I genuinely have no idea what I wrote, but I hope you like it as much as I do! :D xD
~ Rivana Rita
Crosshair's wings somehow make his hopelessly criminal lack of hair stick out even more, and – Hunter misses it.
It's so hard to see Crosshair again. He's so different.
Cyar'ika.
Really?
How could Crosshair let her call him that? He's so sharp and fiery. Does she even give him a choice? He didn't seem to resent it. How could they be friends? He's one of the sharpest, most disagreeable people Hunter's ever known, or – or maybe it's just that Crosshair is happier away. He has no idea.
How could he care about Emerie when he wasn't willing to give anything for his own brothers, the ones who he grew up with?
What is she to him?
Has Crosshair changed so much, or is Emerie just special?
She's – important to Crosshair. She means something to him that Hunter never has and never will. How could he let Emerie call him that and not Hunter? They're brothers. Shouldn't that be more important than a friend? (It was the same way with Omega. With Phee. And many others.)
He shouldn't feel like this. Shouldn't be thinking about it – there's not time to get all broody and depressed about nothing. Hunter already knows he doesn't mean anything to Crosshair, and thinking about it will make it worse. It's fine. It doesn't matter how much he wants someone. He's just being selfish, and he's gonna get them hurt worse than they already have been if he keeps brooding like this. If there's one thing he's good at, it's being thoroughly useless.
Hunter's never going to be what they need him as.
Or what they want him to be.
He can't stop trying, not even for Crosshair, and if he does, he'll have nothing. Be nothing. Crosshair's the only one here. The only one Hunter can focus on, even if he's terrified of what'll happen next. Trying to be so close to him is hard, and Hunter keeps expecting him to attempt strangling him or something otherwise violent. Crosshair hasn't lashed out yet, though. Being stuck in the same cell as a body would probably be annoying – not that Hunter can die, anyhow.
Hunter doesn't know how long it's been. Time is dragging into infinity, but at least their cell has half a 'fresher? Crosshair says the sonic is somewhere on some other floor, because the Empire is Very Nice and Considerate of Hunter's hypersensitive smell issues.
He still smells blood and does not want to know what the wound on his chest looks like. Hasn't looked. Doesn't wanna know. Crosshair's careful not to touch it, even when he's being clingy. That's good, because contact would probably be about enough to make him cry right now.
It still hurts. Burns. Every second of it is agony.
There's a hole in his chest, and it never stops hurting.
Crosshair finally drops from exhaustion, curled up in Hunter's lap. Hunter's arm is around his waist, holding him tightly against his stomach so he doesn't fall and smash his wing on the floor. They're overwhelmingly hypersensitive.
Hunter doesn't remember sleeping. Trying to sleep by Crosshair is impossible, but there's no getting out, and all he can think is the where are Wrecker and Omega what happened to Tech ringing in his head.
Somehow, his forehead ends up against Crosshair's wing, and he doesn't wake until his mind distantly registers approaching footsteps.
Guards.
Hunter shifts, blinking awake and shaking Crosshair. His silvery wings flutter – their feathers are just growing in still. They're too small to fly with – all fuzzy and adorable – but they grow fast at first. Hunter's did. He wants to touch them. Understands why Crosshair did, anyway – Wrecker used to stroke Omega's all the time. She never minded. It was... different for Hunter because he hated them, and he still does. Crosshair hated them.
When the guards order Crosshair to come, he pulls from Hunter's arms before he can stop him. The door slams shut, ripping them apart, and leaving Hunter inside alone.
Crosshair twists back to look at him, but the guards shove him forward a millisecond before he and Hunter make eye contact.
Then they're gone, ignoring Hunter's demands to know where they're taking him and what they're doing.
He presses his hand against the bars, fingers wrapping over the icy metal. Without Crosshair, everything suddenly feels cold. He's freezing – the chilling, bone-numbing cold running through every inch of him. He doesn't know what's happening to Crosshair. If they're going to hurt him.
His chest is throbbing again. He almost forgot how much it's dulled from its initial wound.
He has no idea what's happening.
Now that Crosshair's gone, Hunter can say without a hint of hesitation that he'd much, much rather be stuck with Crosshair than be alone, no matter what he's done to them. Even if he doesn't care and wants Hunter dead.
He doesn't want to be stranded here alone.
He has no idea if they're bringing Crosshair back, or if he'll ever see him again.
Crosshair finally got to stop being alone, and they were just taken apart again. Stars, he must be terrified.
"I just got you back."
He doesn't want to let Crosshair go again.
"We don't belong to you, Crosshair!"
"Don't you?"
Tech.
Tech – oh, stars, Tech. He's here. Like Hunter knew he was, and what's happened to him?
He shoves that from mind as violently and fast as possible. Not the first time one of his brothers tried to kill him. Tech wouldn't do that, but he did, and mostly Hunter should know how to deal with it by now. Happened before. No big deal. What happened to Tech to make him do this? What did Hemlock do to him? Well, at least for once, Hunter knows how he deserved it no matter how badly it hurts.
He doesn't know if Omega's here, or if anyone has seen her. If she's even – no. Hunter refuses to accept a reality where his kid is dead. His life's been about getting her back, and after keeping her safe for so long, he can't imagine it any other way. Hunter has to figure out a way out. Which is hard, when they don't even know anything about the facility. He should've brought Echo.
Echo always knew what to do. He was strong and steady and maybe illogical but still reasonable in a way Hunter never was. He misses Echo so badly he can't breathe.
Being without Wrecker is the hardest. After living for months on the same ship as his little brother, the only source of life and light and focus for him anymore, having him away makes him even emptier. He's so, so accustomed to constantly feeling the flicker of Wrecker's energy signature everywhere. He's the only one there is anymore.
He's supposed to be here. They were supposed to do this together.
Hunter failed him, ignored him like he meant nothing because Hunter always ignores him now, and he hates himself for it but doesn't know how to do anything else anymore. ("How pathetic.")
Wrecker should hate him. He won't, because he's too nice, but Hunter would prefer it if he did. Hunter came here stupidly, recklessly, ignoring every single warning everyone gave him because he thought they could pull this off. And now, Wrecker's Force-knows-where going through Force-knows-what because Hunter was stupid and can't do anything right.
Crosshair's here, right beside him, and Hunter couldn't even keep him safe? He's Wrecker's twin brother, even if he abandoned them. Wrecker still loves him, because he's the one who's so fiercely unyieldingly light and caring when no one ever should be. He's loyal. Hunter doesn't deserve that and there's no going back.
"CT-9904, you're coming with us."
"We stay together."
Crosshair was taken once already, and Hunter failed to protect him. Whatever version of him that got spit out in the hangar on Kamino wasn't the one who left. Crosshair never came back.
That can't happen again.
Hunter is the reason they're in this mess, no matter how hard he tries and what he does. He's never going to be able to do anything right, will he?
That won't stop him from trying. He'll figure something out because he always does, and he has to. He – he needs to ask Crosshair about the facility when – if, a dark part of his mind supplies – he comes back. They need a plan, and fast, before this gets... worse.
Hunter paces the tiny length of the room. It's a small space and the pacing is maddening, but he's too wound to hold still.
Tries to spread his wings just to know if he can. They smack uselessly into the walls and ceiling, unable to move. The space is too small. His wings are sore and achy from disuse, and this is the first time he's been able to stretch them. Hunter misses flying.
It's hours before Crosshair is finally, finally brought back. It feels more like days.
The guards drag him back, actually, slamming the door after throwing him inside.
Crosshair practically falls into his arms, sobbing. Hunter hooks his arms around his waist, wings flapping as he struggles to keep himself upright and lowering them to the floor. He doesn't see any visible injuries, but that doesn't have to mean anything. Often doesn't. They heal fast now.
He knows that. Has seen it since Bracca on himself. That he's still alive with a missing heart says a lot.
"Are you okay?" Hunter asks.
Crosshair's body shudders against him, and he does his best to ignore the burning pain in his chest from the still unhealed stab wound. "Do you hate me?" he mumbles, face buried against Hunter's neck.
"Why would I?" He's a little thrown by the question.
"Don't be stupid."
Hunter tenses up right off, from the anger and the harshness of it. That's how he was talking before, and – and maybe he doesn't mean it quite the same, but he can't help expecting the fingers digging into his side as Crosshair clings to him to start hurting him. He hurt him before. He'd do it again if he thought he had a reason. If he did have a reason that Hunter didn't understand. "It'd be easier if I could," he says, and it's probably a bit too emotional, but with how tightly pressed together they are right now, he doesn't think they can get a whole lot more intimate than that.
(He doesn't know if he really wants to know what they were doing to his little brother. What has him so upset – the last Hunter saw him, he was never anything except a vicious ball of rage.)
"Kinda wish you did," Crosshair mumbles, "'d be easier."
Yeah, it would be. It'd be far easier if he didn't still love Crosshair with every shred of his being. (Cyar'ika.) He wouldn't have to hate himself so much for being so afraid of him if he did. "Yeah."
"I never knew what it feels like to be a prisoner. Not – not 'til now." Crosshair's fingers dig into his side tight enough to be nearly painful, and Hunter moves to pry his hands off. Once, he wouldn't've said anything and just taken it, but that's not now.
He shifts back, sitting down, and Crosshair half-falls onto his lap in the process of sitting beside him – he's exhausted from whatever in the stars they've done to him. Hunter doesn't really want to know, but he – he should.
He takes Crosshair's hand, just to get it off him, holding it close to his chest.
His nails are weirdly tinted silver now.
Like how Hunter's are black.
The colors contrast sharply.
He tries not to think about how this is the hand Crosshair was using so long ago when he tried to cut Hunter's throat.
Crosshair inhales shakily, leaning against Hunter's shoulder and trying to push himself upright with shaking arms, but they give out and he falls again with a strangled, whimpered gasp. Hunter grips his shoulder, heart hammering enough that it's physically painful. He has no idea what to do.
"Can I – lay down?" Crosshair rasps out, and Hunter helps guide him to the floor. Their bunk feels way too far away right now. Crosshair can't stand. Can hardly move. He gasps, panting weakly, hands clenching. He's still crying. It makes Hunter's heart wrench painfully. There's nothing he can do, though, and he feels so helpless. "Need this to stop," he whispers.
He feels sick. He's supposed to be able to protect Crosshair, but he failed and let the Empire hurt him, let him stay captured all these months. Crosshair halfway raises a hand and freezes, wincing and dropping it again. Hunter wants to ask what they did to him, but he's afraid to. He ought to know. He should've helped him. He could have, but he didn't even try.
Crosshair squeezes his hand, lightly tugging his arm. His face is pale, and against his silver wings, he looks even more deathlike. He's not going to die here, is he? Hunter should have, but he didn't. He basically got his heart cut out and it reminds him of what happened on Bracca when Tech said he should've been dead. It's like that.
Tech, who did the honors of cutting his heart out now.
"I know," Hunter whispers, finding and squeezing his hand. He doesn't know if he's supposed to touch him or what. He doesn't know how. Wrecker's been the one to hug him all these months, and Hunter's been so detached there're whole missions he remembers nothing about anymore. Time's blurred together. Weeks and months.
Crosshair nods wordlessly – his eyes are closed, but he's still crying. Shaking. Whatever sound he's making isn't something any human should, much less Crosshair. It's some sort of whimper, gasp, and sob crammed into one and Hunter feels sick. "Just – touch me," Crosshair requests finally, panting.
His heart lurches. "Where?" He doesn't know what to do. Crosshair's wings are too sore to lay on, but he can't lean forward, either. Forget lying down.
He could swear Crosshair's rolling his eyes even though they're closed. "Anywhere."
It helped when Omega touched him. Now that Emerie said it, whenever he thinks about it, he knows. The pain kept letting up when his wings came in and she touched him. He – hopes he did the same for Crosshair. It was still bad, but much better. He thought it was coincidental.
He doesn't know how to be intimate with Crosshair anymore. There was a time Crosshair was the one who always snuggled with him, who always slept beside him and they thought it could never be any other way. They're not supposed to be like this.
He tries to remember when they were little. What he'd do when Crosshair was in pain.
He barely even remembers.
He knows he used to hold him, like he did Wrecker, even if it was different. They'd lay beside each other every night for hours, but that...
His heart is hammering. His chest is on fire. The air is tense and staticky. Hunter knows his eyes are black again. The contact with Crosshair is making his skin crawl, but it doesn't matter, because Crosshair needs his help. He's terrified of being without it but he's terrified of it, and nothing makes sense anymore.
Hunter half-sprawls beside him, positioning himself in front of the door, because he's not letting the guards see his little brother in this condition any more than they already have. He knows what it's like to be entirely helpless, and he – he's not going to make it worse for Crosshair.
He props himself up on his left wing, hoping to mostly shield Crosshair from sight. (Crosshair was doing this when he woke – shielding him. From Emerie. Hunter doesn't know if that's why, and it doesn't really matter, but for maybe the first time, a soft flicker of genuine appreciation flickers in his heart. He doesn't want to hope, though.)
He hesitantly rests his arm on Crosshair's chest, laying his fingers on his neck.
Crosshair lets out a shuddering breath, shivering, and Hunter shifts closer to him. He's pressed against his side now, and he doesn't really... know what to do. He feels so helpless and this is –so much worse than being terrified of Crosshair hurting him.
He'd rather be hurt himself than see Crosshair falling apart in front of him, though being – being injured this badly in front of Crosshair with no way to protect himself would be terrifying.
Gutting.
Crippling.
Hunter's scared of the Empire, but he's terrified of Crosshair, because he's the one person who could gut him repeatedly and keep him alive long enough in all the right ways to make him feel it. Crosshair could, and he would if he wanted to, because he wanted to, and that's been the only thing that mattered for years.
He left because he wanted to. He didn't care who he was hurting and how much. And yeah, Hunter failed him, but Crosshair still chose to walk away and destroy them all. He's the one who ripped their family to shreds.
Hunter still doesn't understand what he did to deserve it, but it must've been something. Something. (Maybe he just didn't try.)
Crosshair lifts a shaking hand to touch his stomach, wincing. He's still panting. Gasping.
Hunter leans over him, heart pounding and twisting. It's throbbing again, burning and demanding he move or lay down, but Crosshair's hurt and he's the one who needs help.
Hunter's fine. He won't die. (Like Emerie said. He's a waste of resources. That's all he's ever been.)
"Can't keep doing this," Crosshair whispers. His eyes are open now, face still deathly pale.
Hunter's eyes turn downward. The lower part of Crosshair's shirt is wet. Dark.
That's not blood though. It's too dark.
That doesn't seem right.
"I need – I can't –"
"I know," Hunter says, voice breaking and quiet.
"Why won't it stop?"
"It never stops."
Hunter sighs, pressing closer. He wants to cry. Tears are burning his eyes, but he can't let Crosshair see. He won't. He's already so weak. He's not gonna make it worse. "I'll find a way out," he whispers, "We made it in. We'll make it out."
"Don't," Crosshair snaps, shoving his arm. Hunter freezes instinctively. (Omega hit him, too. When he was just trying to help. It never works.)
("They're all going to die here because of your failed leadership.)
"You sound like the kid."
Don't compare us, he wants to snap. Omega's everything Hunter never could be. She's normal. He's – broken. Defective. A failure. Weak. Omega's their sister. She's special. Different. She is nothing like him.
Crosshair makes a quiet, strained sound and Hunter slowly lowers his hand to touch his cheek. He leans into his touch, shivering.
"You've seen her?" Hunter asks quietly, voice shaking. If – if he can find Omega, knows where everyone is, he'll be able to think of something. She no doubt already has.
He feels lost. Helpless. For the first time in his life, there's nothing Hunter can do. He's helped his brothers when they were injured before, but Tech used to be the one who treated them. And now? He doesn't have anyone to turn to. He should check it out. He can smell blood.
Crosshair scoffs, eyes still closed. "Too much."
Hunter's heart flips. "Is she okay?"
Crosshair's expression shudders. He looks hurt, and Hunter doesn't know why. It feels like he failed somehow. "What do you think?" he snarls, "You got her here! I told you to go. I told you to hide. You ignored me." His voice breaks at the end, and he falls back against the floor, gasping.
Hunter presses closer to him. It feels like the most he can do, and Crosshair's right, anyway. This was his fault.
He wants to cry, too.
Tears are burning his eyes, but he stubbornly swallows through the tightness in his throat because there's no one who can worry about it. (There is no one here to hold him. There never has been. There never will be.)
Crosshair's arm jerks up, fingers wrapping over Hunter's arm and tugging lightly, trying to pull him closer. Clinging to him.
Hunter dares to look up at his face again.
Crosshair's eyes are open now, even if they're wet and unfocused. His face is tensed with agony.
Hunter wishes there was something – anything he could do to help.
He can't.
Can't help Crosshair now any more than he could help Tech on Eriadu, or Omega or Wrecker all these months. He failed them all repeatedly, and maybe Crosshair's right. Maybe he's not fit to lead them, even if that's the only life Hunter has ever known, and he doesn't know how to be anything else. He wants to scream. To – move. The hurt and anger and desperation are building, twisting and shifting under his skin and Hunter wants to lash out. To bring this place down. (To make someone hurt. He should be scared, because that's an entirely foreign sensation, but it's not stopping, either, and a part of him wants to. Maybe it'd help. He doesn't care who he has to hurt anymore. Not if he can get his family out of here.)
There are so many other things he desperately needs to ask Crosshair about, but he doesn't know where to start. The facility. The message. The Empire. Why he turned on them, why he turned on the Empire, how he could have been heartless enough to do any and all of what he did.
(Why his brothers weren't enough for him, for anything. For anyone.)
Come on.
Say something.
Crosshair's still crying, but it's a little quieter now. A little slower. He's still in pain, though.
He needs a distraction, since they don't have anything to numb the pain. Emerie'd probably say it's a waste of resources, too.
Cyar'ika.
Hunter wants to cry again. He has to keep swallowing it back. The burning in his eyes is getting worse. Breathing is hard. His chest is on fire.
"Do you wanna move?" Hunter asks him finally. The floor's not comfortable, and they should rest while there's time. Crosshair's probably not up to talking. "I can try to get you to the bunk off your wings." They must hurt, don't they? Hunter can hold him. That should make it easier.
He sniffles quietly, lifting his arm to wipe his eyes and wordlessly nodding.
Hunter looks away again. He doesn't want to make Crosshair uncomfortable over crying, even if he's seen it a million times.
He works his arms under Crosshair, trying to pick him up. He's heavy, way too heavy to just carry like he would Omega or anyone small, though he's lighter than he ought to be. He's thin.
He settles them awkwardly on the bunk, back pressing against the wall. Crosshair's in plain sight of the guards now, but his comfort is more important. Hunter keeps his arm under his shoulder, keeping him somewhat supported so he's not laying fully on his wings, though the strain on his arm is far from comfortable.
Crosshair slips his hand under Hunter's shirt again. His fingers are freezing, but he tries not to instinctively jerk away. Whatever happened, it's obvious enough they nearly killed him, and it's not his fault he's panicking or freezing or hurt. It's Hunter's.
Crosshair tugs it up a bit, stretching his wing to press on Hunter's side. It'd be hard if he had his feathers full in, but he doesn't, and that makes it easier – he works it against his side, pressed just a bit over onto his back.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Hunter asks quietly, shivering slightly at the cold-warm clash.
"Not more than the – rest of it." He sounds strained. Hunter's gut flips.
Crosshair tugs the edge of his shirt back down to his wing, resting his hand against Hunter's stomach.
"I need – it hurts," Crosshair whispers through gasping pants. Breathing looks like it hurts.
"I know," he says soothingly, leaning over and sliding his hand to the back of Crosshair's head. He wants to promise he'll fix this, but he can't. All he can do is keep touching him and hope it helps.
His wing shifts of its own, his feathers brushing over Crosshair's. Hunter jerks back instantly, heart pounding. He didn't mean to. He didn't – they – he doesn't want to think about them. He – Crosshair might not hate them, but...
He still hates them. He doesn't want to be immortal. He wants everything to just – stop hurting. He's too tired to care anymore. He's tired of being collateral damage.
(A waste of resources.)
(Cyar'ika.)
(Someone everyone will forget the moment he's gone. Has Omega forgotten him, too? Does she still care? Will he even recognize her anymore? No. No, she's Omega, she would, she has to.)
"It's okay," Crosshair tells him, face still pale, but he's watching the edge of Hunter's wing. "It feels – nice."
He doesn't want to. Hunter wants to rip away. To – to – something, but Crosshair needs him and that's all that matters. He hesitantly reaches out, laying his wing over Crosshair to touch them lightly. Hunter tries to just hold him, not think about that. About anything.
"I – I don't – Just. Please. Make it stop." He's desperate and begging and whatever little bit left of Hunter's heart shatters.
He wants to cry, but he won't because there's not time right now and if he starts crying, he'll never stop. He wants to help, but there's nothing he can do, because there's never anything Hunter can do. Hunter lowers his head anyway, blinking a few times to rid his eyes of the tears burning them. He's not crying in front of Crosshair.
The strain of being twisted at this angle is exhausting. His chest is burning. Trying to half hold Crosshair is making it worse.
"I'm sorry. I can't," he whispers, voice broken and shaky. "But I'll find a way outta here."
"I don't – I don't want to die. I just need this to stop hurting."
"I know you do." Hunter shifts closer to him, biting his lip hard enough it bleeds. He's touching Crosshair with way more than he's comfortable with, but he needs to do – more.
"All – I ever do is hurt," Crosshair mutters.
Hunter wants to protest, but nothing comes out. For maybe the first time since he came, Crosshair has been genuinely and completely right about what he said. And for once, Hunter has no idea how to argue with him.
Because it's true. All Crosshair has been good at is hurting people. Even before things went down, he was always the first to lash out. The first to hit. To hurt.
"We'll figure it out," is all Hunter can promise, still holding Crosshair in his arms until they drift off to sleep.
***
Hunter's itchy and antsy and all he can think about is Wrecker. Somehow, he knows far away in his mind, Wrecker's in pain, and Hunter needs to help him. He can feel him. He's out there. Hurt. Counting minutes into infinity of getting out is grating on him. Maybe he deserves it – it's not like Crosshair and Omega haven't felt the same for months.
He wants to pace. Sleeping is a nightmare. Brings either dreams or nightmares – dreams are worse. Fairytale imaginations of having a family that was never taken apart are the worst. Of people who never hurt him.
He wants to put Crosshair down so he can finally move – he has a couple of times – but Crosshair still can't lay on his wings – they're still way too sensitive.
Crosshair keeps curling in on himself, keeps touching his stomach like he broke something inside, but there're not ribs there – like something cut into him clean way through his gut and whatever the name of the organs down there is. (Those are called organs, right? He learned biology when he was – four maybe? No clue. But names don't matter unless it breaks. Crosshair had Tech hack his way through first aid tests so he never had to learn. Wrecker genuinely tried, but he couldn't focus, and Hunter genuinely believed Tech would always be there to patch them up at that age, so he remembers way less than he cares to admit. Hence, Echo the med droid. He misses Echo.) Hunter has no idea what they did to him, but he feels nothing but a vicious helpless fury. Emerie let this happen, and Crosshair cares about her. Trusts her. She's the one who gave him his wings.
He still smells the blood. Crosshair's shirt is blood-stained, despite being decidedly the wrong color. Kind of doesn't want to know details. He doubts Crosshair will tell him if he asks. It's clearly external, though. There's way too much blood.
He doesn't care what Crosshair's done. Everyone who hurt him is going to have a veeeery slow and painful death.
Hunter hears the guards coming. His mind is so hazy and distant and it's hard to feel their heartbeats and the current of their blaster core, but he can certainly hear their footsteps. Crosshair's quiet gasp implies he heard it, too.
"Stay down," Hunter orders – his stupid little brother is attempting to stand when he can hardly even move. He keeps trying, anyway, and Hunter reaches to help him upright.
He has to hold Crosshair's arm to get him standing, and he sinks into Hunter's side, panting and shaking. He looks so pale. He's not going to pass out, is he? Or die? He can't imagine a world where Crosshair actually died. Being away from him for so long was hard enough. He can't go again.
Hunter feels frozen and immovable as the door opens. His throat feels tight, and he can't breathe. He's not letting them hurt Crosshair again. Not again.
The air feels tight and buzzing, and Hunter knows his eyes are probably black. They have been most of the time lately, anyway. Something's burning in his hands.
The guards hesitate when they see him, but that doesn't stop them from coming forward.
"CT-9901," one of them snaps, jerking the edge of his blaster, "With us."
At least it's not Crosshair.
(Where are they taking him what are they doing to him are they going to hurt him, too? To do the same thing to him as they did to Crosshair? Are they going to torture him? He's the one who – knows things. Not Crosshair. It'd make sense, but Hunter's not more ready for that as he was on Daro when he was terrified of the same thing.)
(Of Crosshair.)
(Being trapped with him is – hard. He wants to get out. He misses Wrecker.)
"No," Crosshair says, begs, jerking forwards. Hunter stares at him, a little blankly, more confused than anything else. He doesn't understand why Crosshair is defending him. It doesn't make sense. None of this does. He – he was trying to kill them, and maybe things have changed, but some – he doesn't understand. If he didn't before, why...? Nothing's changed. Just that Crosshair's a prisoner instead of walking free. Hunter's still scared of him. He still hurt them. "You can't do that to him."
"Stand down," the guard barks, hitting him with his blaster – the déjà vu crashes into him full force – this is exactly what happened so long ago when the guards came to take Crosshair from them on Kamino.
Crosshair falls, a gut-wrenching scream escaping him. He curls in on himself, panting, and Hunter feels frozen. He didn't really know where Crosshair was hurt before. Didn't – stars, what did they do to him?
What are they about to do to Hunter?
He has to go. He can't let them hurt Crosshair.
Leaving is – it happened last time, and it's bad – always is – but there's nothing else he can do. Hunter touches his shoulder fleetingly as he passes, and Crosshair tries to grab his wrist but misses entirely, nearly crashing face-first onto the floor.
He wants to try to run, but there's nowhere to go. Nothing he can do except wait and –
The last time he was taken anywhere, it was here, to recover from getting a knife through his heart, and he's not looking forward to anything else. Crosshair was panicking, and he was hurt, and Hunter trusts his judgment on that, at least.
He knows how to be calm, how to rationalize, and that usually helps. Usually, it's what he needs.
Can't rationalize your way out of restraints, and it certainly doesn't get anywhere when you're being cut open, fully conscious. Can't anything, except scream until his voice is raw, and wonder if this is what they did to Crosshair yesterday.
He doesn't think he could remember his own name right now if someone asked.
He's crying, and doesn't have the sense of mind to care or think about that. It's shameful, at least it should be, but Hunter can't find it in himself to care.
He doesn't care about anything right now. He just needs it to stop.
(Emerie. She's here. He sees the calm, emotionlessness on her face as she does it. Her ghostly-light touch is on his hand, with the flicker of calm and safe and protected. It forces him to relax, to stop struggling. He doesn't want to be calm. He just wants to get out of here make this stop just let it stop –)
(Cyar'ika.)
(Sister.)
He doesn't remember how long it lasts. Doesn't remember most of it, period, until they throw him onto the floor somewhere and his vision is entirely whited out with pain. He feels a hand gripping his shoulder tightly, and it smells familiar and the pulsing heartbeat is – it's something his mind simultaneously marks as danger and home at once, and Hunter doesn't understand that, either.
"Hunter." That's. It's. His name. Right.
It's Crosshair.
He tries to shift backward, but it doesn't really work, and he curls in on himself, arm wrapping around his middle. Doesn't know why the pressure doesn't hurt. They cut him open.
He's somehow tense enough to nearly jump when Crosshair's hand presses to the side of his neck and he wraps an arm around Hunter's shoulder, pulling him close.
Him being here isn't a good thing but it – he can't care about anything right now, and Hunter buries his face on his little brother's shoulder, shaking.
He's freezing.
His hands are burning.
Is he bleeding still? He has no idea.
"Just breathe," Crosshair tries, and he's trying but he can't – can't –
They practically gutted him. How in the stars could he just breathe?
He can't stop crying.
Crosshair couldn't, either.
It still burns and he has no idea how he's still in one piece. Literally.
"Lay down," Crosshair orders, nudging his shoulder a little, and that's what they – he doesn't want to – that's what they told him before they did this. And this is Crosshair.
He's too tired to struggle against it, though, so he gives in, letting Crosshair push him down. His little brother hooks an arm around his waist, and Hunter lets out a strangled gasp at the contact and pain that flares through it. He pushes on, anyway – pressing his forehead to Hunter's neck, and the skin contact relaxes him a little. (Did with Emerie, too.) Crosshair drapes a wing over him, and Hunter shivers at the warmth. Crosshair's hand brushes his cheek, wiping his tears away.
"Thanks," Hunter breathes, inhaling shakily, trying to force himself to calm down. He's here now, back in his cell, and he's with Crosshair. They won't hurt him here.
Crosshair isn't safe anymore, but he tried to help and no matter what he's done, Hunter has to believe that means something. All he has now is Crosshair, and he doesn't want to think about that.
Crosshair makes a sound of acknowledgment, shifting a little so his head is on Hunter's shoulder, pressing an arm to his side. Hunter takes his hand with whatever little energy he has, and there's a bit more shifting around until Crosshair can press his wing against him properly, mostly draped over the side Crosshair's not half lying on. It's pressed up against Hunter's own wing, and it feels... strange, but not unwelcome. After how Crosshair's always acted about them, it makes him feel strangely better about it. About being here. This. Whatever.
He's still crying enough that he can hardly breathe, shaking half from cold and half from the strangled, barely suppressed sobs wracking his body.
That was – they – he doesn't know what they did, but they've never been through anything quite like that.
Crosshair squeezes him gently, though careful enough not to be too far down. His wing rustles, the base of it brushing against Hunter's face, lightly touching his jaw. It feels... weird, but it's comfortable, and he leans into it.
"I'm sorry," he rasps, trying to breathe. He doesn't know what he's apologizing for. Being weak enough that this happened in the first place, maybe. That they hurt him. For crying. For not stopping them from hurting Crosshair, for not being able to help Tech on Eriadu, or Omega, or – for not having found a way to get Crosshair back in the first place. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Crosshair assures him. "Just breathe."
Trying. Not really succeeding.
Crosshair tugs up the shirt of his bodyglove, pressing a hand against his side. "Ema said contact should help," Crosshair says.
Yeah. Makes sense. Still weird. Hunter doesn't fully take her word. It's a little weird to have Crosshair touching him like that, but they grew up together, and it's not... uncomfortable, at least. Only is because Hunter doesn't trust him, but he doesn't have the energy to think about that right now. "I'm sorry," he mumbles again, because he really doesn't know what else to say.
He didn't want to get dumped at his little brother's mercy completely helpless, but here he is.
Crosshair's hand is warm, burning against his skin, but with how much everything hurts, Hunter has no idea how much it does compared to the rest of it, if at all. "I know," Crosshair tells him softly, and there's really not more to say than that.
His chest is on fire again, but that's nothing compared to –
She cut him open it shouldn't hurt so much how deep was it?
Breathing is agonizing and every rise and fall of his chest and body sends another spasm of pain through him. Crying is making it worse. Much worse, but it hurts so badly he can't stop. He can't move can't anything can't even breathe and he's so, so tired of being helpless. Of being nothing. Of being hurt.
Hunter's hands are burning. They feel like fire. Everything is fire. Something's – something's off but he doesn't care. He wants to bring this place to the ground. To burn it. Everything.
He thinks he would enjoy it. Probably the only thing he's capable of enjoying. Maybe ever has been.
Crosshair shushes him gently, rubbing his hand in a circle on Hunter's side. It's gentle and soothing and it's something – something to feel other than pain and Hunter tries not to reach for him because he doesn't want to be any more vulnerable than he already is.
Crosshair could stab him right now and he wouldn't be able to stop him. He could hurt him. Anyone could hurt him. Crosshair's hurt, too, and he couldn't stop them.
He's supposed to be getting out of here. He promised. He promised, but he failed, and all he's doing is lying here and crying and failing very miserably to breathe. He wishes he didn't have to. He can finally understand why Crosshair was begging him to help. Hunter wants to.
(Tech stabbed him and Hunter must have deserved it. Tech wouldn't have done it if he didn't.)
He wants Echo. Echo was the only one who could make things okay. Who could help.
He bites his lip to hold in the desperate, strangled pleas that want to come out.
Everything hurts.
Breathing is so, so hard. The image of Omega's face is faded and distant and wispy. Wrecker's here but gone, and Hunter – hasn't really look looked at him in months. He's been so selfish. So unfair to Wrecker and he did deserve it when Tech stabbed him just for that.
Hardly the first time going in without reinforcements failed. He knew it'd be hard. Didn't care.
He deserves this.
("I'm giving you what you never gave me.")
(Crosshair tried to help him. Was hit for it. Hunter didn't even try.)
Hunter's throat feels raw from screaming. That burns, too. He should try drinking, but the thought of moving makes him want to cry again, and he's not fully certain he still has anything inside him.
...
"Can I move?"
"I'm not holding you."
He doesn't want to ask Crosshair to move for him. Doesn't have the energy to. "I mean sit up," he tries. It comes out a snap.
"If you're going to ask me to look inside you, the answer is no."
Minutes drag by, and Crosshair finally shifts a little, nuzzling closer. He's trying to pull his sleeve up without moving too much – lying like this must hurt. He's hardly had time to heal.
"So – that's – what you meant – when you said – touch you?" Hunter gasps out finally – his sentence is broken and disjointed, but Crosshair can probably-hopefully-maybe make sense of it, anyway.
Crosshair pats Hunter's face with his wing. "You figured it out."
He should've figured that out himself, should've known, but no, he was too busy worrying about being too afraid to be close to him. He hurt Crosshair even more. He could've healed him faster, but he didn't. That was Hunter's choice. He could have helped.
He's a coward. A failure. Defective.
Pathetic.
He's supposed to be strong, to – but all he's doing is lying here and forgetting about the mission and his brothers and desperately wishing Echo was here because he's the only one who protected him. He's weak. That's all he's ever been.
Crosshair's wing brushes on Hunter's face again, stroking his cheek.
"Gross," Hunter says flatly. His voice still sounds strangled. "I should wash my face off before you get all touchy-touchy."
The hand on his side presses closer again as Crosshair squeezes him lightly – it twists and pulls the skin, but it still feels nice even if it hurts. That's true about everything though. Never stops hurting. Never goes away. Never gets better.
"I said they have showers here."
"Mm." The room smells like blood, and it's awful. It's making his head hurt, too, but that's nothing like the raw, burning agony all across him. He has no idea how they got his bodyglove back down. It feels wet all over. It's gross. "Believe it when – I see it."
Crosshair scoffs. He strokes Hunter's face with his wing again. It's warm. The feathers rustle as they touch him, and they're so soft. It's the first soft thing he's felt since coming to Tantiss. They're silver. They're beautiful. "Believe it."
He tries to make a noise of acknowledgement. All that slips out is another muffled groan. He wants it to stop. Everything to stop. He's helpless and he's so, so tired of being helpless.
The silence drags on.
Crosshair's wing settles on his face, and Hunter tries to even his breathing and cling to his little brother's warmth. Crosshair's hand feels warm under his hand. He can feel the fluxing pulsing of Crosshair's heartbeat that's shifted to refit his new form.
Stopping crying is impossible once he starts. Or, rather, breathing deeply enough to force his lungs to work is impossible and agonizing and he has to stop after trying twice, because the stab wound in his chest twists and burns and stretches, and lighting up with fire again.
Breathing is so, so hard. He wants to stop.
He cries until his eyes itch and burn and his face feels raw all over, and he's too tired to cry anymore.
Hunter's too tired to be afraid anymore. His body is still burning all over, and it can't get much worse than this.
Crosshair's fingers slip just a little too high up and far over. Hunter choaks back a strangled scream as the wound is stretched, squeezing his eyes shut. His wing is pressed against Hunter's cheek, and he turns into it a little. It's so soft and fuzzy.
"If – you're gonna keep – sticking your hand under my shirt, I – might as well keep it untucked," Hunter mutters, gasping.
Crosshair makes a muffled, choked sound. "Don't make me laugh," he orders. The burning, pulsing agony doesn't let up. Doesn't stop. Doesn't lessen, but Crosshair's something to feel other than pain, and it's something. It's far from safe, but Hunter doesn't care about anything except how warm it is. It's familiar.
It's Crosshair.
Crosshair, who tried to kill them and hurt and broke all of them irreparably. Crosshair, who's been with the Empire for months and has been tortured and Force knows what else. Crosshair.
He misses Wrecker.
Wrecker is safe.
(He misses Tech, because Tech is and always has been the one right beside him. Tech was always there, his shadow, his hands his mind his everything because he always knew. He was always there to catch him when Hunter was falling.)
(And Hunter, well, he's not there to catch anyone when they're falling.)
(At least not Tech.)
Crosshair pats him with his wing again, and Hunter's expression scrunches disgustedly. They're all wet. "Ew. If you're gonna keep touching me with that, maybe clean it off first?"
"With what? We don't have a shower in here in case you haven't noticed."
"Well," Hunter says, because it feels like a perfectly reasonable thing to say. "There's the toilet."
Crosshair chokes and wheezes out a half-laugh. Whatever little amusement Hunter felt disappears fast when Crosshair's laugh is cut off into a pained gasp.
Crosshair smacks him – wing hits actually don't hurt at all – shifting and rolling off him, dropping onto the floor on his back, panting weakly. "I hate you," he vows. Crosshair's hurt, too, and Hunter nearly forgot. He'd been so lost in how much pain he was in himself, and he stopped thinking about it.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again. He misses the warmth. The familiarity, the – just Crosshair. He wants to ask it back. Wants to ask him to come back, like he did on Kamino, but the truth is still the same – Crosshair is unyielding, and he won't do anything he doesn't want to. Well, not for Hunter.
Crosshair sighs. "How'd Emerie take it?" he asks finally.
Hunter blinks. Turns his head towards his little brother and just stares. "What?"
Ema. Cyar'ika – they both have pet names for each other. Of course, she's the one Crosshair's worried about. The one who hurt them both. Who hurt Hunter.
Emerie is the one who caused all of this and maybe she's not fully responsible, but that doesn't stop the burning fury. (Or the hurt. For Omega, it was always her friends because her life was – was the one that mattered, and it had to come first. Always came first until she never looked at Hunter anymore, and he couldn't understand why. And now – now Crosshair is doing the same, and he can't stop wondering if either he or Omega will even want to come back.)
"Who is she to you?" he demands.
Crosshair tenses farther, glaring. "Take a guess."
"I don't know!" Hunter snaps back, "I don't know, Crosshair! All I know is she – she –" His voice breaks off as pain flares through his chest, and he presses his hand against the wound. Stars, the pressure hurts and everything hurts, and his vision blurs over half from stars, half from tears. He's not going to give Crosshair the blunt answer of a she tortured me, even if it's true. This is Crosshair. "She hurt you, Crosshair. She's the one who gave you your wings."
"Maybe I wanted them," Crosshair snaps back. He sounds angry, and Hunter's too tired to tense up. Doesn't stop him from reacting though, because of course Crosshair is going to get hostile and angry. Of course, he's going to hurt Hunter again, and he can just wait for it to happen.
"It hurt you," Hunter argues.
"This isn't about me," Crosshair retorts, shaking his head. He looks sullen and hurt, but there's an anger burning in his eyes that still makes Hunter curl back instinctively. "It's about Emerie. She's our sister. Just like Omega."
Hunter blinks at him, outright staring. She – Emerie – what?
That actually figures.
She talks like Tech. She – looks like the regs. Similar, anyway. Wrecker's color. Hunter's outward calm, even if he remembers the flickering of her heartbeat. It was all he could feel and focus on when her blade cut through his skin.
She's emotional, too.
She doesn't want to hurt them.
He blows out a quiet breath. Doesn't have the mind to process that.
(He thought this was another thing. Just a random friend who Crosshair was readily willing to put ahead of the rest of them, but he was wrong. He's not being fair in judging Crosshair, either. Oh, no surprise there.)
"That doesn't change anything," he manages finally, because she still tortured them. She still hurt Crosshair, and he comes first. He will always come first, no matter what he's done. Hunter might be furious at him, too, but he's always – always going to try to keep him safe.
"Hunter, you're not being fair. All she's ever wanted was someone to take care of her –"
"All I've ever wanted was someone to take care of me!" Hunter yells back, finally snapping. "Grow up, Crosshair! This is the real world. None of us get that."
He goes dead still. Hunter can feel it, the way air just freezes around them. "Except the kid."
"Don't be difficult," he snaps, a little quieter, but still hurt. "Nothing I've ever done for Omega has been enough, either." He means that on multiple levels, not that any of it matters.
He doesn't want to do this anymore. He doesn't want to keep being here, too – anything. He's tired of living. It's too hard. He doesn't want to get up. Doesn't want to move – stars, breathing even is so, so hard.
His chest is burning again. Throbbing and aching and just outright burning, and it's so hard to breathe.
Crosshair's breathing is uneven. Shaky. He's crying again. It makes him hate himself even more, but he doesn't really think driving his vibroblade into his heart again would make it stop beating. Didn't earlier, so... he can take anything, and still heal, so there's no way out.
There's just him, and the endless list of siblings he's failed and people he's hurt and needs to make up to.
He didn't mean to do that. Never has. Never would.
And Crosshair's right. It doesn't matter what she did to them – she's still their sister and she's one of them, too, and they should help her. It doesn't matter if all he feels whenever he thinks about her is an icy panic clawing at his chest. Doesn't matter if he doesn't want to be around her any more than it mattered that he didn't want to be with Crosshair on Kamino, that he didn't want him to touch him any more than he does right now.
It's never mattered how Hunter felt. About anything.
Never has. Never will.
He's stuck here.
He wants to cry. He wants to die, but there's nothing for him except Crosshair and the dull, gray cell walls. There's no way out. There's no – he has nothing. Is nothing.
It's fine. That's fine. He'll – figure something out. Maybe.
Not yelling at Crosshair would be a good start, though. What is wrong with him? Crosshair is the one who's stayed here the entire time, tried to help him, tried to heal him. Didn't have to.
Except, a dark part of his mind supplies, there's the fact that Hunter is healing him, too. But it's not like he can rightfully withhold that.
"Crosshair?"
He doesn't say anything. All he hears is a hyperventilated sniffle.
"Crosshair. Please."
He sighs. Hunter hears – feels him shifting. Wiping his eyes.
Hunter's the one who has to reach for him, taking his hand and squeezing. The same-me-mine crashes over him in a rush, and it feels like he can breathe a little again. Every breath is agony. Every twitch is agony. He can move his hands, and he could move his wings if he were upright, but he can't, and probably won't be sitting up for a while.
Finally gets why Crosshair couldn't.
He squeezes Crosshair's hand, clinging to him because that's all he has, and desperately willing the pain away.
Emerie was right about one thing.
It never stops.
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