[tesb]

Maul: Shadow Lord — 1.04: "Chapter 4: Pride and Vengeance" The Clone Wars — 7.10: "The Phantom Apprentice"

[mndvx]

STAR WARS MAUL — SHADOW LORD Chapter 1: The Dark Revenge (S01E01)

[chaoticookie-autonomous]

hahaaa An Obi-Wan kick in the knee.

What a great way to show off some of his weaknesses. Love it.

[infernalelf-writings]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Tech is tinkering with an audio device and ends up in the clones' private channels, to the horror and delight of everyone present.

860 words

It was a dark and stormy night with rain relentlessly pounding against the windowpanes. After another eventful dinner that had ended with Wrecker upending an entire bench with some clones still sitting on it, Clone Force 99 only wanted some peace for the night.

Hunter was reclining in his bed, his eyes closed, seemingly in a trance. Crosshair was meticulously polishing his rifle, and Wrecker lifted some weights.

“Aha!” A crackle sounded from the middle of the room, where Tech and Echo sat at the table, tinkering with some devices again.

“It is done, Echo. I recalibrated the audio filters so we can better decode the Republic’s messages.” 

Echo seemed sceptical. “Or all we’re gonna hear is the cafeteria’s plan for tomorrow’s menu.”

“Unlikely,” Tech said, examining the device with an expression of utter contentment, “I calibrated the frequency to the exact degree.” 

There was a rather unsubtle crackle, and a clone’s voice sounded through the room, waking Hunter from his trance with a jolt.

“I swear, he must have some special status within the GAR; otherwise, I don’t see why he’s allowed to pull that hairstyle off?”

“Well, it must be some great shampoo he is getting, because the one we’re getting is utter trash,” another clone’s voice said with a jealous note.

The whole room stared at the device in fascination. Wrecker had abandoned his weights, Crosshair was looking like a tooka smelling prey, and Hunter was sitting upright on his bed. 

“Nah, he’s nothing special, that sergeant. It’s, you know, genetics.”

“We’re all from the same template, di’kut!”

“Yeah, well, but he's been altered, so—”

“Turn that off.” Hunter had spoken quietly, but the tone of his voice conveyed a clear message. Without further delay, Tech pushed a button. Again, familiar voices filled the air.

“Had a nice dinner, Patches?”

The other clone snorted instead of an answer.

“Oh, don’t tell me. Did that big guy cause some ruckus again? What was his name again…”

“Wrecker. The one who ate five kilograms of bantha nuggets in one go. Do you know why I remember that?”

There was a short, uncomfortable pause before Patches spoke again. “Because, after weeks and weeks of toiling in pits full of muck, looking for some separatist weapons that weren’t actually there, only eating that stale bread day in, day out, I had one, one ray of hope. One thing that held me back from just flipping the switch. I said to myself, ‘Patches, you old fool, at least there’s gonna be some nuggets in the cafeteria today when you finally get back to Kamino. It’s nugget day!'" 

“Patches…”

“And that blasted giant of a clone ate them all, Bly. Not one single crumb was left once I got into the mess hall. Not one. So, yeah… I know who Wrecker is.”

There was a heavy silence in Clone Force 99’s quarters. Wrecker at least managed to look a tad embarrassed. Tech cleared his throat and turned the button again. Crosshair sniggered.

“There must be some false rumours circulating here about us, quite interesting,” Tech commented matter-of-factly. 

“Or, you know, just the plain truth,” Crosshair retorted drily. 

A crackle and voices sounded once more.

“Tech, I think you just hacked into our comrade’s private channels,” Echo said with a frown, but he was silenced by Tech’s cutting hand gesture.

“... I bet that weirdo sniper also sleeps with the rifle in his arms.”

“‘S that true?” Wrecker asked with raised eyebrows, turning towards Crosshair, who was still perched on the edge of his bed, rifle across his knees.

“I will only stop if you stop snoring.”

“Won’t be happening, ever,” Wrecker said with sincerity.

“Enough, Tech. I think it needs some readjusting,” Hunter said from his bed, having reclined back and looking quietly amused. 

“Hm, you might be correct… one last try, though. It’s a research device, after all; those were only coincidences.”

“They say the lads from Clone Force 99 are entirely crazy. Completely off the rails.”

“Well, that is pure slander,” Tech murmured huffily. 

Without waiting for any more coincidences, Hunter walked over towards the table and turned off the device with a resounding click. “Experiment over.”

“That was unnecessarily authoritarian,” Tech protested.

Wrecker chimed in, looking slightly disappointed. “Hey, Tech, could you please turn it on again? I wanna know what else they say about me!”

“They’ve said enough,” Echo stated, shaking his head.

“You only say that because they haven’t said anything about you yet!”

Another crackle—Tech had been quietly turning the device on again.

“Do it, Tech, and I swear you will scrub The Marauder’s latrines tomorrow!”

“Relax, Hunter. Maybe, if I recalibrate the antenna, I only receive the commander’s channels…”

“I heard that Tech guy is talking to numbers in his sleep—”

With a decisive click, Tech himself turned the device off. 

Echo raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling as he shot a glance at Hunter before turning towards Tech. “Still needs calibration?”

“I am sure of it,” Tech said, only getting up from the table and taking the device with him.

For the rest of the evening, no one mentioned the research device and its findings.

[infernalelf-writings]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Seven years, seven days, seven glimpses into the life of Severus Snape.

From the first day of Harry Potter's arrival at Hogwarts to Severus's dark tenure as Headmaster, each one-shot highlights the constant fine line between loyalty and betrayal that the Potions Master of Hogwarts is treading every day.

Length: 2,063 words

~ Read here or on AO3 ~

It was a day like no other. 

When Severus Snape woke up at last on this foul morning, he already felt it in his aching bones that this day would be particularly vile.

It was stone cold in the dungeons. There was no light nor any warmth. It was damp, dark and depressing, but Severus did not dislike it. At least he was unbothered by pesky people and could be alone, save for one or two unfortunate souls who would occasionally traverse this place by accident outside of lessons. 

Today was a special day. One of those days you just wanted to get over with. It was one of those days you simply wanted to end before they even started. In short, it was the first day of the new school year, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, he couldn’t deny a certain apprehension this time that had nothing to do with his usual dislike of having to be in the same room as students. With an angry shake of his head, he tried to banish any thoughts of tonight and set out to prepare his first lesson for tomorrow. 

At least he still had plenty of things to do until the Welcoming Feast. Plenty of time to regain control of his emotions and come to terms with the new—

With a splattering sound, the jar in his right hand had slipped through and crashed on the floor. Cursing through gritted teeth, Severus swung his wand, and the mess was gone. 

With even more determination, he concentrated on the task at hand and prepared his notes, now and then interrupted by an angry shake of his head when his thoughts slipped for even a second. He toiled away quietly, preparing lesson after lesson with a vigour that was even unusual for him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until a knock on his office door pulled him out of his deep state of concentration.

With a jerky movement, his head snapped up. “Yes?”

The door opened, and Minerva McGonagall appeared outside, one eyebrow lifted skeptically. 

“Severus, I am deeply sorry to bother you, but your presence is requested.”

He lifted one eyebrow back, still perturbed by the unwelcome interruption. “By whom, Minerva?”

“Dumbledore,” came the dry answer, and with that, she had already turned on her heel again, but turned her head around once more. “And I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to fetch you, Severus. You know perfectly well by whom and why.” Not bothering any further, she vanished down the corridor. 

With a low growl, Severus threw the parchment with notes back on the desk with more force than necessary. He watched as the force of the throw made some of the lesser-filled bottles clink, and he could feel his temper rising rapidly. Pressing his hands to his temples, he tried to empty his mind and forced himself to calm down. It was no use. It never was.

When Severus went upstairs, passing the entrance hall, he noticed that indeed more than just a few hours had passed. The candles had lit again, and it was dark outside. The time had come to gather in the Great Hall for the dreaded Feast. He really had managed to pass the whole day. If only the rest would go by as quickly.

With a creak, he opened the doors to the Great Hall.

Four tables had already been set up with various cutlery and decorated with the house banners. He couldn’t suppress a light sneer as he passed the Gryffindor table on his way to the dais, as was his custom.

He was the last to arrive. Even that praying mantis in disguise, Trelawney, had managed to find her way down from her lofty lodgings. Ignoring Minerva’s slightly accusing glance, he took his place between her and Filius Flitwick, who gave him a merry nod, which he answered with a curt one. 

On the other side of Minerva, sitting in the midst of the staff table, Dumbledore merely smiled and dipped his head in greeting. As much as he loathed the man for making him endure all this, he couldn’t be too curt with him. He nodded back and internally braced himself with a steely expression. 

Without further delay, Dumbledore looked up and down the table, giving off the impression of screening every single one of them. “Thank you all for coming here tonight,” he said with a polite dip of his head towards Trelawney, “on this special evening. As you all know, in a mere hour, a new bundle of students will arrive through this door, carrying none other than Harry Potter among them.”

At the mention of the name, whispers broke out among several staff members up and down the table, and Trelawney even clutched one of her shawls in astonishment, her eyes bulging.

Severus was hard pressed to snort derisively, but he pulled himself together at the last moment, resulting in a jerking movement of his head that made Minerva’s sharp gaze land on him disapprovingly.

Waiting politely for the murmurs to stop, Dumbledore addressed them again, this time sounding more urgent. “I do not need to tell you that this means that the school’s security is in even more danger now than it already is.” 

“But why, Albus? Surely, the boy is in no danger—” Pomona Sprout started, but Flitwick interrupted her. “The stone, Pomona, the stone!” 

Dumbledore nodded, “Alas, Filius is right. The stone is reason enough to fear that someone from outside will try to gain it. And I fear that this very same entity might be after the boy, too.” 

At those words, a young man several seats down the table shifted slightly in his chair. 

It was only a fraction of a second, but Severus had noticed. Odd that he had never really paid this new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher any attention, but who could fault him? They changed yearly. None of them really stuck in his mind, but there was something odd about this man. He made a mental note to mention it to the Headmaster later this evening.

“So you think that—that You-Know-Who is still after him?”

“Yes, Pomona. This is exactly what I think. But then again, there is no place safer than Hogwarts, be it for the Philosopher’s Stone or the Boy Who Lived.”

Again, the whispers around the table started swelling up, but this time, Dumbledore halted them with a raised hand.

“It is of the utmost importance to know that the day the boy enters this school is the day when we all need to be aware that danger is afoot.”

It was eerily quiet now along the staff table. 

Severus straightened slightly in his chair.

“Ten years ago, the darkest wizard of all time fell, struck down by the curse he had directed at a one-year-old child. I have reasons to believe he has not died, that he has simply vanished for the time being. But now, I fear, might be the time to gear up our defences once more and be aware that it is not over, and in fact, never has been. I’m addressing all of you,” he said, looking up and down the table again with his piercing eyes, but halting on Severus, “to be vigilant.​​ To be aware of what is at stake. Any occurrences that raise your suspicions are to be reported to me directly.” 

With that, he ended his speech, and silence fell again over the hall. 

At Dumbledore’s last words, his slight discomfort over the day had tripled, mixed in with a sense of dread. The days when he simply had to navigate a teacher’s duties were over. He knew that this life of relative comfort wouldn’t last forever. That there would come a day when he had to take on the mantle of his past life again and fulfil his promise to Dumbledore. To her. He had known this for years, but now that the day had arrived, it was hard to accept, to be in that mood of constant apprehension again. 

He would miss the last ten years; he couldn’t deny it. But then, the reason for actually being here had now arrived, and he could barely stand it. The time to act on his promise had come.

He caught Dumbledore’s glance and looked back grimly, a silent understanding passing between them.

Dispelling the silence that had not lifted, the Headmaster stood up from his chair, addressing his deputy. “Minerva, I think it is soon time to welcome our new students.”

Minerva nodded sternly and swiftly went down the dais towards the entrance to make some last preparations. 

“Now, please,” Dumbledore said into the still ongoing silence with spread arms and an encouraging smile, “let us, for this evening, forget about dark premonitions and enjoy the feast and our new and old faces soon to be arriving.” With a flourish of his beard, he sat back down and began a conversation with Pomona Sprout. Following his example, the rest of the staff dispelled their apprehension as well as they could and started chattering about.

Severus stayed as he was, deep in thought. Noticing his mental absence, good-natured Filius simply started talking over him to Aurora Sinistra two seats down. He really appreciated the Charms Master for his sense. The last thing he wanted now was to speak. He felt that his whole life was at a turning point again and had no need to participate in foolish merrymaking, not when the blood rushing in his veins had slowed down to a crawl and icy fingers of dread were reaching into his insides. 

It wasn’t long until the double-sided doors opened and the usual stream of chattering students rushed in, taking their places at their respective tables. 

Severus barely paid them any attention. 

All that changed when the doors opened up once more, and Minerva, carrying the Sorting Hat, came through the door, behind her a small gaggle of tiny, intimidated-looking first-years.

As they drew nearer, Snape scanned the throng, and once his gaze drifted over the Malfoy boy, another who was unmistakably a Weasley, and landed on a boy with jet black hair, his heart almost stopped.

It was, without a doubt, James Potter’s son. From the unruly hair sticking up stubbornly on the top of his head, to the thin face and nose, this must be none other than Harry Potter.

Instant derision and contempt welled up in Severus as he saw the boy. Cold anger made the blood in his veins rush again, this time with force that made him press his jaws together, not bothering to follow the sorting ceremony. 

This was the boy he had sworn to protect. This was the legacy of Lily Potter, the last trace of her in this world. It was almost cruel irony, it must be. That he had sworn to protect the likeness and reincarnation of James Potter himself, the person he had least cared about in the world. A bitter sneer gurgled up in his throat, but he shoved it back down. 

A variety of emotions warred inside him as he watched the boy getting sorted into Gryffindor, and his dislike intensified tenfold. 

When the boy had settled between Percy Weasley and his youngest brother, Severus could not control his intense dislike any longer. He let it spread out on his face, the full range of his contempt clear as day, and that was the moment the boy looked over.

Severus could not have prepared in a million years. Those were Lily’s eyes glancing towards him. A heavy solemnity mingled with the intense dislike at the sight of the green eyes, and the boy looked away quickly as if something had stung him, clutching his forehead. 

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who looked like a carbon copy of his damned father, who had made Severus’s life a living hell for all his time here. Harry Potter, who had no idea that he, Severus Snape, had sworn to protect him from the Dark Lord, who would undoubtedly try to kill him again. 

Harry Potter, who was the last remnant of Lily Evans and the last chance to make amends for his grievous mistake. 

It would be the most challenging task Severus had ever taken upon himself. 

For Lily.

[summer-of-clones]

Thank you so much for participating @infernalelf-writings!! This event would not have been the same without you ☺️

[infernalelf-writings]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Finrod has been gone for too long, and with the arrival of an escapee from Tol Eressëa, the people of Nargothrond's greatest fear has come true. With their immediate future suddenly dire, the two Sons of Fëanor have no choice but to leave—but what about Celebrimbor?

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week 10 Alternate Prompt: "Make me."

Read here or on AO3 ->

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The Marauder is a mess, and it's only one person's fault. Sadly, said person doesn't really see the problem, and so it falls to one brother specifically to provide a thorough solution.

The Marauder was an absolute mess. Various metal parts, tools, wires and undefinable knick-knacks were strewn about recklessly. There was no way to traverse the place without stumbling over something. In short, it was obvious who the culprit was and why it looked that way.

Tech was currently sitting amidst a pile of metal parts, junk, and coppery wires, meticulously matching their length against each other with an expression of concentration on his calm face.

The fact that one of his brothers just stumbled through the door, tumbled against a massive piece of metal that blocked the way immediately after the entrance, and landed on his backside with a thud didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Careful there, I was just sorting through all this,” he snapped absently without looking up.

“Oh yeah, my fault entirely,” Echo only muttered as he scrambled to his feet again. 

“Exactly.”

With a shake of his head, Echo made his way through the pile and went into the bunk room, closing the door behind him.

For a while, Tech was able to work in peace. The only sounds were the soft clank when he threw away pieces of metal or placed a part carefully into another tray.

It was almost meditative, the silence, a rare occurrence with his brothers.

With a swooshing sound, The Marauder’s entrance opened, and the illusion of silence was gone instantly.

“Uh… what are you up to, Tech?” Wrecker stood there, with a sceptical expression on his scarred face. 

“Cleaning up.”

“Good to know,” Wrecker nodded, observing the chaos, “you need any help?”

“Does it look like I do?” Tech asked incredulously, still not looking up.

“Well…” Wrecker faltered, “Frankly, yeah, a little.”

With a sigh, Tech did look up at last. “I have this perfectly under control, Wrecker.”

“It’s just… It’s been looking like this for the last three days, and the boys and I, well…” Wrecker scratched his head, “we’re a little sick of stumbling over metal parts and hurting our toes…”

“I told you that this was a necessary task, and since no one else was willing to do it, I took it on,” Tech said matter-of-factly. 

Wrecker looked lost. “Well, yeah… but Tech, how often do you want to sort through all this? Into how many categories do you want to sort it until you’re satisfied?”

Tech huffed out some air. He seemed impatient, now. “What do you suggest, then? Throw it all away?”

Before Wrecker could answer, the door swooshed again, and Crosshair entered. “Have you managed to make him see reason?”

He stopped himself and looked at the scene. “I guess not.”

“Crosshair, be careful where you go!” Tech snapped as the sniper came dangerously near the tray where he had painstakingly sorted some screws.

Without preamble, Crosshair stalked over towards the mess and the various open crates.

“What are you—” Tech’s protest was cut short abruptly, as he was struck with the realisation of what his brother was doing.

One by one, the mess disappeared as Crosshair loaded arms full of wires and metal parts into the storage crates around him with such speed and precision that there was no time to react.

Wrecker looked from one brother to another with anxious eyes, but refrained from interfering. 

Tech sat where he was, wires in his hand, his face blank.

Once Crosshair had thrown the last armful of sorted wires into another crate, he looked at Wrecker.

“There. That’s how you were supposed to do it.” He pulled out a toothpick from his pouch, threw one undecipherable glance at Tech and exited the ship. 

“Uh-oh,” Wrecker muttered under his breath as he observed Tech. His brother was slowly getting up from his sitting position, straightening his back, repositioning his goggles and wordlessly stalking past Wrecker, following Crosshair outside.

Hunter poked his head out of the bunk room. “Is it over?” His question was answered the moment he finished speaking. 

Loud voices that seemed to be arguing, punctuated with yells and screams of ear-splitting noise, pierced the so quiet afternoon air. 

Wrecker shook his head as if he had just come back from his thoughts. “Nope,” he just muttered, as he emphatically glanced at Hunter. “Guess I’ll…” he trailed off, indicating The Marauder’s exit with his thumb before turning to leave. 

“Yeah, you do that,” Hunter said quietly, closing the door to the bunk room again. Wrecker had it under control, he assured himself, not really worried at all. 

He was ready for a long-overdue nap.

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week 9 Alternate Prompt: Bedtime Story

Read here or on AO3! -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/68558781

But Does It Explode?

For two days, Clone Force 99 has been travelling through the galaxy with nothing to do. Wrecker is taking it the hardest. To alleviate the boredom, Tech decides to entertain Wrecker with a story.

“I’m bored.”

“Thanks, Wrecker, for stating the obvious for the 24th time today,” Tech commented drily as he was scrolling through his datapad.

“Well, then do something about it!” Wrecker was more than just bored. He was almost going crazy. For the last two days, they had been travelling through the galaxy, their destination Kamino. The previous mission had been mind-numbingly boring, too. Just a simple recon mission, and for that, they had travelled to the other end of the galaxy. It was no wonder that Wrecker was almost imploding, then.

Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair were relaxing in their ways: Echo was tinkering with his scomp, Hunter was sleeping, and Crosshair reassembled his rifle for the tenth time. Tech? Well, Tech was incapable of being bored—there was always something to immerse himself in, always some new interesting facts to learn about whatever came into his mind. 

Wrecker seemed to be the only one sitting on hot coals. 

Tech had had enough. “You could always read something.”

Wrecker was desperate enough to consider. “Does it involve something exploding?”

Tech rolled his eyes. “That entirely depends on what you’re reading—”

“Fine, but you read it to me, then.”

Tech adjusted the goggles on his nose and looked slightly taken aback. “Me?”

Wrecker looked at him expectantly.

Tech sighed. “Fine.”

He kept scrolling for a bit, searching for a story that would capture Wrecker’s interest for long enough. Finally, he settled on something and cleared his throat.

“Don’t interrupt me, just listen. If you have questions, save them for the end. Any interjection of an exclamative nature will be thoroughly ignored.”

Wrecker only nodded, leaning back in his chair opposite Tech. “Let’s begin! And don’t forget the explosion.”

“Trickster the Tooka: A fairy tale.” He sent a warning glare towards Wrecker, who was opening his mouth, but closed it again. 

“Trickster was a smart tooka. He could walk, he could talk, and he could devise schemes like no other. His friend, a poor human who had no wealth, wanted nothing more but seeing—” 

“Explosions,” Wrecker murmured, but Tech heard it nonetheless. “Wrecker, I thought I had myself clear.”

“Sorry.”

With his usual matter-of-fact tone, Tech continued, slightly irritated. “... but seeing credits in his empty wallet. Trickster, who had some pity for his loyal friend, decided to do something about it, in his way. So it came that in town he heard whispers of a shapeshifter having settled in a nearby cave. He was supposedly guarding a treasure, but many had gone there and never come back. Trickster needed only one second to decide that this was his chance to help his friend. 

“The cave wasn’t hard to find. Trickster was an excellent tracker, and he soon saw the looming entrance. It was dark, but that wasn’t a problem for him either—”

Tech interrupted himself, “What did you say?”

Wrecker shifted in his seat, “I said ‘what a show-off’.” 

“I didn’t write the story, Wrecker. Do you want me to continue or not?”

“Yeah.”

“By the way, that was your last warning. No more interruptions.” Tech returned his attention to the datapad. “When Trickster entered, he immediately smelled what could only be a rancor. And he was right: it was a large one, sitting there by a fire. 

‘What do you want?’ 

‘I heard you can turn into anything, and I wanted to see for myself,’ Trickster said without fear.

The rancor got angry. ‘Of course I can!’ 

‘Great. Can you turn into a nexu?’

The next second, a roaring nexu, tall and imposing, stood in front of Trickster. 

‘Huh. Not as impressive as I thought, but decent.’

Trickster could have sworn the nexu deflated a fraction. ‘You’re not scared?’

Trickster calmly examined the claws on his left paw. ‘You know what scares me? It’s the smaller stuff. Like… a porg. Bet you can’t turn into that, a big guy such as you.’

The nexu roared again. ‘I’ll show you scary!’ 

With a poof, a small and unassuming porg stood in front of the tooka. Without hesitating, Trickster pounced and gulped down the small creature in one bite, ignoring its squeak. The treasure was at the other end of the cave, and when Trickster brought home the sack full of credits, his friend was overjoyed. Other than a stomach full of porg, Trickster gained a reputation as a hero, and his friend was rich. The End.”

Wrecker grunted. “Something’s missing in this story…”

Tech sighed and, without looking at the datapad, spoke again. “Ah, correct. Trickster forgot one tiny thing: that the porg in his stomach was a shapeshifter. With its death, it returned to the shape it had been assuming most of the time, which was a—”

“Rancor! Ha!” Wrecker laughed in giddy anticipation.

“Right as Trickster and his human friend were celebrating at the local bar, it happened: in the middle of his tragic retelling, the porg in his stomach shifted back into a rancor and Trickster exploded all over the counter. The End .”

Wrecker giggled. “Well done, Tech.”

“No problem. You could always try and read for yourself, you know.”

Wrecker waved that away as he stood up. “Nah, you’re doing a good enough job.”

Tech nodded, happy to have alleviated Wrecker’s boredom for even a little. “What are you doing now?”

Wrecker winked. “Pestering Crosshair, what else?”

Tech let some breath out of his nose. “Please try not to destroy anything this time.” But he couldn’t hide the slight smirk that had been creeping up on his face. 

Wrecker chuckled. “Ah, you know me. My second name is silent!”

With that, he closed the door to the pilot’s compartment and Tech started researching about tookas and their stomachs’ capacities.

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week 8 Alternate Prompt: "Do you ever miss it?"

Short and sad, set shortly after the events of Season 3.

Read here or on AO3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/68556181

Always Here

On Pabu, Crosshair and Wrecker remember what was lost.

The waters of Pabu were calm, and a light breeze rustled the palm trees near the shore. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it looked like paradise come true. It was almost mocking the lone man who was sitting on a rocky overhang overlooking the vast beach. The state of his mind more resembled a dystopian wasteland after an apocalypse. 

“Figured I’d find you here,” a gruff voice sounded behind him. He had long heard the steps but lacked the energy to flee this time.

“What do you want, Wrecker?” Crosshair snapped, but without any of his former zest. It sounded more habitual than anything.

His brother did not answer, but instead sat down beside him on the earthy ground. 

For a long time, neither brother said anything. They were sitting side by side, in complete silence, Wrecker’s oddly sombre, Crosshair’s desolate.

Nothing was as it had once been. It was almost like two strangers were sitting side by side.

“Hunter’s asking if you want to join Phee and the others tonight for dinner.” When Crosshair looked up at Wrecker, the other avoided his eyes.

“I know you don’t want to—”

“Tell him no.”

Wrecker sighed. “That’s what I told him.”

“Then why ask?” 

It was quiet again as Wrecker relented and forewent an answer.

“Do you ever miss it?” He suddenly asked, looking his younger brother openly in the face. “Our old life?”

“No.” Crosshair turned his eyes away quickly, examining the stump of his once dominant hand.

Then, so quiet that it was almost impossible to hear for Wrecker’s damaged ears, he added, “... I miss him .”

Wrecker took a deep breath. “Yeah. Lots of different birds and all kinds of rodents here to name. He would’ve loved that.”

That elicited a grunt from Crosshair. “Probably would have named it something overly convoluted.” He shifted his position and crossed his legs.

Wrecker barked a laugh. “True!”

“Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?” Crosshair looked out at the sea, his chin resting on his knee.

Wrecker’s face fell a little. “Yeah. I guess it did.”

Without a warning, Crosshair jumped to his feet. “Let’s see what grumpy Hunter is doing.” And with that, he was already marching towards the village, leaving Wrecker scrambling to his feet.

“Wait!” Under his breath, he added, “Hunter’s the grumpy one?” Wrecker shook his head, as if it could also release a portion of the sadness that had overcome him all of a sudden. Nothing would ever be the same; that was a given. Tech’s loss weighed heavily on all of them, no matter how much they tried to cheer each other up. 

Before he left the slope, Wrecker turned around once more, letting his gaze drift over the place. “When I see you again, Tech, I’ll bring you a list of all the weird stuff I’ve been seeing here, I promise.”

“Wrecker!”

“Yeah, coming!” He quickly turned and sprinted towards his impatient brother.

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week 7: "And what have we learned from this?"

Tech's newest invention proves more capable than anticipated when used in action for the first time. Mission accomplished?

Read here or on AO3 ->

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“I assure you, this will work perfectly well.”

Hunter seemed sceptical. “I don’t know, Tech. Yesterday, you said it’s still in progress.”

“That was 12 hours ago. I have almost completed testing; the probability that the one element not tested will interfere with results is close to 10 per cent.”

“Oh well, that is comforting,” Crosshait remarked as he put together his rifle. 

Tech didn’t deem his brother worthy of a reaction but instead inspected the handy device, which looked like a music speaker, with fondness. “Our enemies will be incapacitated before they know we’re even there.”

“Looks like something to listen to music with,” Wrecker remarked as he eyed it curiously. 

Tech smiled. “That’s exactly what it used to be before I rebuilt it.”

Echo’s brows furrowed. “I sure hope you didn’t use mine. I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”

Somehow, he knew the answer, though.

“Tech…”

Before the situation could escalate, Hunter cleared his throat. “All right, boys, let’s get out there and inspect the terrain. And be careful, there are enemies abound.”

With that, Clone Force 99 exited the Marauder and made their way into the lush jungle, weapons at the ready.

“Stop fiddling with that device, Tech,” Crosshair hissed, clearly annoyed.  

They trudged through the terrain slowly, without interference, when Hunter signalled them to stop. “I think I hear something,” he whispered, pointing to their right. “Crosshair, get up on that tree and tell us what you see.”

Crosshair obliged. He put his rifle on his back and, as fast as a lizard, he crawled up one of the nearby trees. It wasn’t a minute later when he descended, brushing off some stray leaves.

“Droids. A whole battalion, one klick away from us.”

“Alright, weapons at the ready, we’re closing in,” Hunter commanded.

The group foraged as quietly as possible through the underbrush and stopped as the first droids came into sight. 

Hunter signalled them to halt, and they spread out among the perimeter, still undetected.

The droids were busy bustling around the clearing, their droid commanders yelling orders in their annoyingly high-pitched voices.

“Hey, you! That’s the wrong metal part!”

“Roger, roger!”

With a clang, the droid had simply dropped the large pipe onto his commander’s foot. A mechanical yell sounded through the forest, and the commander broke out into very un-droid-like cussing. 

It was almost hilarious, but the Batch wasn’t here to be friendly. They had to drive them out before they could build their base there.

Hunter whispered into his comm. “Alright, on the count of three, we will—”

“Hey! I got them!”

With a curse, Hunter whirled around at the droid that had been nearing him from behind undetected. “We’ve been discovered, attack!”

Crosshair cursed, too, as a pair of droids immediately opened fire at him, and he barely had the time to react. The others didn’t fare any better.

The batch was surrounded by an even larger perimeter of droids, closing in from all sides. They had walked right into a trap without realising.

“Crosshair, I thought you were on the lookout! They’ve been surrounding us the whole time!”

“Oh, now it’s my fault? Why haven’t you sensed anything?”

“Oh, this is fun!” Wrecker yelled as he barged into a gaggle of droids that was advancing on him. 

“We need a plan!” Echo cried as he plunged his scomp into a droid’s face. 

The droids were everywhere; there was no escape, and they were too many to fight.

Tech, who had been remarkably quiet since the assault started, was now done with fidgeting with the device in his hands. 

“Out of the way!” He yelled before he activated the speaker’s switch and held it over his head.

What followed now was a sound so otherworldly, so disgustingly odd, so headache-inducing, that everyone, droids and clones alike, dropped like flies to the ground with their heads in their hands. 

High-pitched and digging itself into their ear canals with the force of a drill, it felt like their brains were being tickled with a hot, vibrating poker. 

Hunter grit his teeth so hard that he felt something crack as his knees gave away under him; Wrecker fell to his knees, pressing his hands on his ears; Crosshair cried out and pushed his hands on his scrunched shut eyes; Echo leaned against a tree, his face buried against the trunk. Tech had staggered aside with a grimace, but stubbornly held onto the device; with force, he managed to turn the switch, and the device turned off.

It was silent in the clearing. Clone Force 99 slowly regained their faculties and observed the carnage.

Because nothing else was fitting to describe what they saw.

Where there were droids before, there were now metal parts of undefinable size and length strewn around the place. It was eerily quiet, only disturbed by the crackling and sizzling of burned metal and wires.

Echo immediately rushed staggeringly towards Hunter and helped him up into a sitting position. 

Wrecker carefully took Crosshair’s hands away from his eyes and patted him on the back. 

Tech let his hands rest on the device and cleared his throat. 

“What in the everloving…” Wrecker murmured as his eyes drove over the sight.

“Tech,” Hunter groaned as he got to his wobbly feet with the help of still slightly disoriented Echo, “can you do me one favour, please?”

Before Tech could answer, Crosshair, who had regained his voice, cut through the air. “Were you trying to kill us all?”

“At least it worked…” Wrecker tried to placate, but Echo cut in, “Test it next time, Tech.”

“Well,” the accused said with a tinge of guilt in his voice, "I should have looked at the label of the catalyst more closely, I accidentally put in the stronger of the two I had available—a tiny, avoidable mistake.”

“Tiny? Tiny ?” Hunter said incredulously, interrupted by a shaky cough. 

“The droids are destroyed. Mission accomplished, I’d say,” Echo remarked drily.

He was right. There was nothing else to do but go back to the Marauder and leave this place.

As they trudged back through the tranquil scenery, no one was saying much.

“Tech?” Hunter asked, his voice a tad stronger now.

“Yes?”

“What have we learned from this?”

“Next time I should probably read the labels more closely and—”

Hunter’s voice dipped into a growl, “Tech…”

Tech sighed. “I will make sure to prepare and complete more tests and wait until I use it in action.”

“Exactly.” Hunter rubbed his forehead as he threw a glance at his genius brother. “Still, you probably saved us back there.”

Wrecker winked at Tech and threw his arm around the other’s shoulder. “Mission accomplished in record time, all thanks to you!” He laughed, and a bit of the group's tension relaxed. 

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week 6 Alternate Prompt: "May the force be with you, or whatever."

Read here or on AO3 ->

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

An undercover mission is precisely the change in routine that Clone Force 99 needs. How hard can it be pretending to be Jedi while negotiating with criminals?

“Guys, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. We've just received a hint that important intel might be located in this fortress, and you’re the only ones nearby. This might be the only chance we’ve got.” The pleading tone in Commander Cody’s voice was impossible to overhear, and more importantly, impossible to refuse.

Hunter sighed. “With all due respect, Commander. This is madness. We are not Jedi—”

“I know, Hunter. You’ll have to improvise. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s Clone Force 99. I have to go, report back once you’re done.” And with that, the connection turned off, and Hunter turned around to face his team.

“You can’t be serious,” Crosshair said, crossing his arms as if to prepare himself for the oncoming disaster.

“A former separatist outpost that is now full of criminals who only negotiate with Jedi? We’ve had worse,” Echo tried to make light of the situation, but he too looked deeply unsettled. 

“How hard can it be?” Tech mused, already calculating their odds.

“We’re doomed,” Wrecker commented as he made his way towards their storage locker, where they kept some spare clothes they'd amassed during various missions and armour parts.

………………………

Sometime later…

“Alright. Anyone who laughs will be shot dead without warning.”

Nobody dared to question Crosshair’s mumbled threat. Nobody was in a position to do so since they all silently agreed. It was terrible. 

“This is utterly ridiculous.”

Nobody contested Tech’s assessment, either. 

“Does anyone know how to behave like a Jedi?” Echo was asking incredulously.

“No, not inherently, obviously,” Tech said as he ignored Hunter rolling his eyes, “we have to work with what he has gleaned from observation alone.”

“Great,” Crosshair snarled as he put up his hood of the way too large robe, “so we’re dead the moment we enter.”

“Not if we keep our heads on our shoulders,” Hunter added, “Lads, this is serious. We get past the guards, say mostly nothing at all, and before we know it, we’re out again.”

The silence that engulfed the room was saying more than a thousand words. 

Hunter sighed. “Just… let me and Echo do the talking.”

“Well, that I can get behind!” Wrecker exclaimed, his robe almost bursting at the seams as he lifted his arms enthusiastically. 

“Echo looks like a Sith lord, not like a Jedi,” Tech remarked as he critically eyed the black robes of his brother. It was true: combined with his eerily pale skin and glowing eyes, it created an aura of danger and uneasiness around him. So, quite the opposite of a Jedi.

“He looks evil enough, sure,” Crosshair sniggered, but went quiet the moment Echo shot a truly devastating look at him. 

“Let’s go, we have wasted enough time,” their sergeant ordered, and without arguing further, they followed suit.

……….……………

“Do you see that?”

“Yes… are that…?” The guard answered his colleague as they both had trouble believing their eyes.

A group of five men, each dressed in dark robes, some hooded, approached the double-sided gate, and the guards immediately sensed that something was seriously amiss.

Maybe it was the fact that the robes were as ill-fitting as they could be. Perhaps it was the fact that each of them tried their hardest to look serene, but instead, they looked like they were late for a funeral. The problem was that there was no funeral, at least not one that the guards knew of, and they decided to fulfil their duties as proper guards. 

“Halt! State your business!”

The troupe halted and stood eerily still. It took a while before one of the taller persons pushed a smaller one to the front, who then began to speak. Immediately, the guard was alert: he had heard rumours that Sith were running around the galaxy, and that one fit the description to a T. 

Pale skin, glowing, piercing eyes and black robes. But he couldn’t see a lightsaber, so he calmed down a bit.

“We are Jedi and demand you let us in to negotiate with your authorities.” 

The guard’s companion cleared his throat. “Do you have an appointment?”

“An appointment?” The pale man asked incredulously. “Since when does a Jedi need an appointment?”

“What order are you in?”

“Third,” came the quick answer from one of the smaller men. He wore brown robes fastened with a belt, and his face was stern. 

“Technically, there is no Third order,” whispered another next to him, pushing up his goggles as he spoke.

“It’s a secret, and we will certainly not tell a couple of common guards something as private as this,” snapped a tall and thin man, his face harsh and blazing with anger. The guard gulped. 

His companion was not fazed as easily, though. “Well, if you’re Jedi as you say, then you can surely open the door without touching it, right?”

……………………

The Batch

“Well, now we’re doomed,” Crosshair mouthed as he scowled at the two guards. 

“Improvise,” Hunter said, and without a warning, Wrecker followed suit.

“You will open!” He yelled, marching with resolute steps towards the gates, his left hand outstretched dramatically. 

Crosshair only blinked, but had an idea. Slowly, without the guards noticing, he gripped the handle of his blaster. All eyes were on Wrecker, who kept yelling ominously with the guards staring at him perplexedly. 

“You will open up NOW!”

At the NOW, Crosshair quickly pulled out the blaster, aimed and shot at the door handle and the right hinge that was visible at the small gap between the guards. With a bang, the handle flew off, and the right side of the door went ajar. 

“Impressive,” Tech murmured, with Echo and Hunter nodding along. 

Stopping right in front of the guards, Wrecker let his hand sink with a broad grin. “Do you believe us now?”

The guards didn’t answer, only watching as the right side of the double-sided door fell into the dirt at their feet with a loud thud.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hunter said, and without deeming the guards with a further look, they entered the fortress. 

“May the Force be with you, or whatever,” Crosshair couldn’t help but say as he strolled past the speechless guards.

Once inside, the rest was child’s play: the criminal group consisted of lowlifes who had never seen a Jedi before and were about as smart as the guards outside. It took the Batch approximately five minutes and another willful demonstration of the Force to convince them to not only cease their raids on the villages nearby but to join the Republic with all their considerable resources. 

……………………

“Well done, lads,” Hunter congratulated his men as they were back in their ship. 

“Swift thinking you demonstrated there, Wrecker,” Echo added, patting the massive clone on the shoulder. 

“Ah, it was nothing,” Wreckr winked and nudged Crosshair. “Thank him, too—his shots were amazing.”

“Those criminals were embarrassing, it was almost too easy”, the sniper sneered, eating a ration bar. 

Tech cleaned his goggles, smiling to himself. “Luck, as improbable as it is, was on our side for once.”

Nobody contested that, and for a short while, Clone Force 99 enjoyed the results of a job more than well done.

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch Week 5: "In retrospect, that was a bad idea."

Read here or on AO3 ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67147372

The Fine Intricacies of Diplomacy

Letting Crosshair do the talking on a diplomatic mission is like throwing oil into a raging fire. Who could have known?

This evening, the Marauder was a bustling place. The members of Clone Force 99 were in the middle of a screaming match, with Hunter taking the lead in terms of shouting ability. 

“Why would you say such a thing?!” The sergeant bellowed at Crosshair.

“You let me do the talking, you get what you asked for!”

“Well, maybe next time try not to insult everyone and their mother!” Hunter paced around, his hands balled into fists. “We were this close,” he pinched together a gloved thumb and index finger, “to inciting a diplomatic incident!”

Crosshair just scoffed and pulled out a toothpick from his belt pouch. 

“Didn’t you tell me not to let him off the hook that easily beforehand?”

“We didn’t want you to reduce him to a slobbering mess just because you can’t contain yourself! We needed that information!” Echo was equally as enraged as Hunter, pointing his scomp angrily at the sniper.

Crosshair only raised one eyebrow and bit down on his toothpick.

“If I may,” Tech interjected while he was cleaning his goggles, “letting Crosshair do the talking was a bad idea, Hunter.”

“So it was my fault?”

“As you made the final decision, technically, yes.”

Wrecker rounded on his sergeant. “Yeah, Hunter, why’d you think that was a great idea?”

“Me?” Hunter put up his hands in self-defence. “Crosshair was so adamant on talking, why would I suspect anything?”

One hour earlier

The Trandoshan diplomat’s office looked as pompous as the outside of the palace. Tacky golden ornaments, statues galore, and everything sparkled. It was truly an eyesore. 

Nevertheless, they had a mission to fulfil. Obtain the intel from the diplomat without raising suspicion. Simple and straightforward, at least on paper. 

Reality looked a tad bit more like a full-blown disaster. 

Crosshair lasted for five minutes before he lost his patience and went in for the kill. 

In the middle of the diplomat’s droning monologue, he cut to the chase. 

“Look. We all know you’re hiding something, so you better come clean now before it’s too late.”

It was eerily quiet for a few moments before the Trandoshan regained his composure. “Beg your pardon?” 

“You heard me.”

“Crosshair, no,” Hunter whispered desperately, “what are you doing?”

“Diplomacy.”

“You are aware you are breaking protocol?” The Trandoshan asked coolly, his eyes slowly narrowing. 

“So are you by not keeping your composure,” Crosshair remarked, a slight smirk spreading on his face, “you’re sweating, your eyes are twitching, and you keep looking at the exit once too often.”

“By the force, keep quiet”, Echo hissed, but Crosshair was in his element. 

“Might as well let him,” Wrecker only said, his face torn between worry and amusement. 

Tech nodded discreetly. “It’s too late for a change of plans, anyway.”

The Trandoshan’s eye twitched noticeably now. “What game are you playing?!”

Crosshair shook his head. “No game.” His voice became quiet, “Where did you hide the information? I’m going to ask you exactly once.” He made a step forward, and that was all it took.

The diplomat cowered and backed into the corner of his room. Before he could open his mouth, Crosshair intervened.

“Call for your guards and you’re dead. I mean it.”

“What do you want? I can’t give you the information, they’re going to kill me!”

“Of course they will. But if you won’t tell me what you know right now, I’m going to kill you in the next few seconds. Time’s running.”

With a desperate cry, the diplomat broke down to his knees, cradling his head in his hands. 

“Crosshair…” Hunter intervened, “he isn’t going to tell us anything if you keep scaring him!”

But Crosshair was in his element.

“I almost have him,” he hissed at his sergeant. 

This tiny distraction was all the diplomat needed.

“What are you doing?” With a bang, Crosshair shot the comm device out of the diplomat's hand, and all hell broke loose. 

The doors tore open, and palace guards barged through. 

“Time to leave!” Hunter ordered.

In the few precious moments it took the guards to assess the situation, the clones had stunned them all without much preamble. 

“More will be coming; we need to go!”

Without further trouble, they exited the palace and boarded their ship, swiftly launching into hyperspace before anyone could follow them. 

The present

“You couldn't have waited until he’d finished his introduction?” Echo sighed.

“No. He was nervous; all it took was a little encouragement. It wasn’t my fault—Hunter distracted me!”

“Distracted you? I was trying to keep you from giving him a heart attack!”

“Heart attack? Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t die from being asked questions!” Crosshair became enraged, clearly not seeing the problem.

“I need something to drink,” Hunter murmured, leaving Crosshair standing where he was.

“Typical Hunter, always leaving when it’s getting difficult,” Crosshair sneered.

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. Echo buried his head in his hands, and Tech cleared his throat. Wrecker froze in the middle of opening a snack bar. 

“What did you just say?” 

Crosshair took a step towards his sergeant, “You decided to let me do the talking, you bear the consequences.”

Hunter balled his fists. 

“Look, Crosshair is right,” Echo intervened, holding up his hands in defence as he saw Hunter’s glare. “Which doesn’t mean he isn’t to blame,” he added placatingly.

“Yeah, Crosshair, next time listen to Hunter when he tells you to stop,” Wrecker added, winking. 

Neither Crosshair nor Hunter moved for a few moments. The air seemed a lot lighter now, though. 

“I still need a drink,” Hunter muttered and disappeared into their board kitchen.

“I need to shoot something,” Crosshair uttered between clenched teeth and pushed Wrecker roughly aside while passing him. 

With a sigh, Wrecker turned to Tech and Echo, wordlessly shaking his head. 

It would take a few days before things returned to normal again. Same dance, same moves. Same procedure as always.

They’d never learn, would they?

[infernalelf-writings]

@summer-of-bad-batch Week 4 Alternate Prompt: "Can you hear me?"

Read here or on AO3 ->

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Clone Force 99 has been deployed on a reconnaissance mission. Static interference and an unexpected encounter cause some unforeseen troubles for the group as they try to focus on their mission objective.

“Alright, guys. We split up and scout the area. Keep your comms ready. We meet again in—” Hunter consulted his chrono, “ —fifteen minutes.”

Without further ado, Clone Force 99 dispersed, all alone, save for Tech, who remained on the Maurauder to monitor them. 

The terrain was quite beautiful: a large beach with waves splashing gently against the shore, surrounded by palm trees and lush greenery. It was quiet and serene, the perfect getaway. 

Nothing could disturb the calm and deeply relaxing atmosphere. 

The static crackle that tore through the air like a cannonball almost ruptured Crosshair’s eardrums to shreds. 

“Wrecker! Are you mad?!”  

More crackling and the barely audible voice of Wrecker: “Can you hear me, Cross? You should see this! It’s got huge eyes!”

“Most likely a Kowakian Monkey Lizard,” Tech chimed in helpfully.

“I don’t care what it is, you almost ruptured my eardrum!” Crosshair groused.

“You better tell me what you see, guys, we’re here for a recon mission, remember?” Hunter scolded them. 

“Well, I just told you, it’s a lizard!”

“A Kowakian—”

“Not the point,” Echo interfered, his voice impatient. “Alright, Hunter, everything’s clear here, nothing but scenery and shrubs.”

An audible breath could be heard. “Thank you, Echo.”

It was quiet for several minutes, only interrupted by static noises from their comms.

“Who keeps breathing into my ear like a dying bantha?” 

“Not me, Crosshair!”   Wrecker sounded most excited. It was a bad sign.

“Listen, Wrecker, you are not befriending the lizard thing, are you?” Hunter sounded truly alarmed.

The absence of any confirmation only further alarmed him. “Wrecker?”

“What?” It sounded forcibly nonchalant.

“Status report.”

Wrecker sighed audibly through all their comms. “He's following me now. I think he likes me.”

“You are not bringing back a Kowakian Monkey lizard, Wrecker!” Tech stated firmly through the commotion that arose amongst the others. 

“Calm down, he’s following me, not I him!”

“Alright, Wrecker, get rid of it, no discussion.” Hunter sounded tired. 

“Right, right.”

“Tech, isn’t there anything you can do about the crackling? My ears hurt,” Crosshair complained.

“Well, I cannot control this planet’s interference, Crosshair, ” his brother answered, sounding slightly indignant, “nor is it my fault that you all forgot to calibrate your comm devices before entering the jungle.”

“It’s alright, Tech,” Echo appeased calmly, “we’ll be heading back, anyway. Time’s almost up.”

It was thankfully uneventful and quiet for the next couple of minutes until they all regrouped back at the Marauder. They were all rather grateful they could talk without comms now.

“Wrecker, since when is a Kowakian Monkey lizard part of Clone Force 99?” Hunter asked, his voice dangerously low.

Wrecker didn’t even act innocent as he avoided looking his sergeant in the eyes. “Well, Hunter, it was like this…”

“I told you to get rid of it!”

“He was all alone and followed me. What am I to do? Shoot him?” 

Echo firmly stepped between them, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Guys, please. Wrecker, you can’t just keep him. Cody will have our heads for it if we bring an invasive species back home.” 

“Fine, but I won’t shoo it away. Let Crosshair do it, he’s good at such things.”

“I’m good at what, exactly?” Crosshair asked, sounding annoyed.

Wrecker’s face lit up at the given opportunity. 

“Being a grouchy Nexu and terrorising everyone around you with your death glare, what else?”

“I give you 'death glare',” Crosshair said as he lunged at Wrecker, but he couldn’t entirely hide the smirk that crept up on his face. 

Echo winked at Hunter, clearly glad the situation had unfolded like this. In the commotion, the Monkey lizard, disturbed by the noise, hastily kept running back into the jungle, and was long gone when Hunter had half-heartedly managed to hold Crosshair back from kicking Wrecker’s shins.

Tech finally decided to poke his head through the Marauder’s door. “I suspect the mission has been uneventful?” 

“Quite so,” Echo chirped back, as they made their way back into their ship.

Crosshair and Wrecker continued their squabbling for the whole flight back, but this time, Hunter decided to let them hash it out between them.

[infernalelf-writings]

Week 3: "Give me your hand."

Clone Force 99 has been sent on a mission by Commander Cody. On their way back to their ship, they encounter an obstacle that tests their resourcefulness and willingness to compromise. Lessons are learned and sacrifices are made as they have to prove once more that the Bad Batch lives up to their reputation.

Read here or on AO3 ->

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The moment they saw the obstacle, they all knew it had been a severe mistake not to request proper intel before accepting the mission. Not that they would have had much of a choice, but they could at least have argued a little bit more before deployment.

“Tech,” Hunter said with a forced calm, his gaze stuck on the colossal cliff before them, “any ideas?”

“I don’t see any ledges or clefts, Hunter. Nothing.”

In the distance, a high wail interrupted by low growls could be heard, drawing nearer. 

“And we have approximately five minutes left,” Tech added matter-of-factly. 

“I suggest we try anyway,” Echo said with furrowed brows, “since there is no other way than forward.”

He was right. High cliff formations to their left and right made it virtually impossible to escape. They had walked right into a dead end. 

“What are we waiting for?” Wrecker yelled as the trampling of large paws came nearer and nearer. 

Without further delay, the clones tried scrambling up the almost sleek wall. Hunter managed it for two meters until he lost his hold and fell to the ground.

“No use,” Echo commented dryly as he helped his sergeant up. 

Suddenly, they heard a whir and saw Tech awkwardly pulling out a quite beaten-looking grappling launcher. “I estimate we have a 29 per cent chance of this holding all our weights, provided the grapple is strong enough to dig a hole into the wall.”

No one looked pleased about that revelation. Like a sad confirmation, a small trail of smoke evaporated from the launcher’s muzzle.

“Is that the rigged junk launcher you’ve been tinkering with the last couple of days?” Wrecker asked with a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“I’d rather take my chances with the hounds,” Crosshair remarked dryly, “if that rope snaps, we’re all dead.”

“Speaking of hounds,” Echo remarked, “I can hear them quite clearly now.”

“Alright,” Hunter said, his hand on his forehead, “Tech, we take our chances with the launcher.”

Tech adjusted the launcher, aimed at the sleek wall and shot. 

With a metallic clang, the grapple launched into the top of the wall. And stuck.

Hunter glanced at it with slight hesitation. “29 per cent, you said?” 

“Increased to 45 if we ditch our equipment,” Tech confirmed. 

Crosshair’s eyes widened with indignation. 

“All our equipment.”

Crosshair opened his mouth as if to argue, but he was interrupted.

“Not now!” Hunter’s eyes were blazing. Crosshair, face white with rage, complied, and they all rid themselves as fast as they could of their weapons and armour. 

“Wrecker, you and I stay back and buy some time!”

With their blasters still in their hands, they took formation at the foot of the wall, the howls becoming gradually louder. 

“Echo you first!” Tech yelled. With a leap, Echo reached for the rope and began climbing upwards swiftly. The rope wobbled dangerously, but as quick as a lizard, the pale clone managed to get two-thirds of the wall without further problems.

The others stood in formation, keeping a lookout for the beasts. At least they were nowhere to be seen yet. 

“Right, I’m up!” Echo yelled from above. 

“Tech, you next!” Hunter ordered.

Without hesitation, Tech complied and climbed up the rope with methodical precision. 

It was then that the Correllian hounds were breaking through the foliage of the jungle. 

“We don’t have any more time!” Crosshair yelled as he started shooting at the beasts.

“Next!” Tech informed them from above.

“Crosshair, go!” Hunter ordered as he saw the sniper’s hesitation.

Grumbling, he complied and made to climb the rope, not without shooting a vicious look at his sergeant. 

Crosshair made to climb the rope, trying to ignore the dangerous swinging and chafed material. He managed to reach the ledge where Echo was waiting with his hand outstretched when he heard the signature snap. He had about three milliseconds where his heart leapt into his stomach before he realised he was falling. Scrambling for a halt, he managed to grab the grapple that was miraculously still stuck into the wall. 

“Crosshair!” Without hesitation, Echo dove forward and reached for his brother. 

It took Crosshair all his strength to hold himself to the piece of metal stuck into the wall, his legs struggling for a hold. 

“Give me your hand!”

“I can’t, I'll fall!”

A fall this high and without armour would likely end with the sniper as a heap of broken bones. 

“Crosshair, hold on!” Hunter yelled from below.

“I’m trying!” He snapped back, clearly irritated. 

Tech chimed in, “Crosshair, take Echo’s hand!”

With enormous effort, Crosshair flung out his left hand and missed Echo’s fingertips by mere inches. 

Beneath them, things were turning for the worse. 

“The hounds are coming!” Wrecker yelled as Hunter and he were swiftly retreating towards the foot of the wall. 

Crosshair cursed and flung up his hand once more. This time, he managed to catch Echo’s hand and was hauled up with effort. 

“Hunter, throw me the rope, quick!” Hunter did as Echo asked, who caught it by its torn end.

Behind Echo, Tech was hastily tying the torn end around a thick tree trunk that stood near enough to the ledge. Still, the end that was dangling downwards from the wall was painfully short. 

“There are too many!” Wrecker informed them from below, as Crosshair counted no less than twenty hounds gaining up on them. They weren't too far away.

Without hesitation and some quick thinking, Wrecker grabbed his sergeant and squatted. 

“Are you mad—”

“Seargant incoming!” Wrecker yelled and unceremoniously catapulted Hunter towards the dangling end of the rope. 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Crosshair had a hard time not laughing out loud. Nevertheless, he quickly stretched out his hand to help his sergeant up. 

“Quit smirking or I wipe it off your face, you di’kut,” Hunter muttered through gritted teeth as he got hauled up over the ledge. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crosshair retorted happily. 

Below, Wrecker sounded like he had the time of his life. He was stunning the beasts left and right with gusto, but it was clear that he would soon be overrun by the beasts still charging at him at full speed. 

“Jump, Wrecker!” 

“Right on it!”

What they saw next defied all levels of sanity.

Wrecker again squatted and faced one of the charging hounds with outstretched hands.

“What is that di’kut doing?” Crosshair muttered.

With a cry, Wrecker caught the beast’s midriff mid-jump right as it was lunging at him and used the momentum to fling himself and the beast towards the rope. 

“That madman…” Echo commented in disbelief.

The madman in question had managed to grab the rope just in time to escape the first hounds biting at his ankles. 

Still, he almost forgot about the beast that kept trying to clamp its jaws around his arm, howling in misery with dangling legs. 

“Thank you and good riddance!” The yelp that the beast emitted was almost empathy-inducing as it was thrown downwards right into the snapping maws of its companions. 

Upon the ledge, the other clones were stuck between being stunned and scrambling to help Wrecker up. Echo and Tech were the first ones to move, quickly throwing themselves towards Wrecker’s outstretched hands as he was slowly making his way upwards. It took Hunter and Crosshair a little more time to catch on.

With combined effort, they managed to eventually pull their brother upwards, collapsing in panting heaps around the ledge. 

“What… what is wrong with you?!” Crosshair spat out between gulps for air. 

Wrecker laughed. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“It had a successful outcome ratio of 1:62.000”, Tech chimed in helpfully, already back up on his feet. 

“Oh well, that makes it better,” Crosshair snapped, still trying to regain his breath. 

“Stop arguing, guys, and be grateful it worked.” Hunter slowly got up on his elbows, his blacks chafed and torn in several places. To be fair, none of them looked any better.

“You absolute madman,” Echo only commented, shaking his head, as he was patting Wrecker’s shoulder, still in disbelief. 

With the obstacle now overcome, they trudged back quietly to their ship without encountering any more troubles, save Crosshair, who was overcome with grief when he realised that some hound probably swallowed his beloved rifle. The deathly looks he was continuously shooting at Hunter weren't bringing up the mood, either.

Never, not once again, would they trust Commander Cody without first checking the mission intel. Ever.

[infernalelf-writings]

Week 2 Alternate Prompt: "Don't even think about it."

After the mission on Desix has been completed and Cody deserted, Crosshair is lying awake in his bunk and trying to steer off thoughts of a life long forgotten.

Crossposted to AO3 ->

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66485854

After Desix

Loneliness was all he felt at the moment. All-encompassing, crushing loneliness with no end in sight. 

No one left to talk to. Just solitude. 

It was in the middle of the night, and Crosshair wasn't sleeping.

Not for a lack of trying, but sleep and rest eluded him more than ever these days. The thoughts in his head kept racing, the gears turning as if something kept them spinning endlessly. As if certain parts of his brain, where he stuffed things he used to think about a long time ago, had been reactivated.

Denying it was futile: Cody had set in motion what had been trying to grind its way upwards for a long time. Thoughts Crosshair had pocketed away with less and less success. 

As much as he wanted to deny it, he felt regret over his commander’s departure. Why couldn’t he see that this was the best they could hope for? Instead of listening, instead of seeing it from his point of view, they all left him behind to fend for himself. 

But deep inside, he knew that this wasn’t true. The time between Onderon and the accident on Bracca was muddy at best. He still had recurring nightmares about several incidents, but couldn’t remember a single one in detail. It was a puzzle that grew increasingly confusing the more he tried to decipher it. He remembered short bursts, like a holomovie, flashing scenes, but nothing more. 

The things he did remember, however… they were scaring him deeply. There was another feeling adjacent to it that he couldn’t quite decipher yet, but it was eating away at him, day in, day out, ever since he had removed that inhibitor chip. 

Crosshair dragged his hand over his eyes in an exhausted motion. He was beyond tired—he had barely slept more than two or three hours, tops. Not a rare occurrence these days, but he felt as if he was slowly withering away. He functioned well enough, his skills still as sharp as ever despite the hardships he had been put through. 

He felt the sudden urge to clean himself from the grime and dust that had accumulated on his clothes. His blacks were in dire need of a wash, and the hand in front of his eyes was streaked with grime. 

Well, in about three minutes, the blare of the alarm would go off, and this time he would skip breakfast in favour of a thorough shower that would hopefully clear his mind a little. 

He had been right—the shower did help, but only in terms of getting rid of the dirt. On the other hand, however… 

Was he doing the right thing? The thought came into his head, unbidden and without warning. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. Of course, he was doing the right thing. He was on the winning side, the only side that mattered. The side that he was made for.

Good soldiers follow orders, and he was nothing if not a perfect one. 

Obedient. Efficient. Ruthless. 

A sharp pain in his left palm brought him out of his mind, and he realised he had been digging his nails sharply into his hand. Through the flimsy door of his refresher, he could hear the alarm blasting through his ears. It was time.

---------

Breakfast tasted like ashes in his mouth. It wasn’t the fact that he shot and killed a woman; it was the fact that his commander and friend thought less of him because of it. He was only trying to save him from certain death. Cody was gone, and it was his fault. Now, he was alone again after a glimpse of what he once had. The mission almost felt as if he had them back. For a short time, he could pretend that nothing had ever changed. Too soon, the moment was over, but it gave him back what he thought he’d lost.

Don’t even think about it—they’d never want you back.

As always, the cold, harsh reality of his situation caught up to him quickly, leaving him with nothing but dull pain.

[infernalelf-writings]

Week 1: "You're here. You're safe."

Summary: Crosshair is back with his family after being rescued from the Empire. With their home base on Pabu, Clone Force 99 has finally found their peace, yet Crosshair is anything but fine.

Also crossposted to AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66091603

When night came, Crosshair excused himself and left the gathering that had formed on their homestead's copious veranda. Not that anyone noticed, he thought bitterly as he got up from his seat on the far end, the farthest from the door.

Socialising was pure agony, and all he wanted was to be alone. At first, things had gone fine when several people whose names he could not remember had arrived and promptly decided to engage the Batch in several pastimes. Nobody bothered Crosshair, who had reluctantly stayed and partaken sporadically in the conversation. And so, he had spent most of the evening at the fringes of their discussions, listening and nursing his barely touched glass of water. At first, he had been relieved that no one forced him to participate much, but as the evening went on, he could not deny the pangs of jealousy and loneliness that were hitting him. 

He was an outsider, and he made the others uncomfortable, even his brothers. He could see it in the ways they sent sidelong glances at him from time to time, with something akin to worry in their eyes. It made him sick, and it didn't take long for him to remove himself with a hastily murmured excuse and leave. 

No one was stopping him.

In the house, he stepped towards their kitchen counter and placed the glass of water in the sink despite being thirsty. Without turning on any light, he headed towards his room on the first floor of the small but cosy house. 

Once inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it. All of a sudden, tiredness overcame him and he trudged towards his bed where he crashed down into a heap. 

At first, he didn't move, but then his shoulder started to heave as the flood of emotions overwhelmed him. Tears were running down his face, and he tried to stifle his sobs with his fist. 

☽⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯☾

"Should I look after him?" Wrecker asked with worry in his eyes as he addressed no one in particular. 

Hunter looked up from where he had been brooding over the dying fire. "I'm not sure..." 

Tech threw a curious look at Hunter that was hard to decipher. He cleared his throat and turned towards Wrecker. "I think it is a good idea, Wrecker. He did not look too well, and I think you have the highest chance of reaching him." 

"Well, I didn't say that Wrecker shouldn't go," Hunter said with light annoyance in his voice. 

"You weren't implying the opposite, either," Tech retorted with uncharacteristic force.

 "Tech—" But Tech had already turned his back towards them and was consulting his datapad. 

Hunter stopped himself from yelling out in frustration with a shaky sigh, trying to calm himself. He barely noticed Wrecker passing him towards the entrance as he cradled his head in his hand.

☽⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯☾

"Crosshair?" Wrecker softly inquired as he stood at the door that led to his brother's sleeping quarters. "You in there?"

As expected, no answer came, and Wrecker immediately went into the next phase. He didn't bother asking again and simply opened the door, stepping in before closing it behind him.

The room was almost empty except for the bed at the window and the small wardrobe next to it. Wrecker focused his eyes on the dark lump that had curled itself in on the farthest edge of the mattress.

"Crosshair?" Cautiously, Wrecker stepped nearer towards his brother, who had his back turned towards him and wasn't moving. "I know you're not asleep."

Still no answer. Suppressing a sigh, Wrecker lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, turning his head towards his brother. He looked so fragile in the faint moonlight that filtered through the unshuttered pane. He had always been so skinny, teetering on the line between concerningly underweight, but he had been healthy, with muscle mass and a fit physique. 

Now, Crosshair was still severely underweight and had lost nearly all of his muscle mass, and the way he was curled into himself tugged at Wrecker's heart in ways he couldn’t describe. Still, it was high time that his brother accepted the help his brothers were there to give. 

Wrecker stretched out his left hand and carefully laid it down on Crosshair's shoulder. He could feel the bone clearly through the fabric of his blacks, and he swallowed the curse that bubbled up his throat. The monster that had done this to his brother was gone, and he couldn’t hurt Crosshair anymore.

"Cross." The shoulder tensed immediately, and Crosshair half-turned his head with a distant glare that alarmed Wrecker instantly. His red-rimmed eyes were strangely wide and empty as they focused on his older brother. 

"What do you want?" he rasped out. 

"Looking after you, of course." Wrecker lightly squeezed his brother's shoulder. He was aware that this task would be a lot harder than he had initially thought. 

With a weak scoff, Crosshair turned his head away towards the wall, but the tension in his shoulder abated a little. Wrecker took that as a good sign and quickly pressed his advantage.

"I know you don't wanna talk about any of this," he ignored the louder scoff, "and I accept that. I'm not here to bother you with that. I'm just here to... be here, I guess," he finished, gesturing with his free hand.

With that, he had gained Crosshair's full attention. He shrugged Wrecker's hand off as he turned on his other side, facing him with narrowed eyes. "Don't pretend to care—"

Wrecker wasn't listening to this again. He was consumed by worry, and there was only so much he could bear. With a sigh as if to brace himself, he cut off Crosshair's tirade by simply lifting him into his arms and hugged him tightly. 

Crosshair's weak protest was purposefully ignored.

 "Let me down, you—"

"You're here, Cross. You're safe."