach. He fell easily into the co-pilot’s chair and set his rifle on his legs once again, continuing with his task of cleaning.
“Do you have a proper explanation for why you are not indulging in rest at the moment?” Tech’s voice was nearly as chastising as the gaze behind his goggles.
“Only if you have a ‘proper explanation’ for telling that kid about our complicated lineage.” Crosshair returned Tech’s accusatory glare.
Tech simply pushed his goggles further up his nose. “It is not distressing information to share, and it is only the truth.” He looked back down at his datapad, seemingly resigned already with whatever was keeping Crosshair awake. “There was no benefit to lying.”
“For now.” Crosshair exhaled and shook his head. “The kid’s just lost his own parents, and now he knows we don’t have any, either. Not really great for his morale.”
Crosshair waited for Tech to quip back, but he was only met with silence. The sniper paused his work to look up at Tech again, just to find that his most confident brother was for once looking quite uncertain.
“Tech…”
“Crosshair, have you also been experiencing a strange phenomenon with this child? Encased within the thoracic cavity?”
Crosshair huffed. “You mean sympathy, from the heart?”
Tech shrugged. “If that is the case, then yes.”
Crosshair’s lips tightened before he nodded. “Yeah. Kid’s had it rough.”
Tech’s brow furrowed. “But this… it is different , Cross.” It wasn’t often that Tech used the shortened version of Crosshair’s name, something that alone expressed his true severity. “We have crossed paths with several people in a similar position, yet I have never felt so physically influenced by it.”
Crosshair leaned back further in the chair. “Well, I’m glad it’s not just me.”
Tech shook his head. “Unfortunately, there is little we can do to remedy it.” He checked the navicomputer. “We are making good time to Coruscant, and with General Ti having alerted them to our upcoming arrival, there is no way we can deviate without arousing suspicion.”
Crosshair blinked at Tech in surprise. “Why would we deviate?”
Tech froze while he was adjusting his goggles. “I…” he blinked a few times, “am uncertain.” He lowered his datapad to his lap and held his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “How strange.”
Strange, indeed—but even stranger was that Crosshair was just as disappointed by the truth of their current destination as Tech was, and their inability to find a way out of it. But what were they thinking, even considering keeping this boy around? They were soldiers in the middle of what felt like a never-ending war. This kid’s life had already been torn apart enough by the conflict.
Yet as Crosshair and Tech carried on their respective tasks in silence, the sniper could practically feel the tension sizzling in the air, and if he looked closely enough, he could see both their bodies weighed down by some invisible burden. Crosshair didn’t know what that meant, and as usual, he would let his older brothers be the ones to figure that out.