Wolffe has a weighted wolf plush that Plo Koon got him
Fox regularly falls asleep standing up
Tup is called the Vixus by his brothers because if you decide to cuddle with him he will not let you go until he wants to. Doesn't matter if the galaxy is ending, if he wants his cuddles he's getting his cuddles. (Btw a vixus is the creepy living vine thing from Umbara.)
Tup can rollerblade/skate and he can ice skate.
Hardcase has worn dresses before and he slayed it.
Every single clonetrooper has had at least one homosexual thought at least once.
Fives can absolutely slay it in heels
Thorn regularly brings tookas back to the GAR headquarters, Fox acts annoyed but the next thing you know it suddenly has a collar and is kept as a morale booster. they have an entire room for the Tookas filled with beds, toys, water/food bowls, Tooka towers(cat towers), heating pads, and everything they may possibly need.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
A Sequel to the fic "A Series of Hard Knocks," focusing on Tup and Dogma. Now six months after the trials of Umbara, Tup and Dogma are growing into themselves as well-established members of the 501st. Tup's been training more with Fives and Jesse, dead-set on an ARC trooper promotion, and even Dogma found a place in medical, where his intense focus and organization are both needed and appreciated. While helping Dogma study for his medic exams, discoveries are made, and help comes from unlikely sources as they unearth a foreboding plot.
Bent over a datapad while sitting on his bunk, Dogma was definitely starting to form a crick in his neck. He’d been going through medical simulations for so long that the words were starting to bleed together on the screen, and he gripped his hair in frustration. Groaning, he muttered to himself, “I’m never going to get this!”
Sensing his batchmate’s frustration, Tup glanced upwards at Dogma’s bunk and asked, “You good, Dogma?” Tup had turned in earlier for a late nap, hoping to ward off a headache, but he hadn’t accomplished more than kriffing up his sleep schedule. He was alert enough to worry, though, when Dogma’s only response was another frustrated groan.
Ever since his confinement to medbay post-Umbara, after a “clinically significant stress response,” Dogma had taken a bit of an interest in medicine, with Kix even recommending him for further training. For Dogma, this was a pretty big deal; most early deployers like them weren’t given specializations, but Dogma’s detail-oriented nature was greatly appreciated in the often chaotic medbay. He still had the bedside manner of a rock, but his bluntness came in handy when telling off di’kuts who should’ve known better than to punch droids, or try to recreate the Captain’s acrobatic maneuvers without the proper training.
With Dogma’s junior medic test coming up, Tup had seen less and less of his batchmate outside of racktime and mealtimes, but even then, he could sense his nervous anticipation. Now that they were finally here on Kamino, that anxiety had increased tenfold, and Tup wasn’t surprised to see Dogma staying up late yet again to study.
“Dogma?” Tup asked again when he didn’t respond, starting to get up from his own bunk.
Dogma bit his lip, practically trembling in frustration. “I just– I don’t know why I’m even doing this. I’m never going to pass this test! It’s useless!” Unvoiced, he thought to himself, ‘I’m useless…’ Just barely stopping himself from throwing his datapad, Dogma was quickly starting to work himself up.
“Hey, hey Dogma– it’s okay, vod.” He reached up, offering a hand that was quickly gripped by Dogma.
Tup gave his hand a small tug, inviting him down to his own bunk. ”Dogma, what do you need?”
Sighing, Dogma lowered himself down from his bunk and slumped next to his brother. “Honestly, I just wish I had more experience. Most medics, even assistants, have years worth of practice and experience before they’re even out in the field. And I… I don’t.”
Tup hummed in understanding, squeezing Dogma’s hand in his own. They’d both changed a lot since they first joined the 501st, Tup growing broader and stronger since he’d started training more with Fives and Jesse, and even Dogma had grown into himself a little bit after finding a place where his natural tendencies were tolerated and even appreciated. He still had his moments of self-doubt, like now, but he voiced them now instead of keeping them bottled up.
Nodding, Tup replied. “Yeah, that sounds pretty intimidating. It must say a lot about your abilities if Kix thinks you’re ready for this, though.” He offered hopefully.
Dogma’s shoulders relaxed a little bit, and he muttered. “I just… I don’t want to let them down… don’t want them to think they wasted their time on me.”
Turning to face Dogma directly, Tup’s voice took on a more serious tone. “No time spent with you is a waste, vod.”
He held his gaze for a moment before Dogma looked away with a quiet huff of amusement, and Tup cracked a grin. “Hey, it’s cheesy but it’s true!” Dogma rolled his eyes, but a small smile remained.
Standing up all of a sudden, and ignoring a weird second of dizziness, Tup looked back at Dogma with a smile. “Well, if it’s practice you want, then practice on me! I bet there’s tons of skills that are easier to practice with a vod than with a datapad. You still have access to the training clinic, right?”
“Yeah,” Dogma nodded, starting to look interested in Tup’s suggestion. “You don’t mind? It’s starting to get late, and you had that headache earlier.”
These days, it was starting to seem like Tup had a headache more often than not, citing stress or bright lights or a “budding sensitivity to the force” on one particular occasion, to Dogma’s exasperation. Whatever it was, Tup didn’t seem too worried about it after the scans came back negative, so Dogma couldn’t do much more than insist his batchmate do better with hydrating and keeping a regular sleep schedule (not that he was one to talk).
Tup rolled his eyes, “I’m fine Dogma, barely even notice it at this point. And I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t serious.”
Giving Tup one last look, not seeing any overt signs of discomfort, Dogma nodded, accepting the offer. “Alright, thanks. We should get going before it gets too much later, though.”
“Lead the way, vod.”
Four hours, seven assessments, and one plaster cast later, Tup was officially bored. He didn’t mind being Dogma’s training mannequin, but how was he supposed to know whether Dogma poked him with one fork prong or two? “Ugh, I dunno, two?”
“One.” Dogma responded, a look of concentration on his face. “You scored a total of 5/10 for that last one, Tup. That’s supposed to be abnormal, right?”
Tup rolled his eyes with a half-grin, “I’m supposed to be the patient here, Dogma. You tell me.” It seemed like more than a couple of the assessments had resulted in unusual scores, but maybe they were just meant to be taken by troopers who’d gotten a full night’s sleep the night before, or at least that’s what he told Dogma when he barely lasted five seconds after trying to stand on one leg with his eyes closed.
“Well, with this and the other results, Tup–”
“Not Tup, I’m Sketch! Remember vod?”
Dogma let out a beleaguered sigh. “ Sketch , then.” He didn’t know why Tup insisted on fake patient names for every new group of assessments. “I’d like to do a vision test next, to help rule out any head injuries.” He didn’t know exactly what kind of fake diagnosis Tup was aiming for, but it was good practice nonetheless. So far, “Sketch” had tested positive for abnormal sensation, coordination, and reflexes, although the last one could’ve just been Tup’s natural clumsiness off the battlefield.
“Just tell me where to look!” Tup grinned. Boredom aside, it was pretty fun to see just how much progress Dogma had made in his training over the past six months.
Dogma nodded, walking Tup over to a line on the ground and pointing at an aurebesh sign with letters decreasing in size. “Read this line here,” Dogma said, pointing to the eighth line down.
Tup squinted for a moment before sighing. “I can’t read that, vod! Try a normal one.” Dogma raised an eyebrow before moving up a line or two. “How about here?”
“Uh… esk, dorn, enth, cresh, zerek, and… I’m not sure about the last one.” Tup smiled sheepishly.
They continued the test, next with the other eye, and Dogma concluded that “Sketch” was having mild vision problems as well. Next step would be some sort of brainscan, but first, he had to determine the severity.
“Alright, Tu– Sketch,” He ground his teeth slightly, prompting a grin from Tup, “Have you been having any neurological symptoms recently? This could look like mood swings, spacing out, headaches.”
“Yeah,” Tup responded, recalling yesterday when he’d been watching a holovid while in-transit to Kamino. One minute he’d been fine, enjoying the jokes and the plot, and the next minute he’d been all-out sobbing, and one of the tookas in the show had looked so sad and lonely, and looked a little like Dogma, and the Dogma tooka was sad and lonely and– He teared up a little at the memory.
“Okay, which ones?” Dogma asked, taking note in his datapad. He wasn’t sure whether he actually had clearance to do a brainscan, but depending on Tup’s answer, it probably wouldn’t hurt to check.
“All of them…?” Tup responded, unsure.
Nodding, Dogma put down his datapad, looking like he’d just solved a puzzle. “From these results, I’d say we’re either looking at a brain bleed, a concussion, or if you were a civvie, a tumor. We’ll need to do a scan to verify, and from the list of resources Patch gave me, a level 5 brainscan would be the best to differentiate between the three.”
Tup rolled his eyes, “You sound like those med-core holonet articles, vod. Not every headache’s a death sentence. And do they even have those types of scanners in the training room?”
That… was a good question, and after a minute of searching, Dogma reluctantly concluded that they did not. “I don’t even know if I have comm access to one of those, now that I’m thinking about it…” He bit his lip, conflicted. Even months after the whole Krell debacle, he was still trying to tread lightly during their stay on Kamino. As it was, he barely had a minute alone, with Fives, Kix, Tup, and even Hardcase shadowing him to and from his practice sessions, not that he minded much, but it meant that he’d been relying on their ident codes to access most of the facilities, rather than his own.
“I know!” Tup exclaimed. “I bet Fives could get us in. He’s an ARC trooper, so he’s probably got access everywhere, and… he owes me one.” He grinned, to which Dogma snorted.
“He owes you a lot more than one, after that fiasco with the Captain.” He said, earning a smirk from Tup, who nodded.
“Let’s call him, then!” Tup said, quickly getting out his comm.
“Hey Fives, you awake? This is Tup!”
It took a couple seconds, but eventually Fives responded, groaning in exhaustion. “Tup…? It’s like, 3 am, vod... What do you need?
‘Whoops,’ Tup thought, sheepishly looking at the chrono on the wall. He honestly hadn’t realized that it had gotten so late. But Fives was already awake now, so they might as well.
“I’m helping Dogma study for his medic test, and we need access to one of the scanner rooms. I was wondering if, maybe you could… you know?”
On the other side of the comm, Fives let out a long sigh before they heard blankets rustling and Fives spoke again through a gaping yawn. “Fine… don’t expect me to be awake when I get there, though.”
“Thanks, Fives! I’ll send you the room number. See you soon!” Shutting off his comm, he gave Dogma a victorious look before the two made their way through the eerily quiet hallways together.
They met Fives at one of the medbay scanner rooms, after being waved through by a bored-looking medic working the night shift. Fives had gotten there first and was waiting on them with bleary eyes and a mug of kaff he’d pilfered from the medic’s break room.
It turned out that Fives didn’t have access either, which made sense given that he wasn’t a medic, but with some carefully applied pressure to the keycard sensor, it only took a moment for the door to open.
Fives smirked, “Learned that one in ARC training. Never know when you’ll need a quick exit from medbay, if you know what I mean.”
Dogma raised an eyebrow, unamused, and Fives sheepishly realizes that he was talking to a medic in-training. He gulped down another sip of too-hot kaff with a cough, rather than put his foot in his mouth again.
Rolling his eyes, Dogma entered the medscanner room. Taking a moment to run through the procedure in his head, he double-checked the contraindications and warnings at the bottom of the text, just to be safe.
“Hmm,” Dogma looked up from his datapad. “It says here that there’s a mild risk of discomfort if the patient is experiencing neurological symptoms. But yours were all fake, so we should be good to go.”
“What fake symptoms?” Tup asked, confused.
Slowly, Dogma turned around to give Tup a dubious look. “Mood swings, spacing out, balance and coordination issues? Any of that ring a bell?”
“T-That wasn’t– I don’t have coordination issues!” Tup protested, starting to get worried.
“Wait, that wasn’t on purpose?” Dogma asked, going from annoyed to alert.
“No!”
Fives interjected, “Wait, what is going on? I thought this was for a practice test?”
“Well, it was, except that Tup’s apparently been having neurological symptoms, and didn’t think to tell anyone!”
“How was I supposed to know that?!” Tup asked, starting to tear up again, just proving Dogma’s point.
“Hey!” Fives interrupted in a voice that commanded attention. “Let’s take a moment and settle down… Tup, how long have you been noticing these issues for?”
Tup sniffled. “I-I dunno… just thought I was tired from our last campaign. And I’ve always had headaches and stuff, but it’s been a little worse lately…” He curled in on himself a little.
“And the spacing out? Vision problems? None of those things worried you?” Dogma asked, being mindful of his tone even though he wanted to chew Tup out for his absentmindedness.
“Vision problems?”
“...You tested 40/30 on the eye-chart, Tup…”
“...oh.”
The room was silent for a moment as Dogma mentally processed the situation. This was not good. Tup was having issues, real issues, and he hadn’t even noticed–
“I don’t think you’ve been having vision and coordination issues for that long.” Fives spoke, breaking the silence. “When we sparred a week and a half ago, your coordination seemed fine, and your range scores are the same as they’ve always been.”
Dogma nodded, feeling a twinge of relief that they at least had a timeline for this. “That’s true. I hadn’t thought about that.” He looked at his datapad one more time, reading and re-reading the results he’d gotten from the different assessments.
Finally, he looked back at Tup, giving his hand a tight squeeze when he saw Tup’s barely-contained anxiety. “We… we should call Kix. I know how to do the scan, but I want to make sure I’m not missing anything.”
Tup nodded tightly, squeezing Dogma’s hand back just as Fives put a grounding hand on both of them. “Let’s give him a call then.”
So with trepidation, Dogma pulled out his comm for the second time that night and desperately hoped for the best.
We know Hardcase is hyperactive (he said it, it's canon).
but what about other traits of ADHD?
I want to see Hardcase in the mess hall, trying to listen to Jesse tell a story, but there's a couple tables behind him that are just talking and yes Hardcase knows Jesse is talking but it's like the words aren't reaching him, so he just nods along and hopes he can ask Kix later if he knows the story. He at least heard his name in part of this.
I want to see Hardcase who needs to clean his armor after a campaign, but he's stuck sitting on his bed, overstimulated from the battle and he needs to just *be* for a minute, even though Rex has already told him to get started already.
I want to see Hardcase who doesn't go to 79s the first night of leave, because he still needs to decompress and he promises to go the next night, he just needs some quiet after constantly being around a lot of people, but part of the night he worries that the guys don't think he cares. A couple guys stay behind too and play cards with him with soft music playing.
I want to see Hardcase stuck in the medbay for some injury, and so he rambles about his interests to Kix, who is restocking stuff and giving little nods and noises of acknowledgment. Hardcase prefers to talk to Kix about his ideas for explosion types and other special interests, not because Kix really understands, but because Kix will give him tips on how to keep himself safe on tests and Kix will have a better idea what Hardcase is up to. And he's more likely to be patient and listen.
I want to see Hardcase in the middle of a long boring hyperspace trip and going around the cruiser looking for *anything* to do, from helping Kix sort the medbay, to handing tools to Fives in the hangar, to meditating with the general (the last one lasted the shortest). He ends up training most the time since a lot of guys are willing to spar.
I want to see Hardcase when he takes a section of the hangar to try to make a trap for the coming campaign, which General Skywalker trusted him to figure out given his skills, and everyone that checks on him is marveled because he hasn't derailed or set it off once. It works by the time they get there, and Hardcase is tired. Echo has him sit down to get some food in him, but he's considered the hero of the campaign even more than Skywalker for pulling it off.
I want to see Hardcase who needs to be told the mission plan a second time because his brain just didn't catch the middle part, but he can rattle off some obscure fact Fives told him once on a campaign last month.
I want to see Hardcase in a conversation bouncing from one topic to another, and not understanding how the person isn't following because they are all connected, he promises. Then he finds someone at 79s who *is* able to follow and you better believe he made a friend for life.
I want to see Hardcase in a mission briefing, but he keeps moving because he needs to in order to focus. Someone calls him out on it, only for Jesse to pipe up and tell them to leave him alone. Jesse makes sure to fill Hardcase in on the mission as they head out, because he still decided to keep still after the reprimand.
I want to see Hardcase pre-mission sitting with a cup of caf, because he found it helps a bit and the last thing he wants to do is mess up and lose more brothers to something out of his control.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter Summary:
Hardcase has been in a bit of a funk lately. After finally being released from medbay, he feels like he’s just treading water, only making himself more frustrated as the shoreline gets farther and farther away. What does recovery even look like for him?
“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Jesse mused from his seat in the mess hall, scooting over to make room for Hardcase, who was stubbornly juggling both his food tray and his crutches with a determined frown on his face.
“More like the wrong bed entirely,” Hardcase grumbled before he could stop himself. His left arm was shaking with effort as he moved to set down his tray. A few drops of juice spilled before Jesse could intervene, but Hardcase had insisted on grabbing his food himself and gave him a warning look even as the drink sloshed threateningly when he put it down. He growled in frustration, using a few napkins to mop up the worst of it.
Jesse blinked at his uncharacteristic response, eyeing him carefully. “You good, vod?”
Hardcase sighed, wincing internally. Even if he was in a bad mood, he shouldn’t take it out on his brothers. “Yeah, sorry Jess…”
It was Hardcase’s second night sleeping in the barracks, and to his unending frustration, his well-loved top-bunk wasn’t something he could get into by himself anymore. Jesse had been more than happy to swap bunks, but Hardcase couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness pooling in his stomach every time he tried to relax in the lower bunk. Recovery had been so painfully slow, and he’d known it would be, but so many big things had been changing recently. Was it too much to ask for this one thing to stay the same?
Using his good arm, he repositioned his bad arm on the table so it was holding his tray steady. His left hand was mostly recovered, and his elbow could bend by itself without too much trouble, but his shoulder was still stiff and weak in a way that made doing most things difficult.
At least he could put on his blacks by himself now with minimal assistance from his vode, compression shirt only slightly impeding their fit now that most of his bandages had been removed. Patch had walked him through the steps a couple days ago: dressing his injured limb first, then pulling his shirt over his head, shoving his good hand through the sleeve, twisting it to fit, and hoping for the best. He’d managed to get about 2/3 of his armor on himself, and usually Dogma would help him with the rest, but he’d sensed Hardcase’s mood this morning and wisely thought better of it, meaning Hardcase was only partially kitted up at the moment.
His armor was another point of contention, now that he was thinking about it. Fives and Jesse had done a great job preserving his armor, and had cleaned it as best they could after Umbara, but his new backplates and shoulder pad were as shiny as… well, a shiny. His arms still shook with fatigue if he held them up too long, which would inevitably ruin his usual meticulous armor patterns if he ever decided to fix them, but he hadn’t even been down to the firing range yet since his injury, so who knows if it’d ever be needed if he couldn’t ever fight again.
“So I was thinking of going to the training room later, if you wanted to join me,” Jesse offered with a carefully casual tone.
Hardcase gave a self-deprecating snort. “So you want me to sit and watch? No thanks.”
Jesse shook his head. “There’s weights and– and other exercises, you know. And if you brought the hoverchair, we could probably adjust the punching bag for you to go a few rounds. You look like you could stand to punch something, vod.”
Hardcase was silent for a moment, mulling it over in his head. He’d been itching to punch something for nearly a month now, but it would be just as frustrating to go and find that he couldn’t do anything. There were so many little tasks that he never used to think about, like putting on his socks or brushing his teeth that he now had to plan out to the smallest detail. And he tried– he tried to put on a brave face, but nothing was the same, and neither was he.
So he hesitated before finally responding, “I dunno… maybe.”
Jesse gave him a half-smile, accepting his answer for now and pushing down a pang of concern for his brother. “Well, let me know when you decide. I’ve missed my workout buddy.”
“Yeah, me too.” Hardcase responded, returning the smile reluctantly.
_______________
Sitting in a circle in the too-quiet barracks, a couple of troopers from the rehab group busied themselves by playing a game of sabacc. Exempt from duty while they were still recovering, Hardcase and the other injured troopers were left with more free-time than they knew what to do with.
Thankfully, a few of their brothers were off-duty at the moment, so Attie, Tup, and one of Sev’s batchmates had joined the group, even if Dogma wasn’t playing at the moment. It had been fun getting to know the other troopers recently. They’d had a couple assignments together, but Hardcase hadn’t really had a serious conversation with Nax or Attie before the past month. They had some pretty interesting stories of their time in the 501st.
Sev was the one who had originally wheedled them into a game of sabacc, especially now that Patch had made Sev a little card-holder so he could play without too much difficulty. The shiny had a surprisingly good sabacc face, earning himself a sizable stash of sweets. Last round, he’d won with a sylop card and a positive and negative seven, canceling each other out for a winning hand.
Presenting his cards with a grin, he gloated, “What can I say? Seven’s my lucky number.” Cackling, he raised his seven uninjured fingers for emphasis, earning an exasperated sigh from Nax, who had the worst luck of the group.
An atmosphere of easy camaraderie filled the barracks, only to be interrupted by a chirping timer. “Hardcase, time to take your meds.” Dogma said gruffly, barely bothering to look up from his datapad. Ever since being given his new posting, he’d been pretty absorbed in learning all he could.
Hardcase groaned in annoyance before putting down his hand of cards and leaning over to grab his small container of muscle-relaxers and anti-inflammatories from his bunk. Dogma had already refilled his canteen earlier so he didn’t swallow them dry… again.
Distracted by the group’s lighthearted banter, Hardcase leaned back to grab the container with one hand. For a brief second, he forgot– he forgot that his left arm couldn’t support his weight, even while sitting, and he let out a strangled yelp as it buckled underneath him, quickly followed by a wave of sharp discomfort.
Upper body unbalanced and half-laying on his bad arm, Hardcase hissed in pain as he tried to reposition himself. He screwed his eyes shut and yelled, “Kriff!”
Reaction half pain and half frustration, he banged his good hand on the floor, startling the group with his outburst. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the bottles of meds spinning slowly across the floor, coming to a stop in front of Attie.
“You okay, Hardcase? That looked like a pretty good fall.” Tup asked, concerned. He’d noticed Hardcase’s mood this morning too, but it had almost disappeared while they played sabacc, until now, that is.
“I’m fine!” He ground out stubbornly, struggling to get back up on his own. Dogma got up from his perch on a nearby bunk, offering him a hand, but Hardcase batted it away with a growl, insisting on getting back up on his own. Dogma looked briefly conflicted, but relented after another glare from Hardcase.
“There’s pain meds in here too if you need them,” Dogma offered slowly, trying to gauge Hardcase’s response.
“I don’t need pain-meds, and I’m not a kriffing invalid.” Hardcase shook his head, protesting even as he tried to steady his breathing from his half-fall. He tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on him as his cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He hated feeling like this.
The group was silent for a long moment before Nax eventually spoke.
“... the other day, I slipped in the fresher, completely wiped out. Attie had to drag my naked shebs back up onto the shower chair. It was slippery and embarrassing as kriff.” Nax offered gruffly, giving a half-smile to Attie, who was sitting next to him. “... ‘s okay to need help, and to have off-days.”
Attie responded by nudging him with his shoulder before looking back at Hardcase with understanding, knowing what it was to be broken and then learning to remake himself, even if their circumstances were very different.
Hardcase sighed, anger and self-recrimination fading. Nodding reluctantly, he muttered, “Feels like every day’s been an off-day, lately…”
This time Attie was the one to speak, reaching to hand Hardcase back his meds. “Some battles… they stay with you. Teth was like that. Umbara too.”
Hardcase looked up in surprise, taking the bottle from Attie. It was almost an unofficial rule that nobody talked about Teth, especially around Attie. So for Attie to bring it up himself was pretty significant.
He listened intently as the older trooper continued to speak. “We can’t change it, or stop it from changing us, but we can start to move on… just a little bit.”
Attie took a slow breath, lost in thought. Sometimes he’d think back to those times after Teth, even two years later, remembering “anniversaries” of times that he’d been really bad off. Now, he’d just sit back and marvel at how different he felt, compared to how he did then. Things got better; they really did, and they would for Hardcase too.
Before he could stop himself, Hardcase found himself asking, “How do I do that?”
Attie gave him a half-smile before shrugging. “Honestly, a lot of it just takes time… but it doesn’t hurt to lean on your brothers, or let them drag your naked shebs off the shower floor, like Nax here.” He elbowed his brother in the ribs, prompting a good-natured grumble.
Hardcase huffed in amusement before sighing. He wasn’t known for his patience, and this whole recovery process had already taken much longer than he wanted it to. But when it came to his brothers, spending time with them and leaning on them for support, he knew how to do that. So he accepted Dogma’s help unscrewing the caps of his medications, giving Tup a grateful smile as he passed out the next round of cards. Thankfully, his vode had more patience than he did, and were willing to be there for him, no matter how long it took.
____________________
Peeking his head into the fresher, Tup finally located his missing batchmate. “There you are, Dogma! Come on, we’re going to miss first-meal!”
He hadn’t seen much of his batchmate the past couple days, but he’d noticed that Dogma had been a little on-edge. He wasn’t sure if it was his new posting, or the General’s upcoming visit with the rehab group, but he’d been keeping a closer eye on Dogma, just in case.
“In a minute.” Dogma nodded without looking up from washing his hands, gaze laser-focused on the task.
“What are you doing?” Tup had been waiting for him the last ten minutes; usually Dogma left the fresher in less than three.
“Washing my hands.” Dogma stated redundantly, reapplying soap for the second time since Tup came in.
“Well, I can see that. Why are you still doing it?”
Silence.
“Dogma?”
“… it helps.”
“Helps what?” Tup's voice took on a concerned tone.
“I don’t know, it just does. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”
Despite Dogma’s dismissal, Tup stayed in the doorway, watching as Dogma’s hands turned red from the hot water. His normally short fingernails were clipped practically down to the skin, but he still scrubbed underneath them like his life depended on it.
“Dogma, I think your hands are clean enough.” He spoke cautiously, like he’d spook his batchmate by calling him out on it.
Dogma’s breath hitched, and finally, he paused his scrubbing, muscles tight under his blacks. Tup took the opportunity to walk to the sink before shutting the faucet off with careful hands.
Resting his hands on Dogma’s arms, above where he’d been washing them, Tup questioned his batchmate with a quiet tone. “Dogma?”
“… I can still feel it sometimes. Their blood on my hands. Y-Your blood; Krell’s blood…” Dogma’s voice was thready and his eyes refused to focus as Tup guided him to the flimsi dispenser to dry his hands.
Tup gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You never fired a shot at me, vod. My blood was never on your hands.”
Dogma’s voice shook. “B-But I could’ve—“
“And you didn’t, right? It took you some time, but you made the right decision… any blood spilt on Umbara was Krell’s doing and Krell’s alone.” Tup gave Dogma a wobbly smile, trying just as hard to convince himself of that fact, that the troopers he’d gunned down on Umbara weren’t their faults.
When Dogma still looked unconvinced, Tup brought their foreheads together in a light tap. Tup continued, “Remember what Patch’s been saying? Thinking about doing something is different than actually doing it, especially if it’s something you never wanted to do in the first place. It’s like…” He thought for a moment before coming up with an example.
“It’s like…the other day, I wondered what my hair would look like if I dyed it mustard yellow, like that brother from the 212th with questionable hair decisions. That doesn’t mean my hair will instantly turn yellow, or that I’ll dye it that color in the future.” Tup made a face of disgust, expression exaggerated for comedic effect, earning a small huff of amusement from Dogma.
“Sometimes thoughts are just thoughts, vod. They don’t have to become anything more than that– n-not that your thoughts aren’t important to me though.” Backtracking slightly, Tup gave Dogma a sheepish smile. This conversation broached on a lot of topics that really weren’t his expertise, but understanding Dogma was something of a science itself, and Tup had been training in that since he was decanted.
Dogma, for his part, gave a slow exhale, attempting to calm his racing thoughts as he relaxed in Tup’s hold. He nodded at Tup’s statement and tried to accept it himself. “Y-You’re right… thanks, Tup.”
After a moment, he pulled away, looking down with a grimace to examine his hands, still red with irritation. Tup followed his gaze before making a noise and using one hand to nudge him towards the door. He kept his tone free of judgment as he herded his batchmate down the hall. “Let’s head down to medbay really quick. Should probably get that looked at, just in case.”
Dogma frowned, but didn’t fight the gentle hand on his shoulder. Sighing reluctantly, he mumbled, “Lead the way.”
______________________
Hardcase grinned to himself from his seat in the rehab room as he listened to the General’s stories. Apparently there’d been a mission where a magnet attracted his metal prosthetic so strongly that it lifted him up off the ground.
That story had nothing on the time Commander Tano found out about the prosthetic. Apparently nobody had bothered to tell her that General Skywalker was missing an arm until a month later, when she woke up at 2 am to use the fresher and found him pulling one of his fingers off to make an adjustment. Her scream had even woken the Captain, Skywalker reported with a grin.
“Hah! I remember that one, sir! I swear between you and the Captain, she didn’t stop hearing about it for a tenday!” Hardcase laughed; he’d only been a shiny when that happened, but it wasn’t the kind of story you forgot.
Looking around the room, he was pleased to see that most of the other troopers had started to relax after the first few tense minutes of the Jedi walking in the door. The chairs were organized in a rough circle, and Hardcase had positioned himself right next to the General, with Patch on his other side. Given the timing of his injury, Hardcase had missed the worst of Umbara, and while he really didn’t need to be there for the prosthetic advice, he hoped his presence would help the more anxious troopers to relax around their General. After all, it wouldn’t be long before they were deployed again, and they’d have to learn to trust the Jedi again.
When he’d first arrived at today’s meeting, Dogma’s entire body had been rigid with nerves. He hadn’t even given a response to their daily check-in. But as he sat across the circle next to Nax, holding one of the stress balls that Patch had scattered around the room, Hardcase noted that he looked a little better than he had earlier, listening with interest instead of looking trapped in his seat.
So far, the General had told a couple stories to put the group at ease, and then gave some general advice on prosthetic maintenance. Apparently he was supposed to put lotion on his residual limb when he took it off at nights, but he forgot often enough that Captain Rex had taken to carrying extra in his pack when they went on campaigns. He’d also mentioned that some people noticed that they sweat more after an amputation, with their overall skin surface area decreasing, making it harder for them to stay cool. Hardcase had grimaced at that part, wondering if he’d have similar issues with his burns.
Finally, he opened the floor for questions, looking patiently around the room. There were a few moments of nervous silence before Sev asked, “So… do you put on your pants first, or your arm first when you get up in the morning, sir?”
A couple troopers groaned in exasperation, but he retorted, “It’s a serious question!”
Anakin chuckled before responding. “Usually I’ll put on my arm first, so it can help. I’ve tried it the other way around before, and it usually gets caught in my robes.”
Another trooper, a shiny, raised their hand to ask a question, biting his lip with nervousness. “Sir, is it– h-how did you get used to it? Living with a prosthetic arm instead of your own? I-I’ve tried to get used to it, but I still can’t– can’t look at it without feeling like I’m part clanker.” He curled in on himself a little, gaze turned away from the prosthetic arm in his lap.
The General’s tone softened as he answered, “For a while, I didn’t. I was really angry; angry at Dooku, angry at Obi-Wan, and at myself. I was restricted to either the temple or the Negotiator for nearly a month, between waiting for the swelling to go down and starting rehab myself. This was at the very beginning of the war; it felt wrong to just sit around or do flimsi-work while my master was out fighting battle droids.”
A couple troopers nodded in agreement, having felt much the same way for the past couple weeks. He continued. “Even after I got my prosthetic, I didn’t really get comfortable with it until after I accidentally short-circuited the thing. It was in the middle of a deployment, so I had to fix it myself if I wanted to get anything done. And once I got started, I… went a little overboard.” He gave a sheepish grin, removing his glove to show it off. Golden chrome and shiny servos greeted the troopers, looking distinctly Skywalker-esque.
“My arm wasn’t going to grow back anytime soon; not even the Force could manage that. But I started finding ways to live with this one, make it my own.” He gave a reassuring nod to the trooper that had asked the question.
“I also learned a lot of new ways to do things. Honestly, I probably supplement with the Force more often than most jedi, but if it means I can do maintenance on R2 without needing help every two minutes, I’ll take it. No need to make my life harder just because I’ve always done things a certain way.”
The group continued for about an hour longer than usual, asking questions and chatting as they became more comfortable with their commanding officer. Hardcase listened with half an ear, but he kept thinking about the General’s response and the idea of making his injuries, his disability, his own.
Two days later, Hardcase came into the barracks with a new tattoo, a krayt dragon sprawled across his back and snaking down his arm. He straightened with pride as Tup and Sev gushed over the new tattoo. He’d gotten some advice from the General about the tattoo’s placement and design, and he'd checked with Kix to make sure that it wouldn’t set back his recovery, but as he looked at himself in the mirror that night, he gave himself a confident grin. He always knew it was going to be a cool scar.
Hardcase: I need to blow something up.
Rex: ...
Hardcase: Or get another tattoo.
Rex: ...
Hardcase: Or a new piercing.
Rex: Why?
Hardcase: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.
ok so this is for your sick prompt thing: Ezra Bridger speechless. Or if you're only doing clones, Hardcase conversationalist.
Ok, I just did speechless with Rex so I did Conversationalist with Hardcase instead. Hope you enjoy!
Conversationalist: Hardcase rambles in his sick state.
"And that's why a Z-6 rotary blaster canon is better against numbers, while the the T-21 light repeating blaster is better against say, commando droids,” Hardcase finished as Kix walked in the barracks.
“Cool. I still like DC-17’s better though. They’re lighter,” Jesse replied. Though he was on the bunk above Hardcase and on his datapad, he still seemed to be following along with Hardcase.
Hardcase’s eyes lit up, though to Kix’s eyes they already seemed bright. “DC-17’s, a type of heavy blaster pistol typically used by those of high rank. Did you know they have a capacity of fifty shots per magazine?”
Kix grinned as Hardcase went on and on, only pausing to wipe sweat from his head, growing shinier by the perspiration.
Kix stopped in place, turned to Hardcase, and eyed him more critically. Hardcase had moved onto heavy artillery, oblivious to the medic’s searching gaze.
“You hot, Hardcase?” Kix asked.
“Yeah! Did the cooling system break?”
Hardcase shivered as Kix put a hand to his forehead. “Oh, your hand’s so cool.”
Jesse hung his head far enough over the top bunk to see Hardcase. “Oh. Sorry Kix, should have seen that earlier.”
“Seen what?” Hardcase panted.
“The cooling system isn’t broken, ‘Case,” Kix sighed. He’d just come off shift too. Guess he could take another short shift. “You’re sick. Come on, let’s get you to the medbay.”
“Oh. Ok.” Unlike nearly every trooper on board, Hardcase didn’t have an aversion to going to the medbay, which made Kix’s life so much easier, considering that Hardcase was more accident prone than the average clone.
Getting him to stay in the medbay, however, was a different problem altogether.
“Please, stay in the bed Hardcase. You need rest.”
Hardcase groaned, his leg twitching. “But I’m not tired enough to sleep. And I want to move.”
“I know Hardcase, I’m sorry.” Getting Hardcase to stay in one place too long without entertainment was like trying to get General Skywalker to actually show up to his scheduled physical; easier in theory than in practice. “Just give it a try, yeah? I’ll see what medicine I can give you.”
When Kix returned with a hypo, Hardcase was no longer in the bed, but repeatedly pacing around it.
“Hardcase,” Kix said helplessly. “You need to rest.”
“I know,” Hardcase shouted. “Sorry. I know. But I can’t, I just have to do something.”
Kix sighed. “Alright. Give me a minute.”
Kix stalked to the door and grabbed the first trooper within reach, who fortunately was someone who knew Hardcase.
“You. Have anything to do right now?”
“Not technically? Why?”
“Great. You’re coming with me then. You can sit and listen for an hour, right?”
“Is this some sort of training exercise?”
“Not at all. Come on.”
Kix dragged the trooper and sat him in a chair next to Hardcase’s bed.
“Dogma!” Hardcase said with intentional cheer. “You got the tattoo! It looks great!”
“Yeah, uh, thanks for the design,” Dogma said. “What am I doing here exactly?”
“Hardcase is going to talk for the next hour or so, and you’re going to sit and listen. If you really have to go I can switch you out.”
Dogma nodded, then hesitated. “You just want him to talk for an hour?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t find it annoying?” There was caution, not judgement in his voice.
Hardcase opened his mouth, but no words came out. Doubt clouded his eyes.
“No,” Kix said firmly. “Not at all. I’ll be around if you need me, alright Hardcase.” Hardcase smiled faintly and nodded.
“Ok, uh, Hardcase, what do you want to talk about?”
“Hmm. What’s your favorite blaster?”
*****
For the next two hours, Kix kept an eye on the two Torrents. Hardcase went on nearly the entire time, and when he wasn’t, Dogma talked, little bits of excitement crept into his animated movements.
Finally, Kix caught Hardcase yawn, and immediately went over.
“Think you can sleep now?” Kix said, checking his vitals.
“No I want to keep-” Hardcase’s sentence cut off midway with a yawn. “Ok, maybe I’m tired now, but I want to keep talking.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to talk later, Hardcase,” Kix promised, ushering Dogma towards the door. “But you should sleep now.”
Hardcase grabbed a pillow and squished it. “Alright. Thanks for listening, Dogma. And I had no idea Jedi could do all that.”
“You’re welcome, Hardcase,” Dogma said seriously. “I hope you get better soon.”
“Thanks, Dogma. You were a big help,” Kix said as he escorted Dogma to the door.
“I know so much about blasters now,” Dogma marveled.
“You’re in Torrent, you’ll be learning plenty,” Kix said.
