Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They knew something was wrong, because they woke up.

They didn't expect to wake up.

Not after what happened.

-

It was strange, this awakening. Everything was too big, too loud, too bright. It was overwhelming.

So they cried. A lot.

No one really did anything about it. Not the long necked people that would always be watching, nor the other tiny bodies next to them. They didn't exactly blame the others, since they were also crying.

They were an infant.

-

Over a time that was far too long yet far too quick, they could walk. They could interact with the others like them, and the other identical children would do the same.

They went to classes, learned new and exciting things, about the Republic, the Jedi, ways to do war, battle strategies, and the like. It was a routine that they could latch onto, no matter how mentally taxing it was.

Soon enough, it became physically taxing too.

-

CT-5483 was different. They knew things that the others didn't. That they couldn't, being isolated on this forsaken water planet. They knew simple things, like how to braid, tie knots, whistle, stretch well, all without instruction.

But they also knew dangerous things.

They knew what trees looked like, the sound of birds, the feeling of grass between bare toes. They could draw creatures that didn't exist, remember stories that no one had heard of, yet know that they weren't their own.

They knew things, because this wasn't their first time living a life.

-

Their first life ended pretty early, all things considered. 19, freshly attending their second year of arts college, ready to take over the concept art industry one line at a time.

They loved music, beating random patterns on their thighs, imitating their long years as a percussionist. Whistling tunes to brighten their day.

A loving family, a mom, dad, two brothers, and three dogs. Friends that would always be happily to see them, laughing at all their jokes.

That all changed in a moment, honking, screeching, swerving away from the runaway semi truck, crushing metal skewering their side, screaming, holy fuck I'm going to die here—

-

A clone.

They were a clone.

One expendable life of millions, bred to fight for a Republic that wouldn't care for them.

Bred to die.

Weird, to think that they would die earlier than their last life, after all, they were only six right now, but was around twelve physically.

Their brothers– because that's what they were, boys, family, called each other he and him and his, which was far better than she– grew alongside them, so it didn't seem strange, it was normal, but it wasn't, why did they know that—

Their– his? His sounded right. Brought less attention– batchmates were close, as they all were.

The brothers were family, but batchmates, they were like an extension of yourself, they knew every tick and quirk that you had, no matter if you tried to hide it.

Th- he, he loved his batchmates with all his heart, but right now, right now he was about to lose one.

Chapter Text

Being a clone was not all it was hyped up to be. They weren't just the infallible soldiers of the Republic they were all told they were. No, instead they had to sit through Flash training, information being literally downloaded into their brains, leaving you with a headache for hours afterwards. They had to suffer through grueling hours of physical training everyday, striving for perfection, lest there be a negative mark on their performance sheet. They ate bland rations for every meal, got strictly eight hours of sleep every night. But those things were all manageable.

The worst thing? The decommissioning.

"'87, stop it! You can't be saying those things." CT-5485 hissed, looking around frantically for any trainers or Kaminoians that could be overhearing.

The CT-5480 batch were crowded together in the mess, secluded in one of the corners. It was their last meal as one before being sorted into squads, which means emotions were running high.

"Why should I '85? You know I'm right! It's stupid to split us all up after training together for six years." '87 gestured with his spoon. "I'm just saying that the long necks are di’kuts for doing that."

Their batch was one of the smallest, with over half of them being culled in their early years due to some medical abnormality. It was just the four of them, '83, '85, '87, and '88. That made for them being closer than normal.

“Faces, tell him that he needs to stop!”

‘85 and the others turned towards CT-5483 expectantly. He blinked, mouth full of ration slop.

Oh, right. He had a name now. That morning, as he was scratching portraits of his brothers onto the inside of his cadet armor, ‘88 told him that he made a bunch of faces. It might have been his scrunched up face, or it was the drawings. Either way, the name stuck.

Swallowing, Faces turned towards ‘87. “As long as no one hears you.” As the 'oldest' of the batch, the others look to him for the final decision. “Just remember what happens to the vode that speak out.”

Decommissions don't happen quite as often to cadets before being sorted out into squads, but they are still common enough to be wary of every little move you make. Practically every vod has had a batchmate that had been decommissioned, the long necks’ way of enforcing obedience. The ones with the most skill, the most leadership qualities, often end up becoming cocky and less cautious when they speak or act. It’s the most common way to lose a brother.

Rather than spell all that out to his batchmate, Faces just gave him a warning look. Paleling, ‘87 stiffly nodded, “Right, yeah, sorry Faces.”

Content that his brother got the point, Faces went back to eating the gruel on his plate. Though, ‘85 seemed to want to make the point stick.

“Little gods, ‘87, why do you have to be so reckless with everything you do?” Huffing, ‘85 turned away back towards his plate and began shoveling rations in his mouth. Late-meal was almost over, after all.

“Reckless, huh. I like it,” ‘87 says, brightening up a bit. “That’ll be my Name!”

Reckless, it fit him perfectly. He would always cause a ruckus at the bunks, and would pull di’kutla stunts out on the training fields. Hopefully some of those tendencies would calm down once he was sorted into a squad.

Clones may not be treated well, by their trainers, the Kaminoians, or later by the Republic and its citizens, but they were more than just mindless soldiers. They had a culture, a way of thriving under any outsider’s sight. The little bits of Mando’a they’d steal from the Prime or trainers. The way they’d expand on their internal relationships in the populace. Intimacy was free game, except for batchmates, that’d be weird. With that, many vode began pairing up, or more in some cases. Troopers that would be inseparable were more and more common. They’d name themselves, often a gift from a brother or a remark from a trainer. Vod may have meant sibling, but it also meant comrade, someone in a similar situation. And they all knew their situation wasn't great.

Though, none knew quite as well as Faces. Having lived another life came with experiences that none of the others had. And sure, maybe this world was just purely fantasy in his first life, but that made it even more real now, living it.

It was so very easy to forget what had been taught to him as a clone, and what he already knew. So, he stayed quiet most of the time. Not to say that he didn't love and care for his brothers, no, just let them know that with touch rather than voice.

Smiling, Faces looked at the newly dubbed Reckless, pressing his leg against the other’s under the table. That was how he showed affection, with little taps and touches.

A few minutes of congratulating Reckless for choosing his name later, the alarm signifying the end of Late-meal was sounded. Under the noise of thousands of bodies shuffling to put their trays away, faces hummed in thought. Tomorrow they would be assigned squads.

How exciting.

Chapter Text

The next day passed like a blur. Or extremely slow. Depends on which part you looked at.

Faces was put with a squad that was about a year older than him who had recently lost a member in a training accident. Not that they knew how young he was when he got assigned to them.

“Alright trooper,” one of the older cadets says, looking down at Faces from where he was leaning up against a bunk. “Heres how this is gonna go. We’re scheduled for a training exercise in half an hour, so we’re getting introductions out of the way.” He took off his bucket, revealing a shaved head. His expression didn't change from a snarl. “The name’s Hiccup”

The cadet next to Hiccup sitting on the bunk and swinging his legs gave a wave. “I’m Dinii. Nice to meet ya!”

“I’m Jumper,” the third drawled before smirking. “Cause I wanna jump off-”

“And I’m Ka! Get it? Like Ka-BOOM! But Boom’s my batchmate and not here, so it’s just me. Ka.”

Jumper grumbled from where Ka had shoved him aside to greet Faces, rubbing his shoulder. “Wow, Ka, if I knew you hated me so much I wouldn't have gotten up this morning.”

That drew Ka’s attention back to his squadmate. “Nooo, Jumper!” He latched onto Jumper’s arm, hugging it to his chest. “I don't hate you. Don't be like that! You’ll scare the newbie.”

With that the focus returned to Faces, who hid his discomfort at being the center of attention by taking off his helmet. “I’m Faces,” hesitating for a second the committing to a “nice to meet you all?”

Hiccup scoffed. “Sure.” He stood straight and moved to be chest to chest with Faces, now literally looking down at him. “So, short stack, what’d you do in your old squad, huh? We recently lost our long ranger, so you better be adaptable.”

Faces didn’t know if he liked Hiccup or not. He was clearly trying to intimidate Faces, as the newest member of the squad. But seeing as no one was stopping him, they were thinking along the same lines as their leader. And it was obvious that Hiccup was their squad leader. He stood infront of the others when greeting the unknown, clearly protecting them. So, even if he was a dick, he still had a heart. Somewhere.

“I haven't been in a squad before, sir, but my abilities cover a variety of areas, including long range.” Faces blinked at Hiccup’s deepening scowl, tacking on an extra “Sir.” Just to be safe.

“Wait, Faces.” He leaned past Hiccup to look at Dinii, who had spoken. “How old are you?”

“I am six, sir.” Even though Dinii wasn't a superior officer like their squad leader was, he still had more experience that Faces, so he would rather be overly respectful than insult his new squad.

“Kriff.” Jumper, who had managed to detach himself from Ka, turned and started pacing, spewing explicitives. “Karking son of a banthafucker. Osik faced nerfherder. Kriffing hut’uunla shabuir-”

“Jumper, enough,” Hiccup snapped, turning to look at his squadmate. Faces let out a silent breath of relief. It was extremely intimidating being so close to an older cadet, especially one who had looked angrier and angrier with every word that had come out of Faces’ mouth.

Sighing, Jumper visibly tried to relax himself. “I’m good, I’m good.” He then looked Faces dead in the eyes, stepping up to stand next to Hiccup. “Cadet. Do you know why you’ve been assigned to a squad a full year and a half older than you?”

Faces knew that the answer would anger the both of them more, but he couldn’t lie. “No.”

Jumper swore and started pacing again.

-

The remaining time between their introductions and the training exercise passed in relative silence, only broken up by the mutterings of Jumper’s curses. Dinii seemed to take pity on Faces and showed him his new bunk and supplies.

When the time for their training came, Hiccup finally spoke up. “Alright, time to move out boys.” They gathered up their abandoned buckets, carrying them under arm as they made their way towards the training facility. They’d get their blasters there.

“Hey, Faces.”

Turning towards where he heard his name, Faced came face to face with Jumper. He looked a bit constipated.

“This is going to be a routine exercise, we’ve done them a hundred times by now so don't worry. Just follow the orders that Hiccup gives and you’ll be fine. We’ll keep you out of the line of fire.” Jumper tried to smile, but instead it looked like he smelled something foul.

Faced appreciated the attempt nonetheless. “Thanks vod, I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled at his squadmate, wide enough that it crinkled his eyes. It had been a while since someone had looked out for him like that. None since his last life.

Jumper’s smile relaxed, becoming more genuine. “Come on, we don't want to be late.”

Without even realizing it, they had begun to drag behind the rest of the squad, the three marching on a few meters ahead of them. Faces cursed and scrambled to catch up, barely hearing the huff of laughter that followed behind him.

Chapter Text

The lift to the training room was filled with tense silence. Ka had opened his mouth to speak at one point, but a glare from Hiccup kept him quiet. It really wasn't doing much to lessen Faces' nerves; while he didn't doubt his own ability, he had never worked with this group of vode before and was worried about the outcome.

Once the lift door opened Hiccup barked out orders. "Ka, you and Dinii head to the left and try to flank the droids. Jumper and I will take the main fire. Faces," he paused, turning to look back at him. Faces swallowed, Hiccup's ever-present scowl sending a burst of anxiety rocketing through him. "You'll stay at the rear and take out as many droids as you can. Got it?"

"Yes sir," the four of them saluted simultaneously, readying their blasters. They were the standard DC-15s that every clone got for training, modified to shoot training rounds, being made for versatility and all that.

"Alright, let's head out." As soon as the starting buzzer sounded they were off, sprinting towards the closest form of cover, a slanted half-wall.

The room layout was pretty bare, with a few scattered barriers between the starting area and the far wall, where the droids would come from. All white, of course. The Kaminoans seemed to love their sterile blankness.

They made it behind the wall with a slam of plastoid against duracrete, shuffling in their kneels to ensure everyone had ample cover.

As the first droids entered the area, Hiccup signaled to Ka and Dinii to get moving, to which they hastily complied. Training bolts were already hitting the wall they were crouched behind, the noise echoing through the room.

Faces, Hiccup, and Jumper laid down cover fire for them, bringing the droids' attention away from the running cadets. There were about a few dozen B1s and two B2 battle droids.

The B1s could be shot down easily enough, but the B2s would be trouble.

"Faces, stay here when we go in," Jumper said over the helmet comms, barely casting a glance back to him.

"Yes sir," Faces replied, nailing a B1 in the head with a blaster bolt. Nice. A little under half of the B1s were shot and out of commission, the differing angle Ka and Dinii had to split the droids' attention.

"Jumper, get ready to press our advantage, on my mark." Hiccup shot down a few more droids. "Go!"

The two of them ran ahead, Faces doubling down his shooting to cover them, the hum from his blaster being a sound he knew well. He was suddenly extra glad that he spent more time at the practice range, worried that he might not get used to the feel of shooting quite as quickly as his batchmates.

This went on for a few more minutes, the two teams alternating their approaches while Faces stayed back and took down any droid that got too close to his squadmates. He occasionally changed covers when the droids figured out where he was shooting from.

Apparently, their plan wasn't careful enough. In the middle of aiming for his next target, Faces heard the clank of metal feet and the charging of a blaster from behind. Acting fast, he rolled out of the way, shooting behind him as he went. The bang of a droid hitting the floor signaled his success.

Two B1 droids stood next to their fallen third, pausing in their firing for force knows what reason. Faces didn't think about it too hard. He took advantage of it, running towards one while firing at the other, in a zig-zag motion to avoid the bolts.

Faces shot one droid a few times in the chest, decommissioning it in a cloud of smoke.

To the other, Faces bashed the blaster out of its hands with his own weapon, roundhouse kicking it in the head to crash into the ground, ending the fight with a bolt to its head.

Huffing, Faces reported to his comm. “Some droids got around to the back. I took care of them, but I’ll keep a lookout for any more stragglers.”

“No need, cadet,” Hiccup replied, sounding a bit out of breath. “We just took out the last of them.”

As if waiting for him to say that, the alarm signaling the end of the exercise blared, startling Faces. He didn't realize how quickly his new squad could finish taking down all those droids.

"Wait," Dinii blurted out after the alarm. They were all making their way towards the lift again but hadn't yet regrouped. "How many droids snuck up on you, Faces?"

"Just three," he shrugged to himself. Being the closest one to the lift, Faces made it there first. He could see his squad approaching through the leftover smoke caused by the blaster fire.

Ka got on the comm next, excited. "Woah vod, how'd you take 'em out?" Faces could see him gesturing, arms splayed outwards.

"Shot them." Faces didn't really know what to say. Sure, he added some physical maneuvers, but in the end the blaster did all the damage. He didn't want to bring attention to something so trivial, after all.

Entering the lift with Faces, the squad took off their helmets, releasing a collecting breath. Training was always taxing, especially when adding in the factor of a new squadmate.

Hiccup sighed then straightened, turning to Faces. Clasping a hand onto the younger's shoulder, he spoke:

"Well, cadet, you might just make it in this squad after all."

Chapter Text

"What are you doing?"

Tap.

It had been a few months since Faces had joined the squad with the older cadets. He thought that he was settling in fairly well. However, his squad babies him whenever they get the chance, like being annoying ori'vode was their lives' purpose. Faces didn't really mind it, since it allowed them to have fun teasing each other, and he got to wrestle them with no consequence.

Tap.

It was nice to be cared for, after looking out for his batchmates for years.

Tap.

Faces was introduced to the others his squad's age. They would be interacting on a regular basis after all. Most training lessons had four or five squads in the room at a time, for efficiency or something like that. Once they had a free class for sparring with one another, they began introducing themselves.

Tap.

There were so many names. Ashes, Kara, Blitz, Wire, Shafter, Nam, Idgan, Eurat, Omana, Philly, Jas, Nevem, and so, so many more.

Tap.

It was such a difference for Faces' age group, where they were whispering names in dark bunkrooms, yearning for a unique identity.

Tap.

Apparently, much can change in a year.

Tap.

They have always been vode for Faces, people for him to love and protect with his whole being, but now they truly felt like brothers.

Tap.

"Faces?"

Tap.

Today was a rare day for the clones. They were all given the day off to work on improving themselves. Obviously not from the good of their trainers' hearts, no. Rumour has it that two trainers started fighting, roping many of the others into the feud. They were all in the infirmary, on firm orders of bedrest, unable to continue to train. Thus, the vode had a rotation to themselves.

Tap.

Sure, the Alpha class clones were still supervising, but it was far more relaxed than usual.

Tap.

So, because they were boys being boys, they decided that sparring with each other was the best way to pass the time.

Tap.

Faces had been dragged away from his very productive staring-at-the-wall routine, to get drawing inspiration, by his rowdy squadmates. The word had spread that the Command class vode were sparring in the main training room.

Tap.

The Command batch was one of awe and envy for the CTs, their care for their vode inspiring loyalty greater than any flash training about command structures could. Everyone either wanted to get on their level or their radar. To be the best of the best was every clone's dream.

Tap.

And to see them spar? It was a chance to find out what, exactly, the best of the best knew.

Tap.

"Hey, cadet!"

Pulled out of his thoughts, Faces paused in his tapping to turn to Jumper. The two of them had gotten pretty close over the last few months, Jumper's morbid sense of humor resonating with Faces.

Jumper looked concerned, hand half outstretched to put on Faces' shoulder. "You back with us?"

That was a thing that happened sometimes, the spacing out. About twenty-five cumulative years worth of memory stuck into a twelve-year-old's brain cause it to need a thinking break every once in a while. Unfortunately, it tended to worry his squad.

"Yeah, sorry." Shoulders rising, Faces turned back to the sparring going on before him. The two brothers sparring were CC-2224, Cody, and CC-3636, Wolffe. It was pretty brutal, but it was obvious that they were having fun. Wolffe's face was split into a feral grin, while Cody was smirking slightly.

"Interesting, isn't it," Faces mutters, resuming his tapping. "It's like a dance."

Tap.

Jumper still had a concerned face, but less so than before. "What do you mean?"

Tap.

"Look."

Tap. A punch, thrown at a face.

Tap. A block paired with a kick.

Tap. A grunt and a step back.

Tap. Steps to the side, circling one another.

"I don't know what you're saying."

"It's almost like there's a rhythm, a beat, to the fight." Faces cocks his head, still staring and still tapping. "It might be because we were trained the same, but I don't think so."

Tap. A yell and a charge.

"I've been tapping at the same tempo this entire time, and each move was made right on time."

Tap. A yelp and a slam.

Tap. The spar was over. Wolffe won.

"I wonder what happens if…." Faces mutters, then jolts around, turning his stare to Jumper.

"Spar me."

"What."

Blinking, Faces gave his best baby vod eyes. "Spar with me?"

Jumper's eyes didn't move from his own, the silence between them charged with anticipation. He blinked then sighed, shoving Faces' face away. "Fine, just because you're such a cute cadet."

With a grin overtaking his features, Faces jumped up and hurried to a mat. Not many others besides the CCs were sparring, so the movement gained a small amount of attention.

"C'mon Jumper, hurry up! I want to kick your shebs."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming."

Faces was excited. If he was right, this could change everything about how he would fight, and maybe even everyone else too.

They lined up on the mat, facing each other in ready positions, knees bent and hands up at chest height. The two of them had spared many times, officially during training and unofficially when Jumper goads Faces into a brawl at the bunks. They both knew that Jumper was better at hand to hand, and had won most of their spars thus far. Typically, Faces would have no chance at winning, especially when there were CCs close enough to watch them.

Unless his idea worked.

After counting down to start, Jumper rushed at him, readying to strike a punch. Faces braced to block it.

One. The punch and a block.

Two. A twist and sweep of the leg, unbalancing his opponent.

Three. A steadying step.

Four. A kick aimed at a soft belly.

This pattern went on for a bit while Faces got used to the cadence of the fight. Each action of his was more sure than the last, slowly improving his reaction time.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

A few minutes into the spar, Faces felt ready to implement his idea. Mentally preparing for the change, he began.

Jumper was aiming a hit when suddenly a kick hit his side. It felt weird, totally unexpected.

Faces beamed, the success flooding him. It worked! Getting into a rhythm then abruptly changing pace worked! He rolled his shoulders, preparing to absolutely decimate Jumper in this spar.

And he did.

Whenever Jumper thought that he had caught up to Faces' change in pace, it was changed yet again. Over and over this went on, exchanging blows and kicks, until finally Faces had Jumper pinned down on the mat.

"Yield, Jumper." The excitement and pride made Faces' voice squeakier than usual.

Jumper tried to struggle out of the hold, but he was well and firmly stuck. With a sigh, he tapped out.

Faces released his hold, jumping up to start bouncing in place. "Did you see that! I totally threw off your game!"

"Yeah," grunts Jumper, rubbing his neck. "What the kark did you even do?"

Faces' grin went impossibly wider as he explained, almost preventing him from getting the entire reasoning out.

"–so then I thought about what if it was changed up, and boom! Here we are, with me thoroughly handing you your shebs."

Faces knew that he was practically sparkling with every word, but he couldn't help himself. His idea had worked! How totally sick.

With a smile, Jumper ruffled Faces' hair. "Nice job, cadet. Now," he smirked. "Teach me that osik."

And so he did.

Chapter Text

News of the newly dubbed "Rhythm Fighting" had spread quickly throughout the vode, and by the end of three years, all of them knew how to fight with it.

The first two-hundred-thousand troops had already been deployed, their departure leaving a startlingly large hole in the thousands of clones left on Kamino. No longer did they have their ori'vode to go to for advice, a fun spar, or cuddles after the nightmare.

The last happened scarily often to the vode. Even Faces, who had lived a short other lifetime, got the nightmare. He knew it had to do with the chips in their heads, the subconscious commands programmed in them, but it's not like he could just say that.

It was rough, looking at a kih'vod, tears streaming down their face, and not being able to truthfully tell them that it'll be alright. To promise the nightmare will go away. To lie and say no, he had no clue why millions of brothers had the same dream, not even an idea.

Sometimes, Faces wished that they hadn't had another life. That he was truly a vod and not the imposter he sometimes felt he was.

Anyways.

Faces stood as parade rest, his squadmates lined up next to him. They were going to be shipped off to the front today. The 212th Attack Battalion of the 3rd System’s Army, under the leadership of General Kenobi and Commander Cody. The fanboy buried deep inside Faces was freaking out, being able to get close to the Obi-Wan Kenobi. But the soldier in him knew that where Kenobi was, trouble usually followed.

Faces had already said goodbye to his batchmates, who were a bit peeved that he was being shipped off before them, and some of the younger cadets that Faces had befriended. They had latched on to him after getting passed down the armor Faces had carved the insides of. They were cute kids, and he hoped that he could come back home to them.

There was a Kaminii presenting a very dull speech about being the best soldiers, as they were bred to be, and to make the Jedi they'll serve proud. Or something like that.

Faces wasn't really paying attention.

Instead, he was more concerned about being put right in the middle of the action. How was he going to keep his squad safe if every enemy had it out for their general?

They already knew that, of course. The war had been going on for about half a standard year now, and the action had been shared back to Kamino through the older clones. The Alphas and CCs that hadn't been shipped out were informed by their batchmates, the rest finding out through the impressive gossip train the vode had made.

It was really a feat of innovation. For a group of people who owned nothing, not even themselves, information became the most valuable currency. Secrets practically didn't exist among the clones.

Except, of course, Faces’. But whatever. He could keep up the ruse.

Apparently, the speech had finished and they were beginning to be loaded onto the transport that would take them to the Negotiator. About two hundred brothers were going to be stuffed into the ship together for hours. Faces hoped that there were at least places to sit on board.

Why wasn't the Negotiator coming to pick them up? Well, according to the long necks, they were “actively engaged” and “otherwise occupied.” He was feeling like a kid whose parents forgot to pick them up after soccer practice.

Marching aboard the transport was almost thoughtless. The cumulative days that they had spent practicing being robotically in sync were easy to call upon, so much so Faces could focus on other things.

Namely, his squadmates talking over their helmet comms.

“--just saying! If we’re being sent to General Kenobi’s flagship, then we’ve got to be some of the best!”

“Dinii, we are some of the best. You’ve seen our training scores.” Hiccup sneered, though you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him. Perfect form, that’s their squad leader.

Laughing, Ka replied. “Hiccup, we know that! Just let him live a little, you know he’s a fan of Commander Cody.”

“He’s just so cool! He’s smart; he’s the one who created the new strategy that was used in the Pharrus system, which has since been used countless times in the field, so much so that it was added to our curriculum. He learned under Alpha-17, which in itself makes him automatically cool. He karking punched droids! Like, who even does that? Badasses, that’s who. And don’t even get me started on his effectiveness with General Kenobi!” Dinii sighs. “He’s so cool, guys.”

Jumper snickered, immediately sensing a way to tease their resident tech. “Sounds like you have a crush, Dinii-boy.”

Dinii didn't hesitate. “Yes. Fuck you.”

The English curse word came from Faces, obviously, at a time when the squad went to a nearby forest moon for survival training, and had to trudge through waist-deep mud for a solid three hours. To pass the time, they decided to spout the filthiest curses they knew. Faces was exhausted and had mud in his socks, so the usual filter he had had been lost in the trek a while back. Oops.

He made up some bullshit about hearing a trainer use it, and they just accepted it. Probably had to do with the shit they were walking in; they were usually more critical. Thus, fuck was added to their squad’s vocabulary.

“Speaking of crushes,” Faces interjected, taking pity on Dinii. “Have you guys seen the holos of General Kenobi?”

His entire squad groaned.

It was no secret to anyone in their age group that Faces had a massive, fat crush on Jedi High General, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. If constantly talking about tapping that ass wasn't enough to clue a vod in, then the numerous portraits of the general scattered around Kamino’s training facilities would’ve.

“For the love of-- yes, Faces, we’ve seen the holos of our new general. You’ve only shown us a couple hundred times!” A pause. “You’d better not act like that in front of him. I’ll disown you if you do.” Hiccup growled, the slight clenching of his fists the only sigh of his agitation.

All of the new troopers had marched into the transport, and the pilots were readying for take off. Once the hangar door closed there was a collective wave of tension evaporating. No longer being scrutinized was an amazing feeling.

Faces turned to his squadmates and crossed his arms, ready to defend himself. Faces had had this argument multiple times in his last life. He was ready for anything that they could throw at him. More than, even. His brothers didn't even know Kenobi’s lore.

Now, see, Faces was asexual. He didn't really want to jump General Kenobi’s bones. It was just funny to say that he did. His squad knew this. His squad hated this. His squad wanted him to stop embarrassing himself.

Jokes on them, though. He wasn't even remotely embarrassed.

If he could appreciate the aesthetic beauty of a man while tormenting his vode? That was just his job as a little brother.

Chapter Text

In the few hours that it took the transport to reach its destination of the Negotiator, Faces had managed to: give a verbal essay about all the ways General Kenobi was attractive; get Dinii on his side after agreeing about Commander Cody; piss Hiccup off enough that he had to take a lap around the transport to cool off; whip out a grease pencil to draw the general on the inside of his chest plate to prove his points; and start a small brawl.

All in all, a pretty successful trip if you asked him. Which no one did. Rude.

The transport had just made contact with the Negotiator, the clones scrambling to get back into formation and readjust their armor. It wouldn't be good for them if they turned up looking like they were incompetent.

Standing next to Jumper and Dinii, Faces struggled to keep his hands from shaking. Arguing with his brothers only worked so much to distract him from this reality. Their entire lives’ purpose was this war, and now, sent off from Kamino, it was getting too real.

His whole life up to this point was following orders, and tests, and keeping his brothers safe. Well, as safe as he could keep them. It was a repetitive life. The pattern change was causing Faces to freak out a bit.

Taking a deep breath as the hanger door opened, Faces came to a decision. He was just one man. One nine-year-old, sent to war a year before he was meant to. What significant things could he change, really? What could he do, realistically, to change the entire plot of this war?

Nothing. Nothing, and that was okay. He was going to do what he could for his brothers, keep them safe until… well. For as long as he could.

That's what he could do. Be a soldier. It was what was expected of him, anyway. Just being what he was created to be. He had no problem with that.

No problem.

The rhythmic thumping of GAR-regulated boots hitting metal shook Faces out of his thoughts. He was suddenly grateful for the helmet on his head, allowing him to keep those thoughts to himself and not be able to be seen. Curse his expressive face.

Unloading from the transport took no time at all, and before he was ready Faces stood at attention, staring at the helmetless face of Commander Cody. The scar on the side of his face glimmered as he furrowed his brow, assessing the rows of new troops.

To his side stood General Kenobi, and. Faces knew this was real. Dreams didn't last years. Didn't cause pain. Didn't have details so realistic. But some little part of him died at the confirmation. Kenobi, by just standing there, an otherworldly aura shining from him, just destroyed Faces' darkest hope.

Fuck.

Laughter snapped him back to reality. The in-helmet comms were active, and Jumper was laughing at him.

Oh, he must have said that out loud.

"They everything you thought they'd be, vode?" Hiccup drawled, tilting his helmet slightly towards them.

"He's everything and more, vod," Dinii breathed. "Everything and more."

"Shut up," Faces replied, voice wobbling. Hopefully, no one noticed that. "You're ruining the experience."

As soon as Faces finished speaking, the General looked at him. With about twenty feet and dozens of rows of troopers between them, those blue eyes were staring directly into Faces' visor.

The clone froze.

Their helmets were soundproofed, there was no way he could have heard them speaking. Even with all the powers and magic Jedi have, surely enhanced hearing isn’t one of them? And if it was, Faces knew for a fact that he wasn't the only one speaking. The vode were horrible gossips, after all.

So why was he being stared at?

Kriff, aren't Jedi empaths? Faces could be standing out with that, practically grieving his life and his brothers’ before they’re even gone.

“Troopers!”

Stiffening, Faces looked towards the Commander who had crossed his arms, helmet clipped to his belt.

“You all have been selected as the best of the cadets in your age group, and now you are full-fledged troopers. As of this moment, you represent the 212th. Be sure to remember that. I will remind you if you forget.” A ripple of fear spread through the clones at the threat, only noticeable if you were looking closely.

Faces swallowed. This deployment was sure to be interesting.

Chapter Text

They stood there for half an hour listening to the Commander explain what their responsibilities were for the remainder of the time there was before their next battle. For the most part, that consisted of getting situated in their new barracks, weapons check, and the times that training happened.

All in all, it was a pretty useful speech.

Then, Commander Cody stepped away and General Kenobi took his place. He had stopped staring at Faces sometime while his Commander was speaking, occasionally throwing glances his way. He probably noticed that Faces had caught him looking. It was awkward, to say the least.

“Hello there,” he started, and Faces wanted to face-palm. That fucking line. “Some of you may not know me. I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the 212th and,” Kenobi smiled charmingly. “Your new General. It is a pleasure to meet you all and I do truly hope that we become more acquainted in due time.”

He seemed to politely not mention the fact that many of them wouldn’t survive their first battle, as was usual for new batches of shinies.

Shinies. Kark it all to haran, Faces was a shiny. And they wouldn’t even be able to paint their armor before their first conflict, because it was tomorrow. The Negotiator had only dropped out of hyperspace to collect them, and as soon as the empty transport left it took off again.

But still. A shiny. Faces was already babied enough as it was, being a year younger than his squad, and shinies were the babies of the battalion. This was going to suck.

“I do not wish to keep you for too long, so you are dismissed to mingle amongst yourselves.” Kenobi straightened impossibly further. “I wish you all a pleasant stay here.” With a final glance in Faces’ direction, he and the Commander were off, probably back to the bridge.

Finally relaxing, Faces leaned around the vode in front of him to observe the gathered 212th troops that stood behind where the Commander and General were speaking, the bright gold on their armor setting them apart from the new arrivals.

A hand grabs his bicep and shakes his arm, the attached Dinii turning to face him. He was practically vibrating. “Faces. Faces we got threatened. By the Commander. Faces. How cool was that!” The clone wraps his arms around his brother and sighs, “I can die happy now.”

“Don't die, dumbass,” Hiccup snaps, stepping in front of his squad to face them. “You heard the Commander. We’ll head to our bunks and then go to the range. Some of you,” he not so inconspicuously tuned towards Faces and Dinii, “seem to need more discipline training.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Faces said, hefting his rifle further up on his shoulder. He was a pretty good shot if he said so himself. Especially with his beloved rifle.

See, there were specializations required for every clone squad. A leader, a tech specialist, an ammunition specialist, a long-range weapons specialist, and a close-range weapons specialist. Faces was the long-ranged man in their squad.

And he loved it.

The feeling of being able to protect his vode, to have their backs, even from so far away, was exhilarating.

To be able to kill droids before they could even compute his brothers as a threat, is phenomenal.

“Gamma squad?”

The question snapped Faces out of his rifle reminiscing. Looking towards the voice revealed two painted 212th troopers. They stood confidently, one with their hands on their waist, and the other with their arms crossed. Their helmets were still on.

“Yeah. That’s us.” Hiccup crosses his own arms. “Who’s asking?” For all his meanness, Hiccup was very protective of his squad.

“I’m Waxer,” says the one with their hands on their waist. “And this is Boil.” They gestured towards the one with their arms crossed.

“Pronouns?” Faces cut in and asks, as was polite. In a society where everyone was alike, this was a way to express themselves.

“He and him for the two of us,” Waxer replies.

“And for you?” Boil chimes in.

Jumper stepped forward, waving his hand around. “He and him for all of us, too.” His head tilts. “What do you want.”

“Jumper!” Ka sticks his finger in the other’s face and waggles it. “Don't be rude! We've talked about this.” Spinning around to the newcomers, he relents. “He’s right though. What do you want.”

“Well, we’re here to congratulate you,” Waxer says, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't seem to expect the hostile atmosphere. “You were the best cadets of your year, so you've been selected for the 212th’s special units division, Ghost Company.”

“So. Congratulations,” Boil drawls.

Huh, how about that.

Chapter Text

“Get down!”

Heat from the detonator blast penatrated the gaps in his armor, leaving an itching sensation in its wake. Faces swore, rolling back to a ready position, aiming his rifle at the new wave of droids. From his crouch, he could just barely make out the B2 battle droids scattered amongst the B1s, and swore again. Those blasted clankers were tougher to take out than the regs, requiring at least two shots to pierce their armor. Not even mentioning the casualties the rapid-fire bolts produced when unleashed.

Faces aimed for them, knowing that taking them out before they were in range would save a lot of hassle.

"Faces!" Hiccup yelled over comms, not pausing in his shooting. "The B2s!"

"Already on it," he replied, taking down his third droid.

Christophsis must have once been a beautiful planet, before the war. It still was, in some ways. The crystalline buildings towering over them sparkled in the sun's light, as well as the rubble they were using as cover. The wide open streets were both a blessing and a curse while fighting upon them, great for line of sight, and bad for the same reason.

Faces would love to spend time wandering around and exploring, but, unfortunately, he is a bit preoccupied at the moment.

"Droid popper, left side!" Ka shouted, chucking the round detonator directly into a cluster of droids from the other side of the street. "Woo-hoo! Yeah! Take that, you metal fucks!"

Rolling his eyes at his squadmate's antics, Faces lined up another shot at a B2 a bit further away than the others.

The bolt hits, but as he pulls the trigger for the next shot, nothing happens.

"Fucking shit!" Faces quickly ducks back behind the rubble he was using as cover.

"Faces! Report," Hiccup snaps a bit frantically. Aw. He was worried.

"Damned rifle jammed on me, sir," he replies, already taking apart the blaster on the dusty ground. He quickly found the problem

"The ignition module overheated. I can make a short term solution for that, but it'll need to be replaced." Faced reports, digging the offending object out from the rifle. He could feel the heat through his insulated gloves.

That's not very good.

"Do it. Next lull in the battle, get your ass a new rifle or you're stuck with a DC-15." Hiccup snarls.

Shit. Faces hated the DC blasters. Sure, they were the standard, but there was just something off about them when he held them. And Hiccup knew that, the bastard.

"Sir yes sir," he grumbles.

Lifting the front of his helmet up a bit, he spat on the ignition module and rubbed it on the metal, repeating a few times until the heat was at a more bearable level.

It was a little gross, but hey, this was war.

After reassembling his blaster, Faces resumed blasting down the more threatening droids. It was a soothing rhythm, aiming, pulling the trigger, bracing the recoil, repeat. It drowned out the sounds of battle. The sounds of blasters firing. Of detonators blowing.

Of vode dying.

"Son of a bitch!" yells Jumper, who ducks behind the same rubble cover as Faces.

"What," snaps Faces at the same time as Hiccup. He couldn't afford any more distractions, the lives of his brothers were on the line.

"– fuckin' droid– clipped the– bucket–" crackles through the in-helmet comms.

What. Kneeling down with his back to the rubble, Faces turns to look at his squadmate. The left side of his helmet had a large scorch mark from a blaster shot, deep enough to have sparks shooting out of the exposed tech. A little to the right and he would've been dead.

Son of a bitch, indeed.

Heart pounding in his chest, Faces reports to the rest of his squadmates. "Jumper's bucket comm got hit, he's fighting deaf."

Multiple curses erupted in his ears. His squad knew what a bucket shot meant.

"Tell him to keep his bucket on and to follow your lead shooting clankers, karking hell," Hiccup orders, the faintest wobble in his voice only heard if you knew where to look.

After relaying the information to a pissed-off Jumper, Faces fell back into the rhythm of battle.

Aim. Shoot. Brace. Repeat.

Aim. Shoot. Brace. Repeat.

Aim.

Shoot.

Brace.

Rep–

"Stand down!"

Immediately dropping down behind his cover and dragging Jumper down with him, Faces turned his head to look at Hiccup across the street. What did he mean, stand down?

"Order from command just came in. They've called a cease fire!"

What.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, di'kut"

"It was an expression of disbelief, smartass."

They were at their camp, home for them for several days now as the battle went on, waiting for further orders from command. The current orders and context surrounding them were being 'discussed' by Jumper and Hiccup.

"No, really," gasps Hiccup, bringing his hands up on either side of his bucket in a shocked expression. The deadpan face of the helmet really made his point.

"Well, excuse me for being a teeny bit surprised that our general is having tea with the enemy!" Raiding his arms and stomping away from the conversation, Jumper grumbles past Faces and into their squad's tent.

Blinking, Faces turns to his squad leader, who is shaking his head. With his rifle strapped to his back, he marches up to Hiccup.

“I uh, I fixed up my rifle, sir,” Faces says, a bit scared to unleash the ire of his squad leader as Jumper did. For only having been at base camp for a little over an hour after being called back, Hiccup and Jumper have already had, like, three fighting spats. The stress of this whole situation was getting to them. Honestly, active battle was a whole lot more manageable than whatever this was.

“Good, Faces. That’s, that’s good,” Hiccup replies a bit distractedly, glaring at the tent through his bucket.

Nodding, Faced turns towards the setting sun off in the distance. The differing colors spanning across the sky set a stark contrast to the grays and whites of their tents and base. GAR standard issue supplies were rarely colored, with the paints being the only thing really customizable. For someone who spent a whole life surrounded by color, it was kind of boring and drab.

There is a stack of crates being used as a place to eat, with about a dozen or so gold painted troopers on or around it. Feeling like social interaction with his brothers was better than dealing with whatever funk Hiccup and Jumper had going on, he made his way over to them.

“-- and so I turned and shot it in the head, saving this idiot’s shebs,” a clone, Boil, Faces recognized his armor, had his arm slung around another’s, probably Waxer’s, shoulders, shaking him slightly.

Faces joins in with the others’ snickers while removing his helmet, clipping it to his belt. It was better to laugh at their near-death experiences than come to the existential realization of their morality, and that their lives are nothing more than numbers to the Republic that they are fighting for.

“Faces!” noticing him, Boil turns, dragging Waxer along with him. They were seated upon a crate at the top of the stack. How they got up there was anyone's guess.

“Hey! How’s our resident shiny squad doing?” Waxer pipes up, shoving Boil off of him, causing the man to nearly fall off of the crates.

Faces sent them a flat look. “Our general is having tea with the enemy.” He was sure that statement encapsulated the feelings his squad was going through.

Wincing, Waxer removed his helmet, Boil joining suit. There hasn't been much time for personal grooming in the last few days, so they had a bit of stubble on their jaws around their usual styles. Faces is glad that he doesn't have to shave that often, with only a few wispy hairs ever decorating his chin. He is not looking forward to dealing with the growth of a thick beard that many of his older brothers have.

“Bah, you get used to it,” Boil says, flapping his hand dismissively. “Watch, it’s probably a ruse for General Skywalker to blow something up.”

Actually, that sounded pretty familiar.

Okay, don't blame him. It had been years and a literal lifetime since Faces had last seen the events of the Clone Wars take place. His memory wasn't that good. Thinking back, wasn’t Christophsis a sort of catalist? Didn’t Ahsoka Tano show up at some point?

Whatever. He just has to stay alive, and keep his brothers alive, too.

“... sure.” Faces hesitantly replies.

“He may seem all serene and put together, but the General is just as crazy as General Skywalker.” Waxer comments, earning a round of snickers and agreements from the surrounding troopers.

Suddenly, an alarm blares through the camp, signaling the need for everyone to become battle ready. Faces races back towards his squad’s tent, pulling his helmet on along the way.

“Faces!” Hiccup shouts. “In formation.”

Settling towards the back of the squad formation, he leans over to Dinii. “What’s the situation?”

Dinii faces him, bucket somehow grim. “The enemy’s shields are down. We’re engaging.”

Chapter Text

“FACES!”

“On it!”

Slamming a vibro-blade into the chest of a droid, twisting it, then kicking away the sparking remains, Faces spins around, slipping the blade back in its place on his belt. The shout of his name came from Jumper, further towards the front, and Faces could see that he and Hiccup were slowly being surrounded by B1s.

“Cover me,” he tells Ka and Dinii, the two close by and having just dealt with their own clankers. Readying his rifle, he shoots down three of the surrounding droids before they even know what is happening.

A prickle on the back of his neck alerts him to a blaster shot, and he rolls out of the way just in time for it to go soaring over his head. Turning with the roll, Faces hits the offending droid in the face, the bolt powerful enough to take out the one behind it as well.

Spinning around towards Jumper and Hiccup, he sees that they have taken care of the remaining clankers that were surrounding them. Blaster shots echoing in his ears, he approaches them, low to the ground to avoid any stray bolts, Dinii and Ka right on his tail.

Regrouped, Hiccup shouts, “All of Ghost is needed on the front, the General needs backup and we're the closest.”

With a round of nods, the squad gets in formation and runs to the front, taking care to stay behind the debris's minimal cover. They had originally been posted towards the west side, preventing the doids from surrounding the General and the men near him. An important job, for sure, but not all too difficult. Ghost Company didn't want to lose their newest batch of shinies so soon and made sure to keep them relatively safe.

Until now, that is.

With speed and precision that could only come from those trained since childhood, Hiccup’s squad reaches the front, decimating any droids unlucky enough to be in their path. Faces’ attention is immediately caught by the blue glow of General Kenobi’s lightsaber, quickly twirling to deflect blaster shots from the men behind him, being used as a sort of living shield.

Faces almost stills at the sight. While, logically, he knew that he would end up seeing Jedi in battle, it never really sunk in until that moment. Never, in all his lives, would he have thought wielding a lightsaber could look so… graceful. The ease that the General handles his weapon makes it seem like he is following a dance, not bouncing back deadly laser bolts. And his face . Faces has never really thought much about what peacekeeping Jedi thought of during battle, maybe some serenity osik , but General Kenobi. His face was one of pure determination , an image Faces was sure would be ingrained in his mind.

Oh yeah, he was so going to draw that later. Maybe it could be nose art for a drop ship? He could probably do it, but the scale would be much larger than he was used to…

Focus trooper! This is not the time to daydream, even about someone as competent as the General! He was at the front, for kriff’s sake!

Sure, it had only been a second, but even a moment’s distraction could mean life or death in a skirmish. Faces had promised himself that he would protect his brothers, and damn it he would.

Snapping into action is as easy as breathing, the knockback of his rifle barely even affecting him like how it did as a cadet. Shooting down a duo of B1s that were getting a little too close to a vod for his comfort, Faces grunted as a bolt grazed the gap under his left pauldron. Fuck, that hurt.

He wouldn’t be the only one from his squad to become injured from the battle. Dinii had also been grazed on the arm, Hiccup and Jumper both suffered from sprains after trying to emulate Commander Cody’s habit of punching and kicking droids (though they successfully took them down), and Ka got a pretty nasty shot on his thigh, the blast going straight through his armor. Knowing him, though, he would keep the ruined armor plate as a keepsake, maybe even hang it on the wall. He’s a little unhinged like that.

The battle had taken up most of the day, and though they seemed to have won, the troops were ready for the night-cycle. They had trained for this exact scenario, and every single one of them could go up to four days without sleep, but that didn't make it enjoyable. Faces is glad that the fighting was over relatively quickly, and has a feeling that their forces had pushed back the droids for now.

He also has a feeling that he is going to laugh at Hiccup and Jumper if they get reprimanded by Ghost’s medic, Helix, any more than they already have.

“-- can’t believe that there are two more di’kut vode in this Prime-forsaken Company! One was enough, and he’s become deaf to my threats! Cody might be the Marshall Commander, but that doesn't give you the permission to be reckless dinii’la mir’shebse like he is!” Helix is practically frothing at the mouth, waving around his scanner as he gesticulates his point. It is unbelievably funny to watch his two most headstrong brothers cower beneath the medic’s gaze.

Most clones were terrified of their medic’s ire, doing the most they can to avoid them, up to even hiding injuries. Which just doesn't slide, because medics. Know. Everything. A vod could tough it out and get berated, or get absolutely eviscerated when found with a hidden wound.

Faces knows this, and had decided to have been a good vod’ika and suck up to the medics. A check up was needed? Just tell him when and where. Come back tomorrow to get your wound cleaned again? You got it (even though it hurts). No, Faces, you can’t paint with a fractured hand, you need to rest it? Tough, but doable.

This was why he let a giggle slip out after Helix smacked the two upside their heads, raising a hand to block his smile as the Med-tent’s flap opened. He wouldn't have dared made a peep if he had been more injured, though.

“My dear Helix, what is this I hear about the good Commander?” None other than Obi-Wan Kenobi asks with said good Commander at his side, sans helmet.

“Just that he’s an idiot, sir, as well as these two here,” waving his hand at Hiccup and Jumper, Helix turns to greet their commanding officers. Faces stiffens, not really knowing what to do. He was here as moral support for Ka, because of his ‘cute little baby face’ (Ka’s words, not his).

Probably feeling his discomfort, kriffing Jedi empaths, the General turns to Faces, who stiffens further, somehow. “Well, what do you think of that description Faces?”

What the fuck. What the fuck. Why does the General know his name? How does the General know his name? This is the first time that they’ve interacted before, right? Oh no. Unless Faces forgot about meeting General Kenobi?!

Somehow, amidst his panic, he manages to stutter out, “Er, I’m uh. I’m not sure about the Commander, sir, but um. These two definitely are, uh, idiots, sir.”

Gross. Ka’ra , can he even go one sentence without sounding like a damn fool? Kenobi must think him an idiot like his squadmates, and that simply won't do. Well, looks like he’ll just have to jump out of an airlock the next chance he gets--

The General laughs. Light and airy, but genuine. Commander Cody smirks a bit, and Helix crosses his arms with a nod.

“That’s good to know, Faces, thank you.” The General bubbles, stroking his beard down.

“Of course, sir.” He may still be panicking, but Faces was a polite boy. Totally not staring wide-eyed at the General as his shoulders shake. Nope.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

A loud, ugly snort had Faces turning his attention away from the General and to his injured squadmate. Ka, despite his injury, is folded in half on a stretcher, shaking with silent laughter.

Well, mostly silent, Faces thinks, as another snort escapes the man.

“Faces,” Ka glances at him, giggling. “I have never heard you stutter like that once in all the years I’ve known you.”

“I can and will beat you up,” warns Faces with a glare. The threat does nothing to deter Ka’s snorts. If anything it makes them worse.

“No the fuck you won’t,” growls Helix. “Not until the kid is healed.”

Faces agrees immediately with a “yes sir,” earning him another snort from his squadmate. Whatever. Being laughed at by his brothers is much more preferable than being the target of a medic’s ire.

The teasing doesn't end there, regretfully.

“Yeah Faces,” Jumper smirks, leaning around their CMO to stare directly into his eyes. “It’s a bit weird. It must be ‘cause the General’s here, you know, the one you always fawn over. And talk about all the time. And draw endlessly.”

A cold weight dropped into his stomach as he stared right back at Jumper, face devoid of emotion. He could feel the beginnings of a blush start to warm his ears, but ruthlessly pushed it down.

Sure, it wasn't exactly a secret, but still. The mortifying ordeal of being known was one thing when it was your brothers. But to lay him bare like that in front of their COs? 

Now see, Faces loves his brothers. He does. Truly. He would take a blaster bolt for any of them. His love is unconditional. Faces would stop at nothing if they were in danger to see them safe again. 

But sometimes. 

Sometimes Faces wanted nothing more than to kill them himself.

Slowly, eyes not leaving Jumper’s, Faces reaches for the vibroblade at his belt, the motion fluid and wholly intentional, delighting in the way his brother’s eyes widened.

While Faces’ main weapon was a blaster-rifle, it was well-known within his squad that he was absolutely terrifying with a blade, no matter the size.

Maybe Jumper would think twice before making fun of him if he had a nice little stab wound.

Before the blade could even leave its sheath, Hiccup seemed to take responsibility for his squad and grunts. “No fighting in the medtent.”

Just as slowly, Faces removes his hand from the blade hilt and crosses his arms. A giggle drew his attention away from Jumper and over to Dinii, who had been silently observing from his spot standing next to Ka.

“Its okay, vod’ika, you can kick his shebs next time we train.” Dinii reasons, grin wide on his face. And damn him for making a sensible argument.

Faces had forgot about their audience until movement caught his eye. Following it reveals that General Kenobi has covered his mouth with a hand, eyes crinkled. Next to him, Commander Cody sighs, muttering something about shinies and graying hair.

Oops.

-

“Sir, ship inbound.”

The announcement causes Faces to zone back in from where he was standing guard with his squad over the command center of the main camp. It had been a few days since Ka had gotten injured, and he had finally been cleared for duty. The rest of the squad had been stuck on guard duty due to their missing member.

It kind of sucked, but it had given Faces a bunch of time to think. Mainly about the war.

And the person who was arriving on that ship.

“Understood, thank you.” General Kenobi replies before turning to General Skywalker, Senator Organa, Commander Cody, and Captain Rex. “What are the odds that the ship holds my new Padawan?”

“Pretty high, Master. You’ve been talking about wanting one for a while now,” General Skywalker answers before gaining a contemplative expression. “I wonder who the Council decided to send. We haven’t visited the Initiates at the Temple in a while now.”

“Yes, well, for being on the Council, I happen to be as clueless as you are, my former Padawan.” General Kenobi stroked his beard, looking over the camp. “It will certainly make things interesting, having a young Padawan around.”

Captain Rex shifted, helmet under his arm, and smirked. “What, are we not exciting enough for you, sir?”

“You all are plenty exciting, my dear, do not fret.” General Kenobi smiles, clasping Captain Rex on the pauldron. The Captain returns the smile.

“Well,” General Skywalker starts, “I hope it's someone fun. It’d be lame if my Padawan sibling was as boring as you are, Master.”

“What exactly do you mean by that, Anakin.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about, Obi-Wan.”

Senator Organa laughs. “My friend, it would be good to see you have another Padawan, you certainly enjoyed having Anakin around.”

Narrowing his eyes at said former Padawan, General Kenobi sighs, “Sadly, that is true.”

“Aw, Master, you love me.”

“Don't test me, Anakin.”

Before the bickering could continue, a ship landed at the edge of the camp, distracting the Jedi and surrounding vode. General Skywalker grinned at General Kenobi and skips away toward the ship, slowing down once the ramp begins to lower. General Kenobi just shakes his head and makes his way over.

Faces blinks, looking towards his squad to see their reactions. While he knew that Jedi were sentiants like any other, it was strange to see them act… normal.

Growing up on Kamino, they were taught that Jedi were these almost god-like beings, powerful and emotionless, the perfect Generals to lead their army. Faces knew that it was bullshit while learning about it, but some of it might have stuck with him through the years.

Though, seeing the little teenage togruta stroll down the ramp, it made it hard to believe.

Chapter Text

Faces ducks under the fist, spinning with a lunge, ramming his elbow into Hiccup’s sternum before slipping away just as fast. The squad leader grunts, stumbling back a half-step and turning it into a spin, lifting a leg to roundhouse kick at Faces’ head. The younger clone grabs the leg before it made contact and uses his new leverage to slam his brother onto the mat, quickly pinning him.

They’d been going at it for the better part of an hour, Faces needing a distraction from his thoughts and Hiccup because the man is a violent little shit always willing to punch his squad. For training purposes, of course.

The thoughts Faces needs distracting from? The face of a young togruta Jedi Padawan being told that her assigned Master had not just not known that she was arriving, but that he didn’t even want a Padawan. The way that face, cheeks still round with baby fat and eyes large and wide, fell at the words the Jedi Knight said.

It made Faces angry, that a person could be ordered to report to someone that didn’t want them. That the Jedi were drafted into something that went against their beliefs, warmongering instead of peacemaking. It reminded him too much about his vode’s role in the War, that they are being forced to fight for people that didn’t even consider them sentient, as nothing more than meat-droids. How they never even had the option to do anything else with their lives, weren’t even considered to have opinions on what they do. That they wouldn’t even be alive in the first place if it weren’t for the conflict of others. And for what? Greed? Power? Fame?

Shit, Faces needs to stop thinking about this before he spirals further.

With a huff, he rolls off a tapped out Hiccup and onto the training mat, flat on his back. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Faces acknowledges these thoughts, their validity, while also determining that there is nothing he can do about the situation, and letting the anger go with another long huff out of his mouth.

Hey, he had been to therapy in his last life. He knew a few good coping mechanisms.

“Damn Faces,” Hiccup groans, rubbing his no doubt bruised sternum. “You didn’t hold back this time.”

Prying his gaze away from the gray ceiling of the training room they were in, Faces winces at the sight of bruises already forming on his squad leader’s bare chest. Sure, Hiccup gave as good as he got, but Faces’ own shirtless body is significantly lacking the amount of blossoming bruises his brother's had. It was actually kind of impressive.

“Sorry. Had a lot on my mind.” Dragging an arm up, he limply pats Hiccup’s shoulder, quickly pulling his hand away at the feel of sweat. He cringes and wipes it off on his lower blacks.

“Y’know, typically that makes people less effective, not more,” Jumper pipes up from where he’s sitting on the sidelines with Dinii and Ka. The three of them have been watching the two of them spar the whole time, making bets and cheering them on.

“I’m just built different,” says Faces, heaving himself into a sitting position with a grunt and turning to face the remainder of his squad that he hadn't been beating up.

“Faces, we’re clones,” Ka grins, leaning forward to gesture at everyone in the room. “We are, quite literally, all built the same.”

“Then why am I so much better than you?” Faces smirks, stretching towards his feet as a cool down. He refuses to hurt more than necessary after beating up his brother. So, stretching.

Dinii nudges Ka with his elbow. “That’s not hard to do, with Ka.”

With a gasp, Ka shoves a laughing Dinii onto the training mat before tackling him.

Faces rolls his eyes at their antics, sliding into a split and leaning towards his left side. Ouch. He might have gone a little too hard in the spar.

“Fucking hell, Faces,” Hiccup grunts from where he's still laying in the floor. “How can you even move right now? Stop being so competent, you're making me look bad.”

Faces smirks a little, switching to lean to his right. “As I literally just said, I'm built--”

He squacks as a hand grabs his upper arm and drags him flat onto the floor. An arm quickly slides around his neck in a gentle headlock. Faces goes limp and accepts his fate.

“That's enough sass outta you, vod'ika,” Hiccup growls from behind him. Knuckles land in his hair, and before Faces knows it, he's being noogied.

Immediately, he squeaks and tries to squirm away, flailing his arms about in a attempt to smack Hiccup.

“Hiccup! Hiccup, I give, I give!” Faces rapidly hits his brother's arm with one hand, clawing at it with the other. “Let me go! What is wrong with you? You useless hunk of duracrete! I’ll kick your shebs!”

His brother cackles and ignores him, tightening his hold. 

“Let me-- Jumper! Jumper, get your stupid squad leader off of me!” Choosing the new tactic ‘Involve The Observers,’ Faces glares at Jumper, who had been leaning back to watch the fights.

The clone smirks, stretching his arms above his head. “Why Faces, isn’t he your squad leader too?”

Jumper is now dead to him. Little gods, is it Be-Mean-to-Faces day? Is it because he’s the youngest in the squad? Blasphemous. Faces has done nothing to deserve their treatment of him.

Faces narrows his eyes at Jumper. “Useless,” he growls. Gripping Hiccup’s arm, Faces tilts his head down and bites.

“Fuck!” He tries to push Faces off, but Faces tightens his hold. Revenge, bitch. “Jumper, get your feral-ass cadet off of me!”

Instead of helping, Jumper falls to the mat, clutching his stomach and barking out laughter. Dinii and Ka pause their rough-housing to point and gasp, before breaking down in giggles.

And Faces, with a hand pushing against his face and his brother yelling in his ear, for just a moment, forgets about the War.

-

There are a bunch of different types of paint brushes, for just as many different purposes. Long brushes, short brushes, wide ones, thin ones. Stiffer, thick bristles, and soft, fine bristles. Not even to mention the paint-specific brushes. Any combinations of those served their purpose, as Faces knows well. In his last life, he had spent hours upon hours, days upon days, months of his life painting, with an assortment of materials, on what was probably hundreds of pieces.

To make it short: Faces knows his stuff when it comes to painting. And he, admittedly, may had been a little spoiled.

Because these GAR issued brushes are complete shit.

Faces growls, using his fingers to pinch the tip of the brush back into a point for the fifth time in as many minutes. The only comparison that he can come up with to describe the atrocity that are the GAR brushes is that they're like those cheap, plastic brushes that come with the cheap, plastic watercolor palettes, but bigger and military grade.

He's sitting criss-cross, hunching over his helmet in his lap, the rest of his armor scattered around him. Thankfully, he had already finished painting those and just had his bucket left to complete. But, little gods, had these last few hours of painting been stressful.

Because the brushes are ass. Straight up.

Faces is having his little stress-fest in one of the few rec rooms on the Negotiator, most of the 212th shinies with him. They're in orbit above Tatooine, their general on the planet below negotiating with Jabba the Hutt. Since ground troops aren't needed for that, the newer additions of the battalion had decided to take the precious down-time to paint their armor.

While Faces doesn't exactly envy General Kenobi, he thinks that dealing with a Hutt would be preferable to using this brush for one more siths-damned minute.

At this point Faces might just start licking the bristles into shape, paint poisoning be fucked. 

Taking a deep breath, Faces straightens his posture and sets the brush down. He got the design he wants on his armor. He can always touch it up. He needs to stop before he gets violent.

“I need to stop before I get violent.” Faces announces. His squad, which are sitting around him, had finished painting their armor a good hour ago, but decided to stay until Faces finished, look up at his voice.

“He lives!” Dinii shouts, throwing his arms into the air.

“Holy shit, Faces,” Jumper says, “I haven't seen you lock in that hard since you first picked up a rifle.”

“Last time you'll see it, too,” Faces glares at the brush on the floor. “If I never have to use GAR issued brushes again, it'll be too soon.”

Hiccup pipes up from where he's lounging on the floor, “Yeah? What'll you use when you gotta touch it up? Your fingers?”

“If I damn-well have to.” Faces sets his, now painted, helmet next to the rest of his armor. “Might even look better.”

“‘Look better’ he says,” Ka stares at him. “Like he didn't just paint a vod's side profile onto his chestplate. Perfectly.”

“Not my best work,” Faces shrugs, flexing his hand. Ow, he was gripping that brush harder than he thought.

He gets blank stares in response.

Dinii breaks the silence. “As opposed to what? The other hundreds of perfect profiles you’ve drawn of the vode?” 

“Those were all with grease pencils.” Faces explains, gently blowing on the drying paint on his helmet. “Give me some of those any day over these brushes. I might even kiss you on the lips if you do.”

“Ew.”

Faces slowly turns to Jumper and flips him off, just as slowly raising the finger.

“So, do we just leave the armor here to dry and go eat?” Ka asks, looking around the room. There are significantly less clones around than there were a few hours ago, and many had left their armor to later collect when all the paint was dry. Their squad, Gamma squad, was the biggest group left, the few vode still in the room were either paired off or alone.

Hiccup stretches his arms up. “I could eat,” he yawns. He gets agreements from Ka and Dinii. Faces is still flipping off Jumper, who has returned the action, and the two are engaging in a staring contest. Hiccup sighs.

“C’mon,” Ka kicks Jumper’s side, causing him to blink and Faces to win. Jumper glares at Ka, who rolls his eyes. “Get up, you guys; its time to eat tasty tasty rations!”

Faces makes a face. “Never say something so blatantly wrong ever again.” He stands with a groan, turning side to side to crack his back with a satisfying ‘pop’. “Okay, I’m good.”

His squad is staring at him. Again.

Faces looks back and cracks his neck. A quick series of ‘pop’s from either side of his neck, and Faces feels much less stiff.

“Ew.”

Faces flips off Jumper, who does it right back, and Hiccup sighs.