#crashing hard

[pgzebra1023]

Feeling very fragile...I need a hug that doesn't end...physically and mentally depleted...weathercoaster just made everything a lot harder...the warmer weather feels nice

[kybercrystals94]

Blaster Bolts

Read here on Ao3

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 11: “Yeah, kid, we’re fine. | Week 13: Crashing Hard

Rated: G | Words: 200

Prompt: Crashing Hard

“I hate you!”

She didn’t mean them. But she’d said them. Ugly, anger fueled words. They shot out of her mouth like a blaster bolt, hitting their mark with devastating accuracy. Like a blaster bolt, they wounded. Like a blaster bolt, they couldn’t be taken back. Couldn’t be unspoken.

The space between them goes glacial.

Omega wants to cry.

Hunter won’t meet her watery gaze, her fiery rage extinguished by hot tears. “Go cool off,” he says, low voice tight. Controlled.

She retreats, all too aware of the eyes that watch her go. Crosshair. Wrecker. They’re disappointed.

She is too.

Prompt: “Yeah, kid, we’re fine.”

Hunter is reading a message from Echo when Omega sits down next to him on the couch. Rigid and ramrod straight, she has her fingers knotted together in her lap, white knuckled. “I’m sorry for what I said,” she says, voice flat and careful. “I didn’t mean it. I never could.”

“I know, kid,” Hunter says. He puts his hand between them, palm up, an offering. Omega swallows audibly, unknots her fists, and puts her hand in his. He grips it tight. “I love you. Always will.”

Squeezing back, Omega says in a soft, breaking voice, “I love you too.”

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[neyswxrld]

homesick

Wrecker x gn!reader

summary: After a trip in another city, you're home again. It's just then when you realize how much you missed it.

warnings: homesickness, crying, exhausion, emotional crash, reader's hair is long enough to be pushed behind their ear

words: ~1690

a/n: hello there! another day, another fic. this time with the prompt crashing hard. in my opinion this was definitely one of the hardest prompts to fit, but i thought i'd try it like that. enjoy!

MASTERLIST

SUMMER OF TBB MASTERLIST

Home. You are finally at home again.

You've been away for a few days, on a vacation with your friends, and even though it was an amazing time, you were above relieved to finally be at home again. You don't know where it came from, but for the time being away you felt unsettled and uncomfortable. Due to your inner turmoil, you couldn't enjoy the trip as much as you wanted to. The nights were rough, you had troubles with falling and staying asleep, and you just felt like one day was even more exhausting than the other.

So it isn't surprising that you could just fall into your bed, dead to the world, and sleep for weeks.

But of course, even though you are so tired and ready to sleep, your stomach calls after food. The ride home was even more exhausting than the last few days together- the air in the vehicle was stuffed, it was too hot, kind of stinky, too loud - just too much of everything.

You sigh at the memory and pull your key out of your pocket, taking a deep breath when it doesn't come out smoothly, but instead tangles with something inside, before just ripping it out and opening the door.

You pull off your shoes, throw your jacket in a corner, and just put down your luggage somewhere near the entry. You will clean that up tomorrow.

Whilst following the light into your living room, you find Wrecker, sitting in front of your holo-projector, which is on a too quiet volume for you to hear. From the looks of it, he is just watching an old kid's show.

Well, watching isn't really the right thing to say, since his head is laid back on the backrest of the couch, his eyes closed and his mouth wide open. Sleep must have caught up to him faster than he would have liked, considering he still has on his work clothes and his glass of water on the table is still almost completely full.

"Hey, Wrecker," you whisper quietly as you come closer and put a hand on his bald head.

"Yeah? Yeah, I'm awake," he sputters and sits up in one smooth motion. He is super drowsy and when he looks at you, you could swear he looks in two different directions.

"Are you okay?" You ask, a little surprised by his immediate reaction, but somewhat amused at the same time.

"Urgh, yeah, just was far, far away," he rumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

"Oh, sorry for waking you. I just thought you'd rather sleep in the bed," you say and Wrecker nods at that. "'s okay no worries," he assures you, stretches and gets up. "Give me a minute, then I come appreciate you, yeah?" he mumbles and is out of the room faster than you can say anything.

You shake your head in amusement. You've never met someone that was as confused as Wrecker when they woke up. Especially since tonight was a good night. Sometimes you have to wait for what feels like an eternity for him to be functioning in the morning.

You sigh quietly and take his glass from the table, bringing it over to the kitchen.

While you stand there, you notice how hungry you really are, but at the same time you're way too tired to cook anything. You almost start to cry when you take a look into the fridge, only to see that there is nothing inside, that just needs a warm up or is cooked fast.

Just when you debate about crying because of your full-empty fridge, you feel muscular arms wrapping around your waist and a warm body pressing against your back.

"Hey, love. Long time no see, right?" Wrecker whispers and gives you a purposefully wet kiss on the cheek.

"Ew, Wrecker," you smile, but don't wipe your cheek. You immediately feel a bit better, and lean into his touch, snuggling the side of your face into his'. He has changed his clothes and wore some comfy sleep clothes instead.

"Hmm, yes. You have no idea how much I missed you," you say and put your hands on his arms, moving your thumbs over his warm skin. "Missed ya, too," Wrecker murmurs and tightens his arms for a second, hugging you closer.

"Are you hungry?" Wrecker asks after a few seconds, and you nod: "Yeah, I'm starving, but I'm too tired to make anything," you say, but luckily your boyfriends is your savior:

"There's still some soup in the freezer, do you want me to warm it up?" your boyfriend asks, and you feel your heart swelling at his suggestion.

"Yes, please," you agree. About ten minutes later, the two of you sit on the couch together, eating some soup and dip in some bread he roasted beforehand.

Leaning into his side, you're really glad that he's here with you at this moment.

You really missed evenings like this. You know that you don't have them all the time, but being completely without him like that was really weird. Normally, you see each other every day, and are practically attached on the hips. So those last few days felt a little lonely, even though they were very nice days with your friends, and you definitely weren't alone.

But when Wrecker finally asks about those exact days, it is like a dam breaks loose.

You don't know why exactly you start to cry, but at the same time it feels good and like something you desperately needed. The feelings you've been swallowing down over the last few days finally have the chance to break free, so of course they do just that and come crashing down on you. Hard, at that.

Wrecker looks at you with big eyes, almost speechless.

"That bad?" he asks as he reaches for a tissue and drops it in your hand.

You sniff quietly, shaking your head.

"No, it's quite the opposite. The city was really beautiful, and we saw so many amazing things. It was funny, and the hotel was actually really luxurious. And the weather was good, and my friends were nice. Oh, and the food was amazing, you would've loved it there," you sob quietly, telling him about your vacation.

"Oh, but that sounds really great, right? Why are you crying, then?" he asks a little confused and puts an arm around you, gently brushing his fingers over your shoulder, and tries to comfort you.

You shrug and quietly blow your nose. "I don't know. I know it sounds stupid, but... but it just wasn't home. You weren't there, and it wasn't our bed, and I couldn't just take a break and be for myself for a few hours. And then we had to get up so early every time and went to bed so late and... and I think I was... am just tired. And homesick, maybe," you sniff and feel stupid at the same time.

This was a trip you wanted to go on for such a long time. And you know it was an amazing time, but it feels like those sad feelings just hit you like a train at the moment, crashing hard down on you.

"Oh, Cyare... Come here," Wrecker whispers and pulls you even closer to his chest.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, but your boyfriend just shakes his head.

"It's okay. Really, I promise. I know what it feels like to be homesick, I didn't feel any different when we left Kamino for the first time. The world was so foreign and scary, I cried myself to sleep every night for a whole week because I wanted to go back so bad," he assures you, starts to stroke over your hair and cheeks. He puts your hair behind your ear with his one hand, following an invisible line over and over again, helping you a lot with calming down.

"Really?" you want to know, and Wrecker nods. "Hah, you bet. If it hadn't been for Crosshair to catch me crying my eyes out one night, I think it would have taken at least another week of feeling like that. Do you want to know what he did?" he asks, and with the way he smirks, you definitely know that this isn't a story you want to miss.

"Yes, tell me," you almost gasp, the tears on your face slowly drying.

"He set up this cuddle pile, just for me. And we watched some stolen holo-movies. He even let me decide which one, even though he knew he'd absolutely hate the ones I picked," he tells you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

"Oh, I knew Crosshair always was a big softie, even though he tells me otherwise," you smile and Wrecker grins. "Oh yeah, he's the biggest softie," he agrees and points towards your soup at the same time. You nod and take another mouth full, savoring the taste on your tongue.

"Did it help?" you ask and Wrecker nods.

"Oh yeah. I didn't feel so alone anymore and every time I got this feeling, I was finally brave enough to talk to them about it, since I knew they wouldn't judge me for it," he explains and wipes the last stray tear off your face.

"That's nice," you murmur. Wrecker's smile gets even brighter. "Ah, yes. And you know, would home really be home if you wouldn't miss it?" he asks more rhetorically, but you still agree.

He is right.

Being away is nice, but it's also okay to miss home and the people around it. Otherwise, you wouldn't feel like coming home again, right? It would be worse to not miss it at all.

When you're laying in your bed about an hour later, snuggled together and holding each other in each other's arms, it doesn't take long for the two of you to get buried under the blanket of sleep.

With a small smile on your lips, you sink deeper and deeper, ready to dive into some sweet dreams, finally home again.

Oh, how you've missed that.

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[tlmtwelve]

Crashing Hard

Week 13 Prompt: @summer-of-bad-batch

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

What Needs to Be Done

Summer of Bad Batch | Week 13 | Prompt: Crashing Hard

Summary: Crosshair was so sure he made the right choice, the only choice... But now he has doubts.

POV: Crosshair

Rating: PG

(Word Count: 650)

Notes: I've been wanting to delve more into what Crosshair might have gone through in season 2 before "The Outpost," especially since I think his confession to Hunter of "I've done things. I've made mistakes" refers to far more than just the Imperial missions we saw him on. I might expand on this storyline in the future; for now, here's a short little ficlet since there's only so much Crosshair angst I can write at the moment.

"CT-9904, report to Captain Dask for your next mission."

The operation involved relocating the inhabitants of Quwan to an Imperial holding facility to await the construction of a factory on their homeworld, a factory they would man in service to the Empire. Those who did not appreciate the opportunity, those who resisted, were not given a second chance, and so the people learned very quickly not to resist. The families cried as their homes were burned to make way for the factory; the children cried as they were hustled onto ships by armed troopers. Crosshair had completed operations very similar to this before; but for some reason, this time he heard Hunter's voice echoing through his mind: Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire's doing, occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right.

But it didn't matter what he thought was right. "Good soldiers follow orders," he thought to himself, though the words had started to grow stale. "We do what needs to be done," he repeated like a mantra, drowning out the memory of Hunter's plea.

******

He heard the rumors, whispers about an attack on Rampart's Venator, intel extracted that proved instrumental in causing Rampart's demise. The Defense Recruitment Bill was passed, but Rampart was gone. And while no one had been able to ID the infiltration team, Crosshair listened to the details of the attack, and he knew who had done it. "They were fools, they won't let themselves see the bigger picture," he told himself, ignoring the painful wrenching in his gut at the reminder of his old squad, though the traitorous thought crossed his mind that he wished he had been with them, wished he was with his brothers now.

******

"Three CTs have gone AWOL and were recently spotted in the market district," the lieutenant addressed the hand-picked squad. "You are to apprehend them. One chance to surrender, one chance only. That is all."

"Traitors," he scoffed to himself, pushing down his unease upon learning that the CTs in question had been part of his detachment during their most recent operation on Vurun. He knew nothing about them, they hadn't even spoken to him the entire mission... so why did he worry about what he might have to do? And why did wish he could have left too? Going AWOL was pointless; they were tracked down soon enough.

"Traitor," he thought again, carefully aiming as one of them tried to run, though his finger trembled on the trigger...

Cody weighed on his mind, haunted his dreams for weeks afterwards...

******

He waited outside the ship preparing to depart for Barton IV; there was no point standing any longer than he had to inside the ship with all the other clones who always ignored him. A group of unarmored clones passed by, questioning an Imperial officer about forced retirement. He knew more clones were being decommissioned, but he wasn't concerned. That wouldn't happen to him. He was useful to the Empire. He had purpose as a soldier.

And he tried not to think about the long years stretching before him, serving as a soldier until the day he died, no friends, brothers gone, all alone.

******

Mayday.

Gone.

He had served as a soldier until the day he died, had outlasted most of his friends, all his brothers gone, and the lieutenant was now ordering Crosshair to leave him... to leave him all alone.

Crosshair had believed the Empire offered him purpose.

He didn't believe it anymore.

"Lieutenant," Crosshair said, the only warning he was willing to give.

He released all his anger and doubts as he avenged Mayday, and suddenly found that this release had sapped all his strength, sapped all his belief in purpose, and he collapsed, no longer caring what happened to him.

I... It needed to be done, was his final thought as the darkness closed in around him.

@summer-of-bad-batch

[silvercrane14]

Bad

[lifblogs]

Afliplan Diatane

Week 13 Prompt: "Stop touching me!" // "I'm not touching you!" Alt. Prompt: Crashing Hard Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 3004 Summary: Eight weeks ago Hunter was shot, and he received life-saving surgery, and has been recovering... now with the help of a med he's no longer supposed to be taking. Hunter's body doesn't handle running out of it very well. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Drug Dependency, Suicidal Thoughts READ ON AO3

“Stop. Touching. Me,” Hunter hissed out through clenched teeth. He was in the cockpit, hanging his head over the console, waiting for the nausea he had grown quite used to dissipate.

Tech huffed from beside him, and moved away. “Technically I am not touching you. I was about to.”

“I felt the air displace from your hand.”

“I understand you have enhanced senses, but that sounds quite ridiculous.”

Hunter couldn’t tell him it was extra sensitivity from the meds. While they dulled the signals he was getting from his nerves, they seemed to enhance everything else, especially around when his body expected a dose. He didn’t want the others to know he was still on them though. But he needed these meds. He wasn’t an addict of some sort. He needed them!

Even now with the medicine re-entering his system the pain in his abdomen was an ache that stole all his thoughts. He had in fact been groaning, a hand to his stomach, until he’d at least sat down to get some rest.

The hand at his stomach clenched, a throb going around to his hips.

Tech leaned in, and Hunter wanted to snap that he was too close.

“Are you healing well from your surgery?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hunter lied.

To him it was a lie. The Kaminoan doctors said he was fine, that he could go back in the field, but he didn’t think fine meant that it would be hard for him to walk, to sit up, to do anything. It was always there—the pain, right on the edge of his awareness, if not fully taking it over.

He was hiding the medicine from his squad. He couldn’t let them know. They’d take them away, or report that he wasn’t up for active duty. He’d be separated from them, and worse… he’d be completely useless.

Hunter wasn’t sure he liked the dark medical exam room compared to the blinding white of the majority of Kaminoan facilities. He certainly didn’t feel comfortable being out of his armor, and wearing the drab, red clothes he’d been forced to wear during his brutal recovery.

The Kaminoan standing before him was looking over some test results at the moment, and had already lifted up Hunter’s shirt to observe the long row of puckered red scars on his abdomen that followed along on either side of a deep, long line. And in the center of that was a jagged, angry circle, a deep red that looked like his healing had scarcely begun.

“CT-9901, I am pleased to see this progression of your healing, and it is my expert medical opinion that you no longer require afliplan diatane.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched at that.

They’d already tried lowering his dose of the med, but whenever they did he was left with so much pain he could barely think, let alone walk, and function. He was managing to steal some just fine, but without it… Could he get away with stealing even more of the medicine? Now he wouldn’t have his regular dose to add to it.

“You’re sure of this?” Hunter asked.

“Physical therapy should be sufficient for pain management at this time.”

Sure, physical therapy was going great, and it was helping, but only so much. And worse, lowering a dose meant sickness. Without afliplan diatane he was usually nauseous, shaky, dizzy, and couldn’t stop sweating even as he was as cold as he was hot. It left him so miserable, and only the med could fix it. His body wasn’t ready.

I can’t… I can’t do this.

Hunter nodded his head, forcing himself to say, “I do like the physical therapy.”

“It seems it. Your scars are much more mobile than what we would expect from someone at this stage. You are clearly putting the work in.”

And he was. But he could only do it with the afliplan diatane.

The Kaminoan tapped away on the tablet, announcing, “There. I just canceled your prescription of this medicine, and you are cleared for field work.”

Hunter barely heard all the words, heartbeat speeding up from fear.

I have to get that med somehow. I’ll manage.

Hunter forced himself to take deep breaths, telling himself the med would kick in, that he’d be okay.

“What’s up with him?” Crosshair asked of Tech, as he entered the cockpit.

“I believe Hunter is still suffering from his wound and surgery.”

Crosshair huffed. “A droid did shoot right through him.”

Now the pain was burning instead of sore, a flash of pressurized brightness, and then he had collapsed, Wrecker having to drag him to cover. Smoke poured from the wound, the acrid stench of ash and burning flesh had had Hunter throwing up, blood mixed in, as his gastrointestinal tract had now been compromised. There wasn’t blood to hold in, the wound cauterized by the blast, but dust, and dirt, and smoke had gotten inside. Wrecker had brutally packed the wound as Hunter had screamed and lost all sense of reality.

By the time he’d made it back to Kamino, riddled with fever, delirious from the agony, near-dead, it was a relief to be taken to surgery, to fall into a cloudy nothingness of sleep and medicine.

Crosshair put a hand on his shoulder, and Hunter pulled out of his grip.

He leaned back, trying to breathe.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“What aggravated it?” Tech asked.

The medicine. He couldn’t tell them it was because he had gone a bit longer without a dose, just an extra hour.

Panting, he wiped sweat from his brow.

“I don’t know,” he got out.

Clarity came back, like he had been looking through rippled transparisteel and now it had been smoothed.

Hunter took his first deep breath in quite a few minutes, and it was like stepping onto a planet with beautiful, fresh air, and bracing wind, and sweet relief.

In that moment, Hunter forgot that he was almost out of his med.

Hunter collapsed mid-battle. Everything was too loud, too bright, too confusing. Where was he? Who was shooting at him? What was he even doing here?

“Hunter!” Crosshair called through comms. “Get back on your feet. The tank is heading your way.”

Tank?

Oh, right!

He tried to rise, but stumbled, falling down to one knee, shaking, sweating.

He couldn’t stop sweating, couldn’t get a good breath in.

He was so hot he wanted to rip his armor off. He was so cold he wanted to lie cocooned in a heated bed.

Nausea had his vision tunneling, and vertigo suddenly took over his brain.

Hunter tilted sideways, tried to catch himself, slipped, and landed badly, right in the middle of the battlefield, probably tearing some muscles in his left arm. But that pain was nothing compared to the ruining agony in his abdomen.

His comms were so loud, his squad asking what was wrong. The dust was too confusing, the fires, the blasts, the explosions, it was all so much. And he didn’t really care about it, didn’t care about any of it.

He was too busy feeling like his stomach was getting ripped open.

Hunter had taken his last dose yesterday, and had been shaky for a day now, not sure how to get more, how to tell his squad about his problem.

And now he was crashing, hard, and he didn’t even care that he was a prime target now. Take him out! Maybe it’d make the pain stop. Please, just take him out.

Do something. Somebody do something.

Oh kriff, the awful pain. He curled in on himself, arms around his stomach, pressing, like he was having to hold his guts in like after his surgery.

“Tech, get Hunter. You’re the closest,” Crosshair called. “Echo, cover him. Wrecker, head for the tank. I’ll take out the main turret from up here. You do the rest.”

Time slowed, even as it sped up. Yet every second of this ripping, burning, sore agony was too much.

Someone was shaking him, and he almost threw up. He let out a groan through gritted teeth, panting hard, barely able to stay alive as this pain utterly destroyed him. All that existed were those moments between throbs, where the pain was incrementally less—barely, but almost enough to breathe—and then it’d throb, and his muscles locked up, and he screamed around a mouth closed tight from agony. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that they were starting to hurt. Hunter was clawing at himself, fingers digging into his hips, bruising. It was all he could do just to hang on, to somehow cling to life.

He was shaken again, and he groaned.

“Hunter, it’s me,” Tech said. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can you stand?”

Hunter couldn’t answer, which was all Tech needed to grab him, and start dragging him to safety. Tech wasn’t as naturally buff like the regs, or Hunter, but he diligently worked on each muscle group till they were hard, and powerful, and could do what needed to be done out in the field. Droids were closing in as Tech grunted, quickly dragging Hunter. Hunter clung tightly to his arms, armor creaking, which made him grunt again.

Tech deposited Hunter behind a ruined wall, and knelt over him, holding back the droids with his pistols.

Smoke cleared for a moment to show a clear blue sky, and Hunter wanted to sink into it, almost felt like he was, like he was floating, and falling, and he could feel the rotation of the planet, its course around its sun, and the solidity of the ground was no more, turning to liquid, and he was sinking, sinking…

“You ran out of afliplan diatane, didn’t you?” Tech asked, voice unusually hard.

“How—”

“I’m not stupid, Hunter. I have been tracking your symptoms and behavior for weeks.”

“I’m not an addict!” Hunter bit out around a scream that ravaged his throat.

“I never said you were. However, your body seems to be.”

Hunter’s head was pounding, right from inside, like something was trying to break free from his skull.

He tried to lift his head up, to watch the battle, but it fell back down to the ground all too quickly, wrenching his neck somewhat.

Hunter tried curling up again, but Tech didn’t move from his position guarding him.

The world blurred, vision like rippling and cracked transparisteel, the very essence of reality unable to make it through.

Days seemed to pass, the sun wheeling overhead. Maybe it was hours. Minutes? Time was fleeting to him, especially when compared to his pain. There was no perfect measurement of it for Hunter, not when all of it was suffering, and agony.

Eventually, he was vaguely aware that he was on the Marauder. Someone had taken off his armor from the waist up, and there was an IV dripping fluids into him.

“Is this gonna help?” Wrecker asked of someone.

Echo answered, “It’s the best we can do to keep him alive till we get to Kamino.”

“You stupid kriffing idiot,” Crosshair cursed.

Oh, was he addressing Hunter?

Hunter tried to think of a response, to bite back, but all he could do was groan.

“Do we give him pain medicine?” Echo asked.

“Bad idea,” Wrecker said. “Isn’t medicine the problem here? Maybe we shouldn’t be adding a different one to his system.”

Hunter grunted as he felt the ship jump into hyperspace.

Oh no, he was going to—

He turned his head, someone helping him onto his side somewhat, and he puked into the bucket that had apparently already been used at an earlier point.

A large hand rubbed his back.

Hunter couldn’t breathe, and his abdomen hurt beyond belief, and yet he couldn’t stop—

He was choking, burning, eyes watering so fiercely he couldn’t see. That large hand smacked his back, and he could breathe again, only to—

“Remind me never to get med withdrawal,” Crosshair said.

Hunter wanted to yell at him for clearly being so judgemental, and to tell him, tell everyone that he wasn’t an addict. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. They had to know, they had to—

Oh, finally, he was done… for now. He coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Those large hands—Wrecker’s hands—helped him get comfortable again. A cold cloth was placed on his brow, another to the back of his neck, Wrecker gently lifting his head to do so.

“How much farther to Kamino?” Echo asked Tech.

Hunter didn’t hear the answer, but Echo’s groan meant it wasn’t good.

Exhausted, Hunter drifted off.

White. Everything was white. So bright his eyes burned, so bright his head throbbed, and he tried to keep his eyes closed, but wakening and awareness told him to try and open them.

He wasn’t sure what had woken him, but then there was a sore, aching jab into his left arm. A grunt left him.

“Hey, Hunter, you with us?” Echo asked.

“Based on the machines monitoring him, he is clearly awake,” Tech scoffed.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Wrecker asked.

A Kamionan voice answered, “CT-9901 is stable.”

Hunter didn’t feel stable. His abdomen ached so fiercely he could have sworn a hole was getting punched in him.

“Am I supposed to be in pain?” Hunter asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” the Kaminoan responded.

Hunter sighed. “Oh. Great.”

He managed to open his eyes. He was in one of the emergency medical wings, and Crosshair was sitting on the bed beside his, checking his rifle, pretending to ignore him. The others were crowded around.

“CT-9901,” the Kaminoan said, drawing Hunter’s attention away from his squad, “when you are able, Jedi Master Shaak Ti would like to have a word with you.”

“Understood.”

Hunter’s heart raced.

A day later, Hunter stood before Jedi Master Shaak Ti at the balcony overlooking one of the training grounds.

“So,” Shaak Ti began, “Hunter, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He straightened even more, stomach aching, and clasped his fingers together behind his back till they ached.

“I hear you have been struggling with recovery from a battlefield injury you sustained eight weeks ago.”

“Um… yes, sir,” Hunter responded, hesitant, not sure where this was going, but having some idea.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How do you feel now?”

What am I supposed to say?

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he eventually responded.

“Hmm, with this med, correct? Without it…”

She left that hanging, and Hunter bowed his head, looking at his feet.

“Sir, I—”

“It is okay to have these struggles,” Shaak Ti said. “You are not the first soldier to become dependant on a medicine, or a form of treatment. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

She’s talking to me like—

“I’m not an addict,” he insisted.

“No, perhaps not. But your body wishes to say otherwise.”

Hunter swallowed roughly, cheeks heating with shame. His stomach whirled. He forgot to breathe.

“Typically this type of behavior would lead to you being court martialed.”

Hunter raised his head, stunned, worried. “Sir—”

“But in this case, as the commander of an elite squad, such an action would leave your men without a clear path to follow. They need you, Hunter.”

“I know, sir.”

“And that means you cannot be dependant on this med any longer.”

Hunter shifted, wanting out of his armor. He was too hot, sweat sliding down the sides of his face, dotting his upper lip, and seeping into his fatigues.

He tried to be a good soldier, tried to keep in what he wanted to say, but it came out in a broken, guttural tone anyway: “The pain.” Oh gosh, he was shaking, feeling like the world was crumbling apart. His abdomen hurt. Did no one understand how painful his experiences had been?

Shaak Ti put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I know, Hunter. The pain will fade in time. It is flaring because your body is trying to get more of the medicine. You will reach a point where your body understands it does not need it, and you will be all right.”

“Do you… promise?” he asked, broken voice quiet, feeling like he wasn’t supposed to ask a Jedi such questions.

“Yes, Hunter. You will be all right. But I have ordered your squad to watch you for the time being.”

He opened his mouth to object, and she went on, “Not that they weren’t doing so already, especially Tech, and Crosshair. Prove that you are not taking the med, and the watch will be lifted. This will all be behind you.”

“You’re talking to me like—like…”

Shaak Ti smiled, and her voice was soft, understanding, as she said, “Addicts are not bad people, Hunter. You are not a bad person. This will pass. As the leader of Clone Force Ninety-Nine, you were made to endure, and will heal from this much faster than other humans. I believe in you, Hunter.”

Hunter bowed his head again, not ashamed, but glowing and feeling hopeful with the praise, and not sure how to show it.

“Thank you, Master.”

She squeezed his shoulder.

“You are dismissed. Your squad has another mission, I believe. Hypori, as I’ve heard, is quite an interesting planet. But do keep an eye on Echo. The Techno Union has a droid factory there. I believe the situation could be… uncomfortable for him.”

“Heh, sounds like we’re all supposed to be watching each other.”

“Well, you see yourself as a family, do you not?”

Hunter smiled, his first real smile in weeks, months. “Yes, sir. We do.”

“Good. They’ll help you manage this struggle, and I know you’ll help them. You’re a good leader, Hunter. Keep going. Some pain is not forever.”

He gave her a quick bow, and left.

Afliplan diatane was still gnawing on his mind, the pain begging, and begging, scraping him raw with it, but if he leaned on his squad—his family…

I can do this.

And for the first time in months he believed it.

[summer-of-clones]

Week 13 Prompt Drop!!

Main: “Stop touching me!” // “I’m not touching you!”

Alternate: Crashing Hard

This week’s tags:

#summerofbadbatch2024 #week13 #stop touching me! I’m not touching you! #crashing hard

Last prompt drop of the challenge!! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it a hundred times more—I’m so proud of us! Great job, everyone! Whether you’ve filled 1 prompt or 26 so far…you’ve taken time out of your busy schedule to do something creative, and that’s worth celebrating 🥳

Here’s to the last prompt drop!