#patch has aviophobia

[clone-medic-patch]

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

Fic Summary:

Two times Patch hesitated to take off his armor and one time he didn't. A fic on healing and vulnerability for OC-tober, based on the prompt "Warm Sweaters and a Hot Drink."

Cold Hands, Warm Heart:

“Come on, Patch! We’re celebrating! Are you sure you wanna go out dressed in the same thing as always?” Fixer pleaded with his brother. 

The 104th was on a rare shore leave that matched up with Patch’s down-time; rehab training took up a good chunk of his time, so it was rare that he’d get a full day to spend with his visiting vode. 

Patch huffed, shaking his head. “I already let you put that weird civvie product in my hair.” Plus, he’d heard enough horror stories from the Guard that his chest tightened warningly when he thought about being that vulnerable around anyone other than his brothers. 

It was better than it was off-planet; most things were, if Patch was being honest, but he never felt truly safe or settled without his armor. Not after the Malevolence, where that option had been taken from him, along with nearly every one of his brothers. So he shook his head, hoping Fixer wouldn’t push it.

Giving him a look that belayed understanding of his real reasons, Fixer nodded, fixing Patch with a sympathetic smile. “Alright, vod. But if you ever change your mind, I know for a fact that this shade of blue looks great on most vode.”

Patch chuckled, getting up from his bunk with a small groan. “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s hit the road! Can’t keep the Commander waiting!”

______________________

“Udessir vod’ika! It’s okay– we’re in the barracks… you’re safe.” Patch soothed, speaking calmly to the shiny in the bunk above his. 

Fil, a new addition to the 501st, had joined maybe a month before Umbara and had a pretty rough start even before that, according to Kix and Coric. Patch gritted his teeth in anger; most vode were pretty supportive of differences, but they’d all been raised in the harsh mindsets of Kamino where even small differences could get you, or your squad, noticed in the worst ways, and some troopers never shook that mentality. 

Luckily, Fil had been transferred to the bomb squad before anything too bad could happen, but after Umbara and his run-in with Krell’s lightsaber, the kid’s quiet dreams had taken a turn for the worse. 

“I-I don’t– I saw–” The shiny’s voice shook in a choked-off sob, and Patch’s heart broke for the kid. 

“Shhh… it’s okay, kid. You wanna bunk with me tonight? The barracks are a little chillier than I’m used to.” He offered, lips quirking into a small smile when the vod’ika nodded shakily before scrambling down from his bunk and next to Patch, a little clumsy without the prosthetic on his arm. 

“S-sorry for waking you, Patch, sir.” Fil stuttered as he shuffled his feet, but he was easily settled by a comforting squeeze.

Even that was a good development, and it made Patch’s heart swell as he wrapped his arms around the shiny, happy to see him reaching out. “Just Patch, vod’ika. And I don’t mind.”

Fil shifted around for a little bit, struggling to get comfortable, and Patch realized in a moment of self-recrimination that he hadn’t taken his armor off. “Oh, kriff– Sorry kid, I’ll take these off in just a second.” He said, starting to unclasp his arm-guards and chestplate, ignoring a twinge of anxiety in his chest. 

“Sorry– ” Fil apologized again before cutting himself off. It was something they’d been working on, and even Patch himself was guilty of apologizing more than he needed to. But, to be a good example to the shiny, he pushed down an apology of his own and gave Fil a half-smile even when his shoulders tensed up and his own hands, cold with sweat, shook slightly as he slid back under the blankets without the top half of his armor. 

Running himself through a few breathing exercises, which Fil followed before drifting off again in record time, Patch took a while to settle back in his own skin. He ran a gentle hand through the vod’ika’s short curls until the pull of sleep finally took him once again. 

________________________

T aking a deep breath of the crisp Alderaan air, Patch reveled in the rare quiet morning. He was always more of an early-bird, compared to most of the Wolf-pack, something he’d forgotten during his… hiatus on Coruscant, but he’d shared more than one cup of tea with their general in the early morning light. It was a tradition he was happy to repeat now that he was back with his brothers for good. 

As far as shore-leave locations went, they’d definitely hit the jackpot. Just enough snow for the more adventurous troopers to go hiking or cause some mischief, and the barracks they’d been given were practically a hotel, in Patch’s opinion. The heavy comforter he’d used last night was probably the most extravagant thing he’d ever touched, and he’d fallen asleep within seconds of his head hitting his pillow. 

Looking back at his gear-kit, Patch’s eyes caught on the gift from Blu he’d received last night. The younger medic, although no longer a shiny, still loved working night shift, enjoying the quiet atmosphere and the opportunity to catch-up on flimsiwork, or engage in his hobbies when it wasn’t too busy. Patch still remembered teaching him how to knit, although the vod’ika had far surpassed him by now, as shown by the cable-knit sweater he’d gifted Patch.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to…” Blu had hedged as he handed him the gift. “... I know you’re not much for civvies. But we’ve missed you, and it’s good to have you back, and I heard that Alderaan’s supposed to be cold…” 

A soft smile bloomed on Patch’s face; he was really proud of the competent medic Blu had become in his absence, and it was nice to know he’d been missed. Giving the sweater another considerate look, he noticed a pair of nondescript civvie pants underneath it and huffed in amusement. Apparently Fixer couldn’t leave well-enough alone, and had thought to donate them to Patch’s cause. 

So with a beleaguered sigh, Patch traded in his armored-blacks for soft yarn, not far off from 501st blue, with a bold medic symbol on the front. The weight of the homemade sweater almost reminded him of his weighted blanket, and as he settled in with his cup of tea, Patch breathed a sigh of contentment. 

Deployed or not, it was good to be home.

[clone-medic-patch]

Patch Fic Snippet!

This is a snippet from my fic, “A Series of Hard Knocks” featuring my OC Patch.

Warnings for panic attacks, PTSD and mild self-injurious behavior.

For context: Patch was stationed with the 501st on a temp basis after Umbara, but still has a lot of trauma from the Malevolence attack, which is the main focus of this fic snippet. Also, Dogma was semi-pardoned for killing Krell in this fic, and has been doing community service in medbay since then.

Enjoy!

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.

Full Fic:

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