An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Group sessions continue as Patch starts a new system to help the recovering troopers readjust to life on the Resolute. Dogma has the unexpected opportunity to practice his bedside manner. A Patch-centric chapter with some angst in the mix.
Chapter 14:
“Well, I still don’t get why the sinks in the freshers are so high! I swear I get splashed in the face every time I try to use ‘em in this kriffing hoverchair.” One trooper grumbled in annoyance, while a few others nodded in agreement.
It was group session time again, and everyone was commiserating over the relative inaccessibility of the Resolute. With the commonality of droids onboard, at least they didn’t have to worry about stairs or steep inclines for the most part, but many were discovering just how little the Republic thought about things like accessibility. It was group session time again, and everyone was commiserating over the relative inaccessibility of the Resolute. With the commonality of droids onboard, at least they didn’t have to worry about stairs or steep inclines for the most part, but many were discovering just how little the Republic thought about things like accessibility.
“Also, who decided that the mess hall benches needed to be permanently attached to the ground. What if I wanna sit in the middle for once?”
Patch nodded, taking notes in a datapad as they spoke. “That’s a good point. I’ll see if I can ask mechanics if they have any solutions, but it might have to wait until we get reinforcements at our next stop. If nothing else, maybe General Skywalker could put that lightsaber of his to good use and cut some hoverchair spaces into the mess hall tables.”
“There’s an idea!” Hardcase grinned, joining in the conversation. “I’ve only been out of the medbay a couple times, but when I went with Jesse to the mess hall the other day, I couldn’t even tell if they were serving green mush or brown mush, the counter’s so high.”
Patch nodded, changing the subject slightly. “Is everyone adjusting alright to sleeping in the barracks? No issues getting into or out of your bunks? Dogma’s been helping me set up a buddy system for anyone who needs it, so if you’ve got squadmates that are interested in helping out with the basics, send them our way.”
Hardcase gave Dogma a friendly nudge, wrapping his good arm around his shoulder before he could protest. “I’ve got the best buddy in the whole GAR! Dogma helps me remember meds and helps with dressing changes, and I bug him if he starts looking too bored or depressed. And…” He gave a cheeky grin, voice lowering into a stage whisper. “He gives the best massages in the 501st,” earning a couple chuckles from the surrounding troopers.
“Shut up,” Dogma grumbled, ears turning pink, but there was zero bite to his tone.
Patch nodded seriously, ignoring the room’s teasing tone. “Physical agent modalities like heat and massages are a common therapeutic technique for improving overall function. They’re also something I can teach; again, if anyone’s squadmates are interested in helping out.”
Another trooper spoke up, quieter than the others. “Sir, is it true that General Skywalker… also has a prosthetic limb?” He looked down at his own arm with trepidation, metal prosthetic as shiny as his armor.
Hardcase nodded before Patch could respond. “Yup! I’ve seen him tinkering with it himself. Usually, it’s covered by a glove, but it’s pretty neat! I offered to add some flame-throwers to the design, but he said it’d get in the way of all his jedi stuff.”
Patch held up a hand before anyone could get any ideas. “I just want to say that any and all prosthetic modifications have to go through me before they are implemented, and they need to be checked by at least one senior mechanical officer. Is that clear?” He asked, tone leaving no room for argument.
A few troopers groaned in defeat, but let the matter lie for now, at least until Nax offered his services as a senior mechanic. Finally, the excitement died down again so Patch continued.
“I’ve actually been thinking about inviting the General to one of our sessions, maybe at the end, to share some tips and tricks for managing prosthetics, but I wanted to check with everyone first, given the circumstances.”
Patch looked around the room, worried the suggestion would be taken badly, but to his relief the majority of troopers were nodding or smiling in agreement. Even a few of the shinies who hadn’t been with the 501st before Krell looked intrigued at the thought of asking their Jedi about their prosthetics.
Sev, in particular, looked like he was going to bounce out of his seat. “That’d be so cool!”
Another trooper, presumably Sev’s squadmate, snorted. “Sev, you don’t even have a prosthetic!”
Sev flipped him off, using his partially severed finger to do so, responding snarkily. “I give this many kriffs about your opinion, vod.” His joke even startled a muffled laugh out of Dogma, who was sitting nearby, before he could stop himself.
Sev shared a victorious look with Hardcase between fending off light-hearted jabs from his friend, and even Patch chuckled at the scene before him.
“Alright, if nobody’s against it, we’ll see if the General can stop by after our next session. You’re all free to go, but don’t let me stop you from spending time with your vode.” Patch nodded, releasing them to go do their various activities.
The group sessions tended to vary widely in mood from day to day, but it was always nice to see the injured troopers enjoying each other’s company, and even Dogma had started to come out of his shell a little.
His heart clenched as he thought of last time, with Dogma’s stuttering explanation of his visit to the Jedi temple, guilt bleeding through as he talked about believing Krell to the point of being tricked into killing his brothers, even aiming his blaster at Tup, and his shocked expression when nobody started berating him or attacking him afterwards, like he’d expected his ori’vode to immediately start hating him. The only reason he’d spoken up at all was because he felt like they deserved to know what he did before they trusted him with their own struggles.
Patch shook his head; it was just like Dogma, to put other’s feelings before his own, including his need for privacy. But it had turned out for the better, with Nax and a couple others giving him their comm numbers at the end, telling him to call them whenever, even for something as little as a late-night snack partner. According to Tup, Dogma was still a little restless sleeping in the barracks, but that night, he’d fallen asleep the moment his head hit his pillow, not waking up for ten hours straight.
Patch exited the rehab room, walking over to Kix, who looked much better than when he’d last seen him. It had taken two days for Kix to obtain the required 10 hours of sleep before he could return to medbay (which turned into 16 hours of sleep between those two days, so he really couldn’t complain). Once his squad-mates realized just how tired he was, they’d started dragging him out of medbay the minute his shift was over, making sure he ate something and even trapping him in his bunk on occasion with some well-timed cat-naps.
“Hey Kix, how’s medbay looking? I heard we had a few more ready to be discharged to the barracks?”
Kix nodded, sending Patch a grin. “Affirmative. Honestly, most of the recent transfers are pretty stable, so as soon as their squads are trained on transfers and they learn how to use crutches, a number of them should be able to leave medbay, with daily visits here. That buddy system’s really going to come in handy.”
Patch hummed in agreement, “Got the idea from your troopers, you know. You’re the one that originally paired Hardcase and Dogma, and both of them benefitted from the arrangement. I’ve actually been meaning to ask if you thought it’d be a good idea to open it up to the rest of the men as well, give them the opportunity to get support from someone outside their immediate circle.”
Making a noise of interest, Kix paused to think. “Wouldn’t that encourage codependency?” He grimaced as he thought of Fives and Echo, or himself and his batchmates, for that matter.
“I’m actually hoping this could help counter it, get some troopers to widen their circle of support. Was thinking we’d let Dogma devise a system for pairing troopers. He’s got a good eye for personalities, actually. He already seems to know who’s going to enable each other, or who’d work well, and he isn’t afraid to say it when troopers would be a terrible match.” He huffed in amusement.
Kix nodded, sharing a look with Patch. When Kix had offered to train Dogma as a medic’s assistant (instead of just an extra set of hands), he’d looked so surprised at the offer. The fact that they saw him as an asset rather than a nuisance was still something he needed to wrap his head around. And yeah, Dogma could stand to learn a couple things about adapting to new scenarios, force knows that treating patients out in the field never turned out quite like it did in the simulations, but he already had a lot of the right instincts.
“Well, if you think it’ll help, then I’m all for it.” Kix cracked a grin. It was about time the 501st got some kind of mental health support.
Patch always heard klaxons in his dreams. Wailing sirens, flashing lights, and shuddering ships were familiar to his subconscious mind. Maybe that’s why he didn’t wake up to the Resolute’s evacuation drill until Tup was shaking his shoulder, shouting, “Come on, Patch. We’ve gotta go!”
Reality crashed into Patch like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under. Before his mind could process his surroundings, he was already standing, following the other troopers as they exited the barracks. Brain jolting in horror, his breath caught in his throat, and he could feel himself tremble with every blaring siren.
The flashing lights in the hallway were what brought him to a stuttering halt. Letting out a choked whimper, he leaned against a wall. His knees gave out underneath him, breaths coming in quick and shallow. Patch squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his empty forearms hard enough to hurt, entire body shaking.
Part of him knew he needed to get moving, that he couldn’t get left behind, but his armor was back in the barracks, along with every one of his favorite coping strategies, and his shaking limbs refused to support his weight. Hyperventilating, he could practically hear the escape pod groaning as the life-support systems broke down.
Meanwhile, Dogma was passing through the hallway near the barracks. It was his first week back in his own bunk, and it still felt wrong to be safely nestled above Tup, listening to the quiet snores of his brothers, so he’d been wandering the halls waiting for sleep to come when the drill started. Rounding the corner, he nearly tripped over Patch before he caught himself.
“What the– Patch?”
Shaking his head frantically, Patch sat crumpled on the hallway floor, lost in a flashback and muttering to himself, “No no no no no–!”
Dogma gave the medic a look of confusion, closely followed by a jolt of alarm, remembering his quiet admissions during group sessions about destroyed Venators and dying escape pods. Even now, he could see the older trooper hyperventilating, nails digging into his forearms hard enough to draw blood.
“H-Hey, don’t do that.” He exclaimed, trying to get Patch to stop gripping his arms so tightly, but Patch didn’t even acknowledge his existence, still shuddering in panic.
Dogma shook his head, trying to think of a new approach. At this rate, Patch’s tight grip was definitely going to leave a mark. “Stop that– uh, here!”
With a grunt of realization, he crouched next to the medic, unclipping his own bracers before starting to attach them to Patch’s arms to give him at least a little bit of protection. Thankfully, this seemed to jolt Patch back to reality, just a little, and he loosened his grip just long enough for Dogma to finish.
For a moment, this seemed to help, and Patch’s breathing slowed a little bit as he ran a hand along the armor pieces. But then, to Dogma’s alarm, his breath hitched and a few tears started to fall.
“Hey, d-don’t cry!” Dogma’s hands froze as he watched, but this only made him cry harder, just barely audible over the warning klaxons. Dogma’s breath caught in his throat; he was incredibly out of his depth.
Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his comlink from his belt and tried to comm Tup. Tup would know what to do. He listened to it beep a few times, but the call refused to connect. ‘He must’ve left his comm in the barracks,’ Dogma thought with dismay.
But Patch was still shaking, eyes filled with unshed tears, so he tried again, this time calling Hardcase. Hopefully medbay hadn’t been dragged into the evacuation drill. When the comlink chirped, Dogma gave an audible sigh of relief.
“What is it, Dogma? It’s 0200.” Hardcase groaned, still sounding half-asleep.
“Patch is crying.” Dogma’s voice was tense with nerves as he watched the medic.
“What?! What happened?”
“I don’t know! Probably something to do with the evac drill. How— W-What do I do?”
“He’s crying right now? Like, in front of you?” Hardcase was sounding increasingly concerned, and not nearly awake enough for this.
“That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“Then give him a hug or something! Don’t just stand there watching him!”
“A hug?”
He could practically hear Hardcase’s facepalm. “Yes, with your arms! Hang the kriff up and comfort him!”
Dogma’s eyes widened in trepidation. “Uh, I’ll try, but–”
“And get someone to turn the kriffing alarms off!” He heard Hardcase say something else, presumably to a medic in medbay, and then the comm call cut off, leaving him alone again.
In the short time it had taken to call Hardcase, it looked like Patch had calmed down a little more, but his hands still shook visibly as he sat curled up around his knees, letting out a quiet hiccup every now and then. Dogma took a deep breath, bracing himself before wrapping a stiff arm around Patch’s shoulders.
Patch flinched slightly before leaning into the touch, so Dogma offered him a hand, which he gripped tightly. Hardcase must’ve called someone, because the lights stopped flashing and the alarms petered off, and finally Patch could breathe again.
The medic opened his eyes, finally starting to register his surroundings. With an exhale of relief, he slumped into Dogma’s side. He looked up, blinking in surprise as he began to realize what happened.
“...H-Hey kid. Sorry about that.” His voice was hoarse, and his ears burned with embarrassment as he gave Dogma a sheepish look. He took a few grounding breaths, trying to look a bit less like he was falling apart at the seams.
“It’s okay… a-are you alright?” Dogma asked, stiffening slightly.
Patch quirked his head to one side, mentally scanning himself before answering honestly. “No, but I will be… c-can we head back to the barracks? I’d like to grab the rest of my armor before Kix or Coric drags me off to medical.” He could already feel his forearms burning, but he made a noise of surprise when he noticed that the bracers on his arms weren’t his own.
Dogma nodded, fumbling for a moment before standing up, giving Patch a hand. “Sure, uh– can you stand?”
Giving a grunt of affirmation, Patch took Dogma’s hand gratefully. He sniffled, trying to avoid getting any more tears and snot on Dogma’s loaned armor, if he could help it. “Yeah, ‘m good.”
With slow steps, the duo made it back to the barracks. Dogma was quick to help Patch locate his armor, awkwardly offering him a tissue when he sniffled for the 3rd time. “Ugh, thanks vod’ika.”
Dogma nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. “What is it, kid?” Patch asked, still feeling a little guilty at putting him in that situation. Even now, he was reliant on Dogma helping him put his armor back on. He let out a sigh of relief when he could breathe again, safe in its familiar weight.
Biting his lip in frustration, Dogma looked away, breath trembling. “I-I can’t – Is there… I’m not good at this! How do I help you?”
Patch blinked in surprise before letting out a huff of amusement. “You already have, vod’ika. You stayed, you found what worked, and you called someone who removed the triggers. Thanks for these, by the way.” He handed back the loaned armor bracers before reaching and grabbing his weighted blanket from his bunk to wrap around his shoulders.
“Oh…” Dogma blinked, realizing he had indeed done those things. He watched as Patch reached into his utility belt to grab a metal tin, helping him open it when his shaking hands gave him trouble.
Giving him a nod of thanks, Patch grabbed a mint before offering one to Dogma, which he hesitantly accepted. “Sorry for putting you in that situation, Dogma, but you did good.”
Dogma shook his head in refusal. “Y-You don’t need to apologize. I just– I’m not good at this…” He repeated himself, looking down at his hands. This whole medic assistant thing was pretty daunting, especially for an early-graduated trooper like himself. If it had been the start of the war, there’s a good chance he would still be on Kamino.
“Heh, nobody is, at first. The first time I helped someone with a blaster wound, I thought I was going to throw up.” Patch cracked a grin, relieved when Dogma returned it.
“Come ‘ere, kid.” He lifted one arm, raising the corner of his weighted blanket for Dogma to join him if he wanted. Dogma hesitated for a second before scooting closer to the medic, mirroring their earlier positions, if a bit less awkwardly.
A few minutes later, Coric came into the barracks with a couple bacta patches and a look of concern, followed by a wave of troopers more than ready to get back to their bunks. The next day, Captain Rex came by and set up a system for Patch to be alerted before drills, to give him time to put on his armor and use his coping strategies beforehand. They briefly discussed having a designated evacuation partner, in the case of an actual emergency, but settled on simply alerting the other medics (and his closest bunkmates) to be ready to assist Patch in the case of an evacuation.
Kix gave him another once-over after firstmeal, changing his bacta patches with an unnecessary level of concern before returning the favor and taking him off of duty for the next 24 hours. He still didn’t take off his armor, probably wouldn’t for the next couple days. But as he sat in his bunk, curled up under his weighted blanket playing sabaac with Fives, Tup, Dogma, and Jesse, he couldn’t say he regretted it. It was nice to be the patient, the one being taken care of, for once.