the prompt list is out! these prompts were chosen entirely from a poll that you guys filled out! the 28 days of february are filled (in a random order) with the top 28 prompts as voted for by you guys! the 10 switch outs are the next in your favourites, with a few write-in prompts too!
i look forward to seeing everyone create with these prompts, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to check out the blog’s FAQ and ask!
full write up of prompts and rules under the cut:
FEBUWHUMP 2021 PROMPTS
DAY 1: mind control
DAY 2: “i can’t take this anymore”
DAY 3: imprisonment
DAY 4: impaling
DAY 5: “take me instead”
DAY 6: insomnia
DAY 7: poisoning
DAY 8: “hey, hey, this is no time to sleep”
DAY 9: buried alive
DAY 10: “i’m sorry. i didn’t know”
DAY 11: hallucinations
DAY 12: “who are you?”
DAY 13: hiding injury
DAY 14: “i didn’t mean it”
DAY 15: “run. don’t look back”
DAY 16: broken bones
DAY 17: field surgery
DAY 18: “i can’t see”
DAY 19: sleep deprivation
DAY 20: betrayal
DAY 21: torture
DAY 22: burned
DAY 23: “don’t look”
DAY 24: memory loss
DAY 25: car accident
DAY 26: recovery
DAY 27: “i wish i had never given you a chance”
DAY 28: “you have to let me go”
SWITCH-OUT PROMPTS:
is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!
ALT 1: truth serum
ALT 2: “i can’t lose you too”
ALT 3: coma
ALT 4: identity reveal
ALT 5: hostage situation
ALT 6: “don’t try to pin this on me”
ALT 7: time travel
ALT 8: allergies
ALT 9: gunpoint
ALT 10: “please come back”
RULES:
SOFT RULES:
prompts should be answered in the form of whump
creators can produce whatever kind of media they want
you don’t have to do all the prompts! you can create however much you want to
you can use the prompts after the event ends
you can post on any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing those posted on tumblr
if you want to be featured on the hall of fame then you have until the 3rd of March to inform this blog that you completed all the days
HARD RULES: (specifically for being featured on the blog)
when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:
febuwhump (i’ll also be checking febuwhump2021)
the relevant day’s tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2...
nsfw (if relevant)
and any trigger warnings that may be important!
you can also tag the blog, @febuwhump
i cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog because I have no idea how many participants there will be. a random selection of works tagged in accordance to the rules above will be reblogged every day of february.
Febuwhump Day 6/7: Hypothermia/Used as an experiment
(combining the two since i missed yesterday)
(tw: lab whump, hypothermia/freezing)
LAB NOTES 273:
Subject is restrained and put inside cryochamber. They seem to be making an attempt to escape, mostly with futile struggling. Nothing of importance. Initial temperature set to 15°F.
LAB NOTES 274:
Subject shivering profusely after three hours in 32°F. Goosebumps covering skin, eyes seem to be shut. Breathing is long and slow. Lowering temperature to 0°F.
LAB NOTES 275:
Subject has gone immobile after another two hours. Eyes have not opened back up. Hands and feet have become blue/purple, as with their nose and cheeks. Lowering temperature to -10°F.
LAB NOTES 276:
Subject removed from cryochamber due to health vitals slowing. Currently unconscious, cold to the touch. Showing clear signs of sickness. Cryochamber Test #2 will begin tomorrow after recovery.
“Hey, Master!” Anakin scrambled up from where he had been sprawled across the couch, playing on his holo-pad and waiting for Obi-Wan to get back. His meeting with the Council had taken forever and Anakin was bored. He didn’t want to beat Holocron Hunters for the sixth time. None of the other Padawans were even impressed anymore, so what was the point?
Obi-Wan closed the door behind him without responding.
“You were gone a long time,” Anakin said, shutting off the holo-pad and tossing it onto the couch.
Obi-Wan moved toward the kitchen and pulled the empty kettle off the stove. “The Council had a lot of things to say.”
“Good things?” Anakin asked, coming to watch Obi-Wan make his tea. He’d promised to take Anakin into Coruscant this afternoon.
The older Jedi looked up from where he was filling the kettle with water and gave Anakin an inscrutable expression. After a moment, his eyes dropped back to the sink and he shut off the faucet. “They were just checking in.” He turned toward the cabinets, away from Anakin.
Anakin hopped around the counter, trailing Obi-Wan. “On my training? Did you tell them about last week’s spar with–”
“Yes.”
Obi-Wan moved past Anakin.
Anakin frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
A lie. So clearly a lie. And Obi-Wan never lied to him.
“Master–”
Obi-Wan shut the cabinet a bit harder than was necessary and hovered there, not moving.
Anakin waited.
Finally, Obi-Wan spoke softly. “Master Tekk spoke with me today.”
“Okay?” Anakin said cautiously.
“Her Padawan is a...friend of yours, I understand.”
“Yeah!” Anakin lit up. “Rechi! She’s–”
“Do you talk to all of your friends about your inexperienced and uncaring Master...or just her?”
Anakin froze.
His mouth went dry, even though he knew he needed to speak. Obi-Wan still hadn’t turned from the cabinet.
“I...I didn’t–”
“You did. There’s no use lying to me.”
Anakin dropped his head, his face growing warm with the humiliation of being caught and remorse for the words making it back to Obi-Wan.
“I didn’t mean it...”
“Yes. You did.”
Anakin swallowed hard.
“This doesn’t come naturally to me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan spoke quietly. He turned around slowly, but kept his gaze on the counter beyond the teenager. “Taking you on as a Padawan, I know...I know we’ve had our bumps, but–but I truly thought things were going well. That you were happy–”
“I am happy!”
“For another Master to tell me that you…” Obi-Wan shoulders hunched in on themselves a bit. “I didn’t know I was so grossly underestimating our progress.”
“Master–”
“I’m learning too, Anakin. From the beginning, we...we’ve taught each other. That’s something I thought made us stronger as a pair, not weaker, but–I...if it’s ‘experience’ you want, then I...am not the Master for you.”
“Yes, you are–”
“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head, holding up a hand. “When Qui-Gon offered you a place at the Temple, you were under the assumption that...that he would be completing your training. Not me. You…” He sighed, shakily. “You didn’t even know me.”
Anakin watched his Master, silently. None of the words that threatened to come out of his mouth were right.
“I didn’t consider the unfairness for you. That...that you were essentially tricked into a life that was then taken from you before it began. I let my emotions cloud my judgement. When Qui-Gon–” He paused, his eyes distant for a moment. He blinked. “I was selfish to not think of the implications for you. That you may not be interested in studying under someone who–”
Anakin had enough. “No! Master, I was just angry that day! It was when we got back from Quilla and you–”
Obi-Wan’s frown deepened and his expression twisted into hurt. “I chose that mission because you’d told me you wanted to learn to swim and I wanted to...to teach you.”
Anakin’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”
“When the current pulled you, I–I was frightened. I didn’t know what to...Anakin, I thought you were gone…”
“I didn’t know,” Anakin shook his head furiously, his heart pounding with guilt. “I thought you didn’t tell me about the current because you...you wanted me to figure it out for myself and–”
“Do you think me that cruel?”
Anakin couldn’t speak. He’d never seen Obi-Wan like this; he looked so young.
“I need to be alone,” he murmured.
Anakin’s neck snapped around as his Master brushed past him, headed toward his room. “Obi-Wan, no, please just–”
The door slid shut. The kettle sat unused in the sink.
Febuwhump Day 8 - “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep!”
A/N: I can’t believe I just wrote this in one sitting. I know I’m super behind on Febuwhump, yikes...but I think this turned out pretty well! This got longer than I meant it to be, but then, so did most of the prompts in my drafts that I have for this month. This is actually my first time purposefully writing whump so I hope this was okay! Unedited btw, i’ll read it over in the morning.
TW: Burning building, explosions, second degree burns, mentions/descriptions of burn wounds, life or death situation, building collapse, concussed reader.
***
The first thing Hawks notices when he comes to is the foul taste in his mouth. It causes him to gag and cough with his eyes still closed, though that doesn’t help his situation much if at all. The smell of something burning sears the inside of his nostrils and clogs his lungs, and he finds it incredibly hard to breathe as he rolls over onto his side, eyes finally fluttering open.
The second thing he becomes acutely aware of is how hot he is. No...how hot the floor is. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to recall what he was doing down there anyways. If only that incessantly annoying ringing in his ears would stop-
Wait. Wait a minute...
An image of you flashes behind his eyelids as he blinks them shut harshly to block out the billowing cloud of smoke filling the room, and it all comes back to him in a whirlwind.
There were villains. High class villains. Not your every day run of the mill villains, but villains who could really pack a punch when fighting back. They had been occupying a small skyscraper at the time as their headquarters, and you and Hawks had partnered up to take them down after months of steak outs and observation. But something had gone wrong...very wrong. Those details were still a bit blurry, but Hawks remembers something akin to an explosion- a loud noise, the building shaking, and a blast that knocked him unconscious.
All of the sudden he’s hyper aware of what’s going on- and he realizes he needs to move fast if he’s going to get out of here alive. He’s at least twenty stories up in the air on unstable structures, his feathers and hair are singed, and his head is foggy after inhaling too much smoke. Luckily he can still move, and it doesn’t look like he’s been burned too severely, at least not yet. But the flames licking at the bottom of the closed door in front of him cause alarm bells to scream out in his head, and he knows he doesn’t have much time to think. He needs to find you so he can grab you and-
Ohhh, shit.
As he rolls over onto his other side, he can make out the outline of a figure lying on the floor, and he’s almost certain it’s you. None of the villains stuck around after blowing the place up anyways, and he can just barely see the dulled colors of your hero suit behind the thick screen of smoke.
“Fuck! Oh god, Y/N.”
You’re lying too still for your own good, and Hawks thinks he can see the beginning of what he can only assume to be fire slowly eating at the wall next to you. He wastes no time and flattens himself on his stomach, army crawling in your general direction to avoid the worst of the putrid air. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing. He ignores the uncomfortable heat of his body and pushes onward, his movements still a little sluggish from getting knocked out cold. He’s not entirely sure if he can even use his feathers right now while they’re this singed, and furthermore, he hopes his wings aren’t completely out of commission; he’s going to need those if the both of you are going to make it out of this alive.
“Y/N!” he tries to shout, though it ends in a horrible sounding cough that comes from deep in his chest. As he draws nearer, he hears what sounds like creaking coming from above the two of you, and to his utter horror, the support beams under floor above you have burnt to a crisp and look like they’re ready to collapse any second. It had to have been a sheer miracle that the two of you weren’t already engulfed in flames yourselves. “Y/N! Come on, kid, you gotta get up! Move!”
Even as he tries to urgently get your attention his body seems to move on it’s own accord, and before he can stop himself, he sends a few feathers your way out of habit and concern that you might be crushed any second if he doesn’t move you somehow. It hurts like hell, and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding. This is by far the worst he’s felt when using his feathers, but it does pay off, and you’re lucky that he made the split decision to move you- no sooner had he scrambled back with you had the ceiling collapsed into the floor.
He turns to you while staying low to the ground, shaking you desperately and firmly smacking the side of your face with his hand in hopes of interrupting your forced slumber. It works but just barely, and Hawks watches as you try to take a deep breath but end up choking just as he had. He gives you a once-over while you struggle to breathe, eyes flitting over your form to assess any damage you may have taken- and to his dismay, there seems to be a good amount of it. The entire left side of your hero outfit is singed, bits of the fabric even burnt into your skin in certain places where the heat must have been too strong. You hadn’t been able to move away or protect yourself in your sleep, and the burns on your arm and leg can definitely attest to that. They’re second degree, at least; some of the fire must have actually made contact with your skin.
“Oh, fuck- Hey, look at me. Y/N, focus here!”
He leans over you to look at your eyes, and he doesn’t have to shine a light in them or have you follow his finger to know that you hit your head a little too hard. They’re glossy and unfocused, and you can’t find a single place on his face to fixate on. You just keep looking all over, and Hawks can clearly tell your concussed.
Fucking great. He’s got to get you both out, and now.
“Hey, kid. Can you hear me?” He nervously awaits an answer with eyes trained on you, and the second you start to talk he lets out a small breath of short-lived relief.
“Hawks...? Wha...” You look so out of it and dazed.
“So that’s a yes, thank god...” Before you try to ask anything else, he stops you in your tracks and shakes his head at you. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- take it easy, alright? No questions, I just need you to listen and keep talking to me. Doesn’t matter what it’s about, I just need to know you’re awake and alive-” He pauses briefly to look around for something, anything he can do to escape.
There’s the door you both came from, the one that’s barely holding back the raging heat behind it- that’s a no-go. No way in hell is he trying to brave that. His wings won’t last five seconds in that, and you don’t have the means to protect yourself while you’re concussed. Another option is to try and escape through the hole in the floor that the ceiling caused...but that’s way too risky for the both of you as is, and it looks like flames are starting to creep in from that way, too. If he is going to take that route, he needs to do it soon. Maybe he can get to a staircase, or find a-
The sound of you moaning in pain cuts through his thoughts and his head whips back in your direction to find you grimacing and trying to move. “Ah ah- Don’t do that. Just keep talking, come on. I know it hurts, but you gotta keep talkin’ to me. I’m gonna get us out of this mess, somehow...”
Panic starts to set in as he realizes his options are limited. Terror grips him in it’s icy stone-cold jaws as he comes to the conclusion that his odds of survival are even worse.
“Hawks...it hur’s...” All you can do is roll your head back and forth and try to move, but your body just won’t cooperate with your mind.
“Fuck. Fuck! I know, I know...” His teeth grit together as he thinks, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Adrenaline is starting to kick in, and he’s desperate for anything at this point.
He still has no plan in mind when he makes another split second decision to move you from where you’re currently laying. The fire is only spreading up onto the carpeted floor the two of you are on, and the smoke is getting worse by the second; this room is a hot box with no ventilation at this point. He carefully picks you up and cradles you to his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you to both support your frame and shield you from the onslaught of unbearable heat. It forces him to take a few steps back, and he does his best to navigate through a screen of black without bumping into any furniture. He almost trips several times, but eventually he hits the opposite wall. Or, rather...
A window. Bingo.
“S’ tired...” you mumble. Your eyes are already fluttering, rolling to the back of your head as your limbs grow heavy in his arms.
“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep! Y/N!? Come on, stay awake!”
“C’n we go...home now?”
He doesn’t like how ragged your breathing sounds.
He almost chuckles at the absurdity of the situation, but his lungs are already full of tainted air to laugh, let alone breathe properly, so he scoffs instead- and instantly regrets it. Between fits of coughs, he presses his shoulder to the glass behind you both to test the temperature, and it’s much hotter than it should be. Part of the glass is already blown out to his right, but there’s not enough space to crawl out without the jagged edges of it tearing up his flesh and wings. But if he could somehow break it...
His feathers. He’ll have to use up more of them, but if he uses the bare minimum necessary to break the glass and saves the majority, he may be able to make it out the window and fly you both to safety.
“We can’t go home yet,” he chokes out in response to you, finally. “I’m gonna get you out of here, and then you’re on your way to the hospital, yeah? You’re gonna be fine.”
He knows that to be true, so long as he can actually manage this. He backs up as far as he can go without subjecting either of you to the hot flames now openly invading the room, the entryway having burnt to a crisp already. From where he stands now, he hopes there’s enough distance to create the amount of force needed to shatter that damn glass. After a quick estimate of how many feathers he can get away with using, he readies them, and it all boils down this moment. If he can’t do this, you’ll both die. Both of your lives are at stake, resting on his weary shoulders. He can do this.
He has to.
“Wanna go home...wanna go...” You’re just murmuring to yourself, and it really puts Hawks on edge.
He hears the glass shatter before he sees it. He stumbles forward, wings still securely wrapped around you, and all but falls out of the edge of the window right before the rest of the floor collapses in on itself. He hears the devastation behind him, feels sparks on his back where the holes of his shirt meet the beginnings of his wings. He knows if he had hesitated or stayed any longer, neither of you would be alive right now.
Replacing his hold on you with his arms, he lets his wings drift open and prays he didn’t overdo it with the feathers, begs whatever gods may be listening that the two of you can at least slow the fall somehow. And to his pure joy and bliss, his wings, though bleeding and burnt and painful, are still very much holding up and allowing him to fly.
Now if he can manage to get you to a hospital...you’ll be just fine.
(ONE SHOT) you’ve got to run far from all you’ve ever known STAR WARS
Febuwhump no.3 - Imprisonment
A03
As he’s carried through the oppressive halls of the Star Destroyer, Rex’s entire body aches and his stomach rolls. His head is fuzzy, the result of the stunner that had taken him down, and his chest aches where the Purge Trooper had tackled him.
He had been on Felucia, following a potential lead on Bly’s location, when he’d run into the trooper in black. He’s only heard rumours of Purge Troopers, of Stormtroopers so elite that they’d earned their own classification and higher quality weapons. Made to specifically hunt Jedi survivors, Purge Troopers were well known for never leaving survivors, and for fighting until they couldn’t fight anymore. They were rarely ever seen among the rank and file, only given the most dangerous of missions, and they were rumoured to be among the best of the clones.
Rex had been tracking any leads he could, to rescue any vode possible, but even after five years, it seemed like an impossible task. He’d gotten both Gregor and Wolffe out, but neither had had an activated chip, too damaged by the head trauma they’d received during the Clone Wars, but neither were in a good place to run missions. He had gone to Cut, had helped him remove his own and take his family deeper into hiding so that the Empire couldn’t find them. He knows that Clone Force 99 is free, he exchanges encrypted comms with Echo on a regular basis, but they never meet up, unwilling to lead possible tails to each other. Rex’s strength had been his anonymity; the Empire thought him dead, that he’d died with the rest of his men when the ship went down, and his face was simply that of another clone if he kept his hair disguised. It allowed him to sneak behind lines and collect intelligence to pass on to the fledgling Rebellion, because no one was looking for him. He had heard a passing rumour of Bly possibly being on Felucia, being on the planet where his Jedi had been killed, and Rex had acted as quickly as he could; he’d known what was going on between Bly and his General during the War, knew that the Commander didn’t just think of her as a General, and he knew that if he didn’t find him fast enough, there likely wouldn’t be anything to save.
He had been right. He’d found Bly, found him where he knew Bly would have wanted to be, and he’d kneeled in front of those two graves and begged for forgiveness. For not being fast enough, for not listening to Fives, for not being there. The rumours had been right; Bly had been on Felucia, but he was already gone.
Someone had gone through the trouble of burying both the Jedi and the Commander, had known Bly well enough to know that he’d want to be buried with his Jedi, and Rex had wondered how long it could have possibly been - how the rumours could have been sparked.
Then he’d picked up Bly’s bucket, intent on giving his ori’vod one final kov’nyn while he said his Remembrances, and he’d seen the blinking light of an activated signal.
Someone had staged it. Someone had known that a free clone would come looking if a signal was picked up, and had planted a trap at the same time as they buried Rex’s brother.
He hadn’t even had time to pull out his blasters before the Purge Trooper had been bearing down on him.
Rex doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious since the trooper stunned him, he doesn’t know why he was taken alive, all he knows is that there are stun cuffs humming around his wrists and the Purge Trooper has him slung effortlessly over his shoulder like he were nothing more than a sack of tubers. Rex is almost a little offended; he knows he’s lost weight since starting his hunt, knows that he hasn’t had the chance to eat the way that his metabolism demands when he’s not on Seelos where Gregor can fuss over him and shove food that tastes like ash down his throat - he has no doubt that his brother can cook, and cook well, but Rex just doesn’t have the energy to taste what he makes, just goes through the motions of chewing and swallowing to make Gregor happy and reduce Wolffe’s stress - but he hadn’t thought he’d lost enough mass to make it easy on the clone carrying him. He’s slung over a surprisingly soft pauldron, staring foggily down at the Purge Trooper’s swaying kama, and he wonders if he knows this trooper, wonders if he could knock the bucket off and place their face.
Maybe he could sway them away from the chip’s programming.
“Commander.” A voice Rex doesn’t recognize, can’t see, says, and the Purge Trooper pauses, gait skipping slightly. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve captured a traitor to the Empire, Sir.” The Purge Trooper says drolly, like they were annoyed at the interruption. “I’m taking the clone to the brig, so that it can be transferred to Kamino for repairs and reconditioning.”
Rex’s stomach drops, heart fluttering in fear. If he was taken back to Kamino, the Longnecks would put the chip back in his head, and everything that made him Rex would be gone again. Panic flares in his mind like a heavy fog, threatening to drown him with the memories of staring down his blaster at Ahsoka’s scared face and not recognizing her as his vod’ika and Commander. He hadn’t seen her as anything but a target, someone to execute - a traitor, not even a person, and if he hadn’t warned her before being dragged under in that split second of horrified realization that Fives had been right, then she’d likely be dead.
“Trooper,” The Purge Trooper’s superior sounds annoyed, like they were dealing with a child that kept bringing feral animals into their bed. It’s almost the exact tone of voice Rex had to use when Tup had tried to slip a ‘therapy animal’ onto the Resolute. “You know your orders. Any rogue clone is to be executed, not detained. If you continue to ignore regulations, I’ll have no choice but to have you returned for retraining.” The Imperial sighs, sounding tired. “I’ve already been far too lenient with your… defectiveness … because of your skills.”
“CT-7567 is an exemplary soldier, sir, and can be put to use once repairs are complete.” The Purge Trooper argues, and Rex lets out a punchy little breath of shock where he’s still playing dead on the trooper’s shoulder. “He’s one of the best, General.”
They know who he is.
“And that’s what you claimed the last time.” The Imp growls, “Right before CT-9021 destroyed itself and the transport it was on. That wasn’t even the first time either. Execute the clone and dispose of it, it’s my position on the line if I allow your defect to cause any more damage to the Empire.”
The Purge Trooper’s entire body shudders at the order, and Rex’s hands clench against the other clone’s thigh. There’s a stun baton hanging off of the trooper’s hip, if he could reach it, Rex could possibly try to fight his way out of the situation he’s found himself in. But there’s an entire cruiser between him and escape, a cruiser he doesn’t know how to navigate with an unknown amount of Stormtrooper, of which is an unknown percentage of chipped vode, and there’s active stuff cuffs around his wrists.
“Sir, the Empire would lose a powerful asset-”
“CC-2224, execute the traitor.”
Rex jolts, and it’s not just because he’s been dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. His head is ringing, his chest aches from the harsh landing so soon after taking on a fully armoured Purge Trooper, but all he can think is that it’s Cody .
Codycodycody - he’s here, he was just holding Rex. He had Cody within his grasp, after five years of desperately searching for him, looking for any sign that his ori’vod had survived Order 66. Cody had been collecting unchipped clones, bringing them back to the Empire despite his orders to kill them. The big brother that had found Rex hidden away from the eyes of the Kaminoans all those years ago is still there, still thinking underneath the thrall of the chip, still trying to protect any vod he could, just like how he had once promised to protect Rex from decommissioning.
Cody is staring down at him from behind the glowing red visor of a Purge Trooper, Rex can see the reflection of his wide eyes in the glossy black of his armour. He barely notices the blaster being leveled at him, too caught up with desperately trying to see his brother underneath the unfamiliar helmet.
“Cody.” His voice breaks - gods, it must have been Cody who buried Bly, Cody who was probably one of the few people who truly understood the position Bly had found himself in when he’d fallen in love with someone he could never have. Clad in armour so different from those that Cody had chosen, had so lovingly painted to represent a part of him that the Longnecks would have never allowed, Cody just stares back. “Cody - it’s you.” He’s almost too relieved to see him to feel the fear of his imminent execution. “You’re alive.” Rex’s voice is bordering on reverent, but he can’t bring himself to care. It had been five years since he had last seen his brother. “Force - I’ve been looking everywhere for you -” he lets out a faint laugh, “- of course you would be the one to find me instead.” His eyes flicker down momentarily, to look at the blaster aimed for his chest, shaking faintly, and a bitterly sad smile lifts his lips. “Well. I doubt this is the meeting either of us had in mind.” Rex raises his gaze once more to the expressionless helmet his brother was wearing, face illuminated in crimson.
If he were going to die, he’d rather it be looking into Cody’s eyes.
“It’s okay, Cody.” He soothes, “It’s okay. It’s not you - I don’t blame you.” Cody’s body shivers, “I love you, ori’vod.”
Cody’s entire body jerks, twists, and Rex’s acceptance falls away to shock as his brother swings around to face the Imperial in white. The blaster fires, and the General drops, a smoking hole in their chest, their expression a dying mask of stunned confusion.
“Cody?”
“-execute the traitor.” Cody’s mumble is barely audible through his bucket, as his shaking hands fumble to throw his blaster as far away as possible. “Execute the traitor to the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose.” He jerks again, movement punchy, as he moves towards Rex now and wordlessly lifts him to his feet. “How many - how many - how many are traitors?”
“Cody?” Rex repeats, stunned, as his brother hauls him through the halls, “What the kriff was that?”
“General Medenhall was a traitor to the Empire.” Cody mutters, voice frantic. “Putting his own needs above those of the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose. He had too much control on the ship. The others are traitors too.” Rex doesn’t even think that Cody is talking to him, wonders if Cody had ever been talking to him. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of his words - or trying to convince the chip.
“Cody you mad genius.” Rex says in numb shock, joy blooming in his chest.
Cody was fighting the chip.
“Good soldiers follow orders.” Cody hisses, grip tightening on Rex’s elbow to the point that it was almost painful, giving him a faint shake, and Rex gets the message to shut up and let his brother concentrate on the chip in his head. He shuts his mouth and lets his older brother drag him through the halls. “My orders were to execute the traitor. General Medenhall was the traitor. The asset needs to be secured.”
No Stormtrooper they pass looks twice at them, none of them seem to pick up that their General had just been killed and that the Purge Trooper that they all carefully don’t look at is muttering to himself. None of them seem to notice that he’s imprisoned in his own mind, fighting desperately against the chains. None of them seem to care that he’s dragging a prisoner behind him to Force knows where.
None of them stop them from reaching the shuttle bay, none of them stop them as Cody leads him onto a ship and closes the ramp behind them.
“Holy kriff Cody.” Rex whispers in awe, “You always were too competent for anyone’s good.”
Cody shakes his head, releasing his arm, but he doesn’t step away. Quivering hands grip at a black helmet, and Cody sways momentarily before he’s ripping off the Purge Trooper bucket and throwing it against the floor with enough force to make it bounce away from them with the sound of cracking plastoid.
For the first time in five years, Rex gets to see his brother’s face.
He looks younger than Rex now, his face is less lined by age, somehow, like he had actually aged only the five years a natborn would have, but his temples have started to gray. It’s still his brother’s face, still the face that had haunted Rex’s nightmares for the last five years, when he hadn’t known if his brother was alive or dead. His scar is even more faded than it had been the last time he had seen him, had been given the chance to heal, the stress lines still etched into his forehead from scowling at datapads too often.
It really is Cody.
Dark wetness drips from his brother’s nose, tracing across the pained scowl twisting his lips, and his eyes look bloodshot, and Rex wonders how much pain his ori’vod is in from fighting against his chip and its programming.
Fuck, he doesn’t know if Cody can fly in this state.
His gaze slides to the shock baton at his brother’s waist once more.
Slowly, making sure not to alert him, Rex reaches, curls his fingers around the hilt, and before Cody can react, he’s sliding it free. He activates it quickly, and, with an apologetic wince, the former Captain presses the sparking weapon against the unprotected patch of his brother’s side. Cody is seizing up immediately. He instinctively tries to pull away, but Rex follows. He blocks out the garbled noises of agony his brother releases, ignores the tears tracing through the grime on both of their faces, and he holds it there until Cody slumps, twitching, but blissfully unconscious.
“Sorry, brother.” Rex whispers, fumbling through his brother’s belt until he finds the key to his cuffs, and he’s barely aware of swapping them onto Cody’s wrists instead, as a last resort if he woke up while they were flying. “Sorry.”
Dead to the world, but no longer under the fist of the Empire, Cody doesn’t answer.
Sighing, Anakin shifted in his chair. He glanced to his right, where Ahsoka sat in her own chair, sleeping.
They’d been waiting since the afternoon—since she and Anakin had landed the ship at the nearest hangar and dragged Obi-Wan to the medbay. Obi-Wan had protested at first, saying that he’d only suffered a minor head wound, but then he collapsed after the ship’s landing sequence ended.
And then…
Anakin had never seen a seizure before, so when it happened, he froze.
Luckily, Ahsoka seemed to know to roll Obi-Wan onto his side while it happened, and—
Well, then came the medics, and Master Che’s diagnosis and treatment.
A massive brain bleed, and surgery.
Which lead Anakin to where he was now—sitting and waiting for a Healer to come out and say that it was over, that Obi-Wan would be alright.
Anakin needed to hear that. The longer this took, the more he began to think that there was a complication, and that something had gone terribly wrong and the Healers weren’t going to be able to save Obi-Wan, and then—
A shuffling sound. Ahsoka’s brows scrunched together, and then her eyes opened. She let out a quiet sigh.
“Hey, Skyguy,” she mumbled, stretching her arms above her head. “Are they still working on him?”
Anakin nodded in response, and Ahsoka’s face fell.
“He’ll be alright,” she murmured. “Maybe they’re just double-checking? They did say the bleed was massive. It could just be taking them a lot of time.”
“Maybe,” Anakin echoed.
They fell into silence after that. Ahsoka stared at the floor, looking as though she was counting the tiles, while Anakin struggled to get his mind under control, because—
He couldn’t help but assume that the worst had happened. Obi-Wan was…
Anakin had never seen him like that before, and it was too much.
There were quiet footsteps, bringing Anakin out of his thoughts, and then a Rodian Padawan Healer.
“Master Kenobi’s out of surgery now,” she informed them, voice quiet. “I can take you to him, but I need to let you know…”
“Let us know what?” Anakin demanded, leaning forward. “Did something happen? Why did it take so long? What’s—”
“Master,” Ahsoka said, giving Anakin a significant look. Then, she turned towards the Healer. “Please, tell us.”
Anakin didn’t completely understand all of the words that fell out of the Healer’s mouth, and he suspected that Ahsoka didn’t either. All he knew was that he was hearing words like significant, more than expected, complications, and permanent damage.
At that last one, Anakin started.
“What?” he croaked. “Permanent damage?”
The Healer sighed, bowing her head. “The damage was more severe than expected. We don’t know if…we simply won’t know how severe until he wakes up.”
“But permanent damage is a possibility,” Ahsoka said, voice quiet. “That’s what you’re saying, right?”
The Healer nodded, and Anakin closed his eyes.
“Take us to him,” Ahsoka was saying, but her voice sounded so far away now, as though she went into another room. “Please.”
“Of course,” the Healer replied, sounding even further away.
Numbly, Anakin stood up and followed them out of the empty waiting area, through the door, down the corridor into the recovery area. Then, they stopped outside a door.
“The anesthesia is wearing off,” the Healer said, tilting her head towards the door. “But he should be awake soon. You can sit inside and wait.”
“Thank you,” Ahsoka said. When the Healer walked away, Ahsoka opened the door, and then Anakin felt himself following, though he felt like he was somewhere far away, only watching all of this unfold from a distance.
The figure on the bed was barely recognizable. There were bacta bandages wrapped around Obi-Wan’s head, wires and machines, and a horrible pallor to his face, along with the bruises.
Obi-Wan just didn’t look like himself at all.
Anakin found himself moving to the chair next to the bed and sitting down, Ahsoka following suit next to him.
Then, they waited in contemplative silence. Ahsoka’s eyes tracked around the room, taking in the sight of the machines and monitors, while Anakin stared at Obi-Wan’s face, unable to tear his gaze away.
So when Obi-Wan’s eyes finally opened into tiny slits, something in Anakin’s stomach tightened.
“Master?” Ahsoka asked, jumping to her feet. “Thank goodness you’re awake. You’ve been out for a really long time, and the Healers had to take you to surgery. How are you feeling?”
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrowed, and he groaned softly. Then, after a moment, he opened his mouth.
“Ahsoka?” he whispered, voice gravelly.
“Yeah, and Anakin’s here, too, Master Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan’s mouth worked as his eyes opened wider, staring up at the ceiling. Then, he moved his head towards Anakin and Ahsoka.
“Anakin?”
“Yeah, I’m here, Obi-Wan,” Anakin replied, taking a step forward and reaching for Obi-Wan’s hand with his flesh one. “Are you doing alright? You look a bit…shaken.”
“Anakin, I can’t—” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled, and then his eyes moved, away from Anakin and Ahsoka, raking across the room. “I can’t see.”
A pause, except for Ahsoka’s quiet gasp, along with the feeling of the Force shaking with pain and desperate confusion.
