It's been days, and his chest is still on fire. Still burning, and Hunter wonders every time how long it'll be before he's able to breathe again. Certainly won't be for a while, or at least it doesn't feel like it.
Crosshair cries himself out – every moment hurts worse than when Hunter was being tortured or whatever it was, but he doesn't try talking to him again, even if he'd do anything to take his little brother's pain away – then picks up one of Hunter's dropped feathers.
He burns and aches all over, though the maybe-bleeding stopped.
Hunter's staring awkwardly at Crosshair, watching him almost gleefully run his feather between his fingers like that's somehow not too weird – that's basically like hair? How can touching it not be weird? He's still watching when the door opens and Emerie steps inside.
Hunter straightens, flinching back. Crosshair looks up sharply, the feather in his hands stilling and nearly falling.
"I am here to scan you," she says, approaching them slowly.
She has a droid do it, this time, actually. Crosshair reaches for Hunter's hand again, and he takes it – trying to sit on the edge of their bunk is unbearably painful, anyway, and he's getting sore from being on his wings. He doesn't have a right to complain though. It's not like Crosshair can lie down at all.
His heart is pounding. Hunter watches her closely, anyway, but she doesn't seem intent on hurting them. There's something different about her that she can't place. Hunter doesn't know what it is, but... she looks...
He doesn't think about it. Doesn't want to. The safecalmminefamily he felt when he touched her is the same as he shares with Crosshair now – the same overwhelming oneness. It's something about their wings and whatever bond they share from it.
"Crosshair told me you were our sister," Hunter starts slowly. He has to be careful, and he knows that, but it won't stop him from trying. She's their sister. He has to try – he owes her that. (He doesn't owe her anything. She tortured them. His throat still feels raw. He still burns everywhere. He still can barely breathe.)
She looks at Crosshair, who instantly looks away. "I am."
He inhales deeply, trying to sort his thoughts out – he had tried to do this to Crosshair on Kamino, and it went nowhere. He's not counting on it being better with Emerie. He doesn't even know her or what to say. Admittedly, Hunter's not nearly as scared of her as he was of Crosshair, but he could easily make this worse.
(He wants to trust her. He wants her to care about him, and he's being so stupid and selfish right now. No one has time for that, and why should Emerie care about him? Why should anybody? He can't even do the one thing he's supposed to. He can't protect his family. Can't protect anyone.)
"How are you free, if you're a clone, too? You're our sister." It feels wrong to say that about anyone other than Omega, but this is Emerie, and it's somehow so right. He knows her. She's important.
"We all have our own purpose," Emerie answers, looking at him. There's a tightness in her eyes he doesn't remember seeing yesterday, but he was in so much pain, he doesn't really remember.
"So, what's yours?" Hunter asks.
"I work here," she answers, "That is what I was made for." She looks from him to Crosshair, then away.
Crosshair sighs quietly, shifting a little. He's pressing a hand to his stomach again.
"The healing should be progressing faster with you both here."
Faster doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It doesn't mean Hunter hasn't sat by Crosshair every minute for days – it has been days, right? – as he cried and struggled to breathe. Every moment is agony for him and there's nothing that makes it better.
Emerie did this, and Hunter is furious at her. The anger is clawing up, hot and fierce. His hands are on fire. Hunter crosses his arms in an effort to hide them. Keep them from lashing out, but energy is prickling down his arms and the air is charged.
The wall is too close to his back. He needs to move.
Sitting is hard. Trying to get up will stretch the wet mess of wounds on his gut and it'll hurt even worse.
"Doesn't mean we know how it works," Hunter throws back, pushing himself to his feet even if the jolting movement jars his body sharply enough his vision nearly whites out. He stands stubbornly, balancing, wings flapping out and unfolding to keep him steady. "I never had anyone show me."
"For the most part, our abilities are instinctive, Hunter," she answers. Her voice is gentle, and he hates it. It'd be easier if she was being awful to them, not that she isn't or that he wants her to be. He just can't – deal with mind games. Not when it involves Crosshair.
(He's scared of her. Hunter can't think about anything else when he looks at him. He's managing so well to make himself look small.)
"Not this," Hunter accuses, stepping forward, "Not – you did this to us."
Emerie twitches back.
Crosshair inhales sharply. "Hunter, don't –" There's a quiet desperation in his voice, something that makes Hunter instantly want to give in and listen, but he's so, so angry and he's tired of letting them be hurt. He's supposed to protect them, and he hasn't been trying for so long. He's tired of failing.
The droid's gone now, and all there is is Emerie – it's just her on him.
And Hunter is so, so angry.
"Crosshair cares about you," Hunter continues, even if he knows that's emotional and he needs to be careful about saying it, especially so bluntly, but there's something about the annoying, looping trust that makes him think he can talk without stopping. "And you tortured him."
He sees a flicker of regret. For the first time – or maybe it's just the first he noticed it. "I never wanted to hurt him," Emerie argues, her voice rising a notch. "I did what I had to. I tried to protect him. It was never anything that couldn't heal."
She brought him back to Hunter the way she did, and calls that protection? "You don't know what can heal," Hunter snaps. His nails dig into his palm in a failed attempt to keep himself grounded, to let out the rage burning under his skin.
There's so much of it – an overflowing waterfall-worth of rushing, never-ending fury. He can't feel anything else.
He hears a crack of something breaking, but doesn't know what. Doesn't look. Doesn't care.
Her shoulders are drawn tight, eyes dark. Angry. Hunter's never seen her eyes black, but here they are. She slaps her datapad down on the edge of their bunk, unbuckling her belt and pulling up the edge of her blouse.
There are black scar marks on her tan skin, twisting and winding in some sort of... design. He thinks it looks a little like a pentagram, just fancier somehow.
Hunter feels sick. He'd probably worry about throwing up if he were fully sure he had anything left inside him – he still hasn't looked, and isn't asking Crosshair to.
Crosshair makes a quiet, hyperventilated sound beside him. Hunter feels the racing of his heart, the way it flickers upward and pulses twice faster than it should.
Hunter knows those markings. He never followed the workings of the blade when it was in him, but that's what it was doing. It wasn't a simple cut. That's why it hurt so much. What's the design for?
He wants to ask, but his heart is pounding and burning in his chest, and Emerie is angry.
"Do not ever," she orders fiercely, yanking her blouse back down, "Tell me I don't know what it's like." She grabs her datapad up and stalks out.
Crosshair is crying again.
Hunter feels numb.
Emerie's imprisoned here as much as they are. He was just too blind to see it.
He moves back to Crosshair's side, taking his shaking hand in his. They never used to shake. Maybe he just never noticed.
Hunter leans back against the wall, eyes closed, sighing. He's so tired. He wants to cry himself.
"She tried," Crosshair whispers, "Helping me. She did what she could."
Cyar'ika. Hunter sighs again.
"You're not being fair."
He can't believe he said that all. He feels like he can trust Emerie, but he... doesn't know if he can. He doesn't feel half as sure Crosshair will try slitting his throat again, either. He's just too tired to be afraid anymore. He wants to cry. To die. To stop feeling.
Crosshair wipes his eyes on his hand.
Hunter squeezes his other hand a little tighter, willing the contact actually help.
Their skin is different shades of tan. Hunter'd nearly forgotten what Crosshair's looked like.
"Were those marks scars?" Hunter asks finally, "The ones Emerie had?"
"I saw yours. They were wetter."
No kidding. Hunter's clothes still feel all wet and icky all over. He feels gross and sort of really, really wants to get hosed down, actually. Just – ugh. He's got blood on his clothes before, but it's been days. How they were cleaned from his stab wound, he doesn't know.
"Wanna look again?" Hunter asks, scooting slightly forward to press the top of his wings tighter against the wall. Leaning back or lying down is the only thing that... takes all pressure and strain off the area. Still. Moving is hard.
Crosshair sniffles quietly, twisting a little and wincing, but he works at pulling Hunter's bodyglove up, anyway.
He looks down, taking a very, very fast glance and looks away. It looks gross. The markings are the same, he thinks, though it's hard to tell from this angle. They definitely look wet, raw. The blood is black, and it's smeared everywhere. Does his chest look like that?
"Can you tell how deep it is?"
Crosshair sighs. "Inch maybe. Didn't exactly have time to see how far the blade went into me." Which is actually very fair.
"I know."
There's a long and awkward pause of silence, dragging heavily.
"Can I – see yours?" He feels awkward for asking. It doesn't really feel like it's his place anymore, but he wants to know. He should know what happened to his little brother. He let Crosshair get hurt, and he wants to know exactly what he caused – if Crosshair's comfortable with it, anyway. They've been away from each other so long, but Crosshair does have an unreasonable obsession with sticking his hands under Hunter's shirt, so he probably wouldn't mind.
He leans back a little, shifting, wings fluttering. He's visibly uncomfortable with it, but Crosshair still pulls it up to let him see.
And Hunter thought Emerie's was bad.
It's infinitely worse to see in Crosshair.
Emerie's was definitely scarred, or at least closed over. Half of Crosshair's is trying to scab over, but not quite managing it. The rest is still – draining? He doesn't know why, but they're too deep to close of their own.
Hunter swallows ignoring the unreasonable urge to poke it. Goodness. He's not three years old anymore. He doesn't need to poke something because it looks weird.
He feels sick. Reaches to lay his hand on Crosshair's skin near the area – doesn't dare to touch it, even if he isn't fully certain it would hurt. He's not going to risk hurting his little brother more than he already has.
Crosshair inhales shudderingly but doesn't pull away, so Hunter takes it as it's fine.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I – I should've tried to stop this."
"It's fine," Crosshair promises, even if they both know it's not. Hunter appreciates he's trying, anyway. He's so different, and he doesn't understand what changed. "There was nothing you could do."
"What matters is that we try."
Crosshair's eyes lift to his face, but Hunter can't look up. He knows Crosshair knows what he really means. "I hurt you, too." His voice is soft.
There's no denying it, and Hunter doesn't even want to, but Crosshair sounds so desperate and hurt. Lost. Young.
He wishes there was something he could say.
Hunter's wing twitches closer, brushing into Crosshair's, and the near-calmness that always comes with it rushes over him.
"If Emerie tried helping, why couldn't she stop it?" he has to ask.
"She tried making it easier," he answers slowly, "She tried to heal me, but he... found out somehow, and he... made her stop. She couldn't do anything."
That explains everything. Crosshair's brokenness after he came back. How he cried himself into exhaustion and stared blankly up at the ceiling, looking three times his real age. His eyes are to hold. They're haunted – Hunter has seen that look Echo before. He never thought his little brothers would bear it. Crosshair doesn't look like he's nine anymore. He's ten though.
Ten.
He missed a year of Crosshair's life because Hunter wasn't worth staying for. He wasn't worth anything for.
"I'm sorry," Hunter says softly. It feels pathetic. There's really nothing he can offer.
He doesn't pull his hand off Crosshair. He's still in pain, and the contact does help a little. It soothes something. The energy pulsing through him feels like it... takes focus. He doesn't know.
Crosshair sighs, shifting closer, eyes closed. He looks tired. They're both tired.
Crosshair doesn't blame him for this, but Hunter does. He should have found a way to make this stop.
Crosshair presses his hand over Hunter's, holding his hand closer. It's tight and it feels like it must hurt, but he doesn't stop.
"I'll get us out," Hunter promises, "We'll go home. You won't have to fight anymore – if that's what you want."
It occurs to him then he doesn't even know what Crosshair wants. He doesn't know him at all. This is his brother, but he's not, and Hunter doesn't know why he betrayed them. He still can't figure it out – why this keeps happening – why his brothers keep turning on him. Crosshair. Wrecker. Tech.
(The hands on his neck. The blade in his heart. Crosshair.)
No. No – Wrecker didn't turn on him – that was his chip. It wasn't his fault, and Hunter doesn't blame him for it. He knew that even at the time, even if the terror had worked its way into his being and he's never forgotten. And Tech – he can't think about Tech.
He needs to focus on getting Wrecker and Omega outta here.
"Can I?" Crosshair asks shyly.
Hunter's heart clenches so sharply a stab of pain shoots through his chest, leaving him panting and breathless. "Of course." Maybe it's not quite so obvious, actually, considering everything Crosshair did to them and that he can't look at him half the time without a desperate panic clawing at his chest, it's a fair question of whether they could live with him here, but Hunter can't say no.
"We may not always have agreed with Crosshair, but he is still our brother."
Crosshair sighs. "Kid always talked about a place. An island."
"Yeah." Pabu was the closest to a home they've ever had, the first place that Hunter seriously considered settling down, no matter how terrified he is at the concept. He doesn't know how to live, but that doesn't matter. They'll figure it out, because Wrecker and Omega need him too. That's all that matters.
(He's tired of losing. They've all lost so much, and he can't lose something else. He can't lose another sibling. He's lost everything, and Hunter knows with every shred of certainty that he genuinely cannot do this anymore.)
He needs to do something about Emerie. He – misjudged her, and he feels empty and genuinely awful. Hemlock – she called him master? Is that what she meant? – was torturing her, too. He's done it to everybody.
(Is that what happened to Tech?)
He'll have to try getting Emerie out, too, but Omega, Wrecker, and... now Crosshair are his top priorities.
Crosshair's head finds its way to his shoulder. His heartrate is slow, energy flickering and Hunter feels something else, too. Sullenness. Regret, maybe. He doesn't know how he knows it, just that he does, in the same way he heard Emerie's voice in his mind.
It's a quiet, non verbalized I'm sorry ringing on a looped repeat far deeper than any words of regret could ever express, and Hunter understands. It guts him to nothing but it's better than nothing and easier to accept Crosshair screwed up than that he doesn't care, and he's afraid to accept that only to get hurt again, but – but Crosshair means it. He can feel it. He's tried to stay by Hunter's side the entire time. He didn't have to. Hunter can't say he sees it as loyalty yet, but he wants to.
"You're not who you used to be," Crosshair mutters.
Hunter sighs, trying to move closer to him, though twitching at all hurts. "I know." Everything's changed. They've lived a lifetime without him. He doesn't want to live anymore. (Doesn't actually know if he can, or that he even wants to live at all – everything hurts and Hunter's so, so exhausted. He doesn't want to keep getting back up. He's tired of trying to ignore it, and he's being so, so selfish now. He doesn't need anyone to hold him. That's what Hunter's supposed to do for everyone else. If he could stop thinking about himself for two minutes, maybe everyone wouldn't have left him.)
Crosshair isn't who Hunter thought he was, either, but he's here and he needs his help so Hunter will – try. He still needs a semi-intelligent plan.
Crosshair shifts a little, picking up the feather he dropped somewhere into the talk with Emerie. (Hunter can't think about them at all. Crosshair loves her but he's terrified of her, and they're such a jumbled, mishmash of feelings that he can't begin to understand. They're something he's not a part of, and never will be.)
"Do you want her?" Hunter queries, "Emerie? Do you want to take her?"
"She's our sister," he answers, looking away, eyes locked on the black feather in his hands. Hunter tries very, very hard not to feel self-conscious about that. "She belongs with us."
"Omega belongs with us."
Hunter blows out a breath. Tries not to let his mind flash back to Kamino. He feels trapped. "Yeah. She does."
Crosshair nods, relaxing a little, and they lapse into silence.
Crosshair's holding his feather like Omega used to hold Lula and it hurts, but mostly, he's just confused. And freaked out. "Seriously?" Hunter asks disbelievingly, "I thought you hated them." That was part of him. It's weird.
(...okay, if he's being fair, he did the same with Omega. She'd dropped a couple feathers of her own in the Marauder right before she was kidnapped, and Hunter had kept them because after losing her and Tech and Echo being gone again, he couldn't bear to get rid of them. He sleeps by them every night because that's all they had left of her but that was different. She was their kid, and he'd never do it in front of her.)
Crosshair has never been that attached to them. He'd been so hostile about Hunter's wings before, so why would that change? Actually, what changed? Why did he leave the Empire? What did they do, when Kamino and sending him after them wasn't enough to make him leave? To come home when they so desperately needed him? That doesn't matter right now, but he just – doesn't get it, and it hurts. It freaks him out. Weirds him out. He doesn't want to... be reminded of the fact that he has wings. Really, ever.
Crosshair hated them, and they hurt so badly. They brought so much trouble. They failed Hunter the one time he needed them. He hates them, too. Every piece of them.
Crosshair's eyes dart to him, though he doesn't sit up.
Hunter watches awkwardly, waiting for him to say something. To lash out, do something – but Crosshair's not going to strangle him, is he? He doesn't have... a reason to, or... Hunter doesn't know. Doesn't really matter.
He's too injured to hurt anyone right now, but that doesn't mean... he'll stay that way.
(And it's not like Hunter doesn't deserve it, anyway.)
Hunter brushes his cheek on Crosshair's head, trying to focus on his warmth. "They drop feathers all the time. It's just like hair."
"They're fluffy," Crosshair mutters, running it between his fingers. The feather's about two feet long, and it looks ridiculous. His nails are fully silver now, and that freaks Hunter out even more. Hunter's are black. Crosshair's look like they got doused in the stupid nail glitter-polish-thing that Phee and Omega spent an hour chasing all the boys around with once. They all mutually refused, but Omega painted hers for a day and they looked ridiculous. Only, Crosshair's color is natural, most visible in the edges where they're just coming in.
It somehow feels fitting. Crosshair might be dark and awful, and Hunter might hate whoever he's become but he's – he's still not the one who got Tech killed, or who got Omega taken and hurt and everything else. Hunter's the one who keeps failing. He's the one responsible. Not Crosshair.
"You know that was part of me, right?"
"Don't get your feathers ruffled," Crosshair crows.
Hunter punches him.
How Crosshair manages to cram Hunter's wrist into his mouth far enough to bite, he'll wonder for the rest of his life.
***
They keep passing time by sleeping. Hunter doesn't mean to – it just keeps on happening. Crosshair gets him to lay down again, no matter how agonizing the move is for both of them, and sprawls half on him again. It hurts enough he wants to cry but Hunter has a several-hour-long streak of not crying, and he's fully intent on keeping it.
Hunter asks about the area again, and for once, Crosshair cooperates. He tells him, a bit at a time, and it's so hard for him to talk, but he is trying, and Hunter respects that.
He holds him when he needs it. They basically don't break contact, and Crosshair can move around a little now. Enough to walk, though it still hurts him, and they basically just... snuggle. He tries not to think about Wrecker too much, or Emerie, or why they haven't been given anything to eat for days.
Not that he's hungry.
"What's it like there?" Crosshair asks him finally, "On that... island?"
"It's..." Hunter pauses, trying to gather his thoughts and think of a way to explain what Pabu is like. "It's an ocean. Not like Kamino. It's not something any of us could imagine. It's... a good place for us. If we want a home."
Crosshair sighs, head on Hunter's chest. "All I've ever wanted is a home," Crosshair's voice says, though he says nothing aloud. Hunter works his arm around him to squeeze him tighter, but there's nothing he can say. His throat feels tight. All any of them have ever wanted is a home.
"We were there a few days, but the nat-borns liked us. Wanted us to stay. Echo... saw it. Briefly. It was after he left."
Crosshair doesn't even react to the after he left, which is telltale of itself how much time he and Omega have spent together. He must know a lot about what happened in their time apart.
Hunter swallows the pang of jealousy. He wishes he could say the same – that he knew why Crosshair left the Empire, what made him finally understand, what made him... what happened with him and Emerie, and why they're so fiercely loyal to each other.
"What happened?" Hunter ventures finally. He doesn't sound accusing, more desperate and a little broken, though he tries to sound even and level-headedly logical like he's supposed to be and also always manages not to be. "You were gone for months before you remembered we existed."
Crosshair's sigh is heavy. He shifts a little, and Hunter expects him to push himself up, but he doesn't. Yet. "I never wanted to fight you, Hunter. It never felt like I had any other choice."
"How?" he demands, desperately, pushing lightly on Crosshair's shoulder in silent request for him to move, because he needs distance. He can't talk about this when he can't move. Not that there's an escape, but he needs... to be able to breathe. He doesn't know that he wants to know, but he also has to ask, because he owes Crosshair that. Owes everyone that.
Crosshair rolls to his feet, and Hunter begins the unbearably agonizing journey to his feet, nearly passing out on the way up. He's regretting moving immensely. Crosshair grabs his hand and hauls him upright. Hunter stumbles into him, panting. The walls are spinning.
Crosshair's hands are still on his arms, steadying him, and his wings are flapping to keep him balanced. They're inches apart and he can't stop remembering Kamino. The darkness. The closeness. The walls.
Crosshair's so much taller than him. It always drives him crazy and sometimes it just – makes him feel small. Unnoticed.
"I didn't mean to react to them," Crosshair tells him sullenly. He twists sideways once Hunter's steady, crossing his arms. "I – didn't expect them. My... instincts said they were wrong. That I had to kill you." That, at least, makes sense – the Sith have black wings, and they're the ones all the clones fought against during the war. The Jedi had wings, and Crosshair considered them his enemies for some reason that still makes no sense to Hunter.
Hunter watches him, not wanting to push lest he mess this up, but he wants to know – he'd never been able to stop thinking about it, even if he thinks he's starting to understand. He could never let it go. "I didn't want them," he says finally. "I never wanted them."
"I didn't want to," Crosshair continues, turning away. Something is buzzing, burning in the back of Hunter's mind though he doesn't know what it is. Just – something's wrong, and energy is gathering and buzzing in the air. His palms are tingling, and he tries to ignore it – maybe he just overworked himself again. Moving is hard. "I wanted you back."
"We don't belong to you, Crosshair!"
"We all did," Hunter says. "Wrecker thought we could – get through to you. So did Omega. I had to try." And fail. But he – he still tried, and that counts for something even if all it means is that he can't do anything right.
Something's wrong something's wrong something –
He feels a shifting, rippling. Something is changing. Twisting. Reshaping. Something's coming.
"Hunter," Crosshair says, turning to him, hand reaching out and lightly touching his chest over his heart. His heart skips a beat at the proximity, but Crosshair's touch is light and gentle, and it feels right enough that Hunter doesn't want to tell him to stop. Doesn't think he could even if he wanted to. "I have to tell you something."
Hunter reaches for him, tugging him a little closer, and Crosshair lifts his other hand to Hunter's shoulder. There's an uncertainty in his eyes that somehow makes him look so young. He wants to ask, but it's usually better to wait.
Crosshair is meeting his eyes for one of the first times, and he looks... "Don't get mad."
That's literally the worst way for him to start anything, because if he's afraid of Hunter getting angry, well, it's something bad – or at least it would've been, but he waits, and Crosshair's mid opening his mouth to say whatever it is he's about to when a deafening explosion cuts them off.
Hunter tackles Crosshair against the wall, shielding him. Pain jars through his body but it's dwarfed by a rising surge of adrenaline and protective instincts. His wings spread to cover him, and Hunter slowly twists back as the smoke clears.
He doesn't know what he expected, but Omega standing there, palms ablaze with white fire snaking all the way up to her elbows wasn't it.
It's her. It's really her, and Hunter can't breathe.
Her eyes are white and glowing. He can't see the brown he's supposed to, but with how disheveled she looks, it doesn't even phase him. Her face is twisted in a furious snarl and her blond curls fall messily across her forehead, twice the length Hunter remembers her comfortable with. They're pulled back into a sloppy attempt at a ponytail, or at least he thinks they were once, though they're so long and messy now he doesn't know.
But stars, this is her. This is his kid, their kid, their sister and she's finally finally here. "Omega," he breathes, and he's moving for her without meaning to.
Her head tilts back, eyes widening a little. "Hunter," she whispers.
The air is heavy, poised, frozen, then Crosshair stands and Omega spins into action.
"Come on," she says, grabbing Hunter's hand and pulling him for the door, "I'm getting you out."
"By alerting the entire building?" Crosshair asks, irked.
"There's only one way out, and I am not waiting anymore." She's furious. Hunter can't remember the last time he's seen Omega angry – she's always been special because she never gets angry.
She bolts for the hall, and Hunter follows. Might as well – Omega has a plan. She's dressed in the same gray clothes as Emerie, but that's the last of his worries.
Hunter's about to ask where Wrecker is when Emerie's voice sounds from the hall's end. "Omega!"
"No!" she shouts, whirling around, hair flying across her face.
"Omega, stop," she orders firmly, stepping into the hall's center – she's the only one still standing. The guards are... Hunter doesn't actually see any guards, though there's a darkened piece of armor amidst the ash. "You aren't thinking clearly."
"I don't have to think clearly!" Omega shouts up at her, "I've been here for months. A hundred and twenty-five rotations. I've been planning this for months. I am not waiting any longer." She's breathing deeply enough Hunter can see the rise and fall of her shoulders. Her wings are vibrating with fury, and that is somehow the most disconcerting thing Hunter has ever seen in his life.
"Omega," Emerie says, stepping forward. She sounds firm, and Hunter almost can't believe she's actually ordering her. No one does that. Omega always does what she wants. He's never even tried telling her otherwise. "There is no way out. We have a purpose here."
"What?" she bursts out, "Getting tortured? They hurt Wrecker! I'm not letting you do it again!"
She sighs. For the first time since Hunter's seen her, Emerie genuinely looks tired.
I am nothing there is nothing nowhere to go no way out nothing –
He hears it, but it's not aloud. It's Emerie.
"All she's ever wanted was someone to take care of her."
Hunter's heart is pounding. "Emerie," he says, and she looks up at him. "We can get out with your help. You know the place. You can come with us."
She looks at Crosshair, then Omega.
Cyar'ika.
Hunter knows she cares. It's a strange feeling.
"We have other people who can help us," Hunter continues, "They can take care of the clones here. If we call support, we can take this out. We can help our brothers." He doesn't know that he can call the regs that, truly, but it's close. They are important, and they matter to Echo. They deserve better. So much better.
"We can take it out ourselves," Omega says, looking up at him. Her hands are glowing, and with the times Hunter's seen his own hands get weird, he doesn't find it strange.
"Negative," Crosshair grumbles, "Our primary mission is escape."
"Yours," Omega snaps back, not looking.
The moment is tense, but Emerie sighs. "I don't have anywhere to go."
"Don't you?" Crosshair asks.
She looks away.
They need more. He needs to say – something. Anything. Echo would know what to say, because he always knew. He was – good at that. Hunter never has been. Echo has talked about this a little, and Hunter tries to remember everything he's learned from his older brother. He knows she wants to help, but she's scared, and she's not ready yet.
"Emerie," Hunter says, shifting forward and motioning Crosshair back. He moves to stand in front of him protectively with whatever he has – he is not letting anyone hurt his little brother again. "You know helping us is the right thing to do."
She sighs, something desperate and lost in her eyes, but Hunter knows she means it. "I will."
Omega pauses, looking up at Hunter. Her hair falls out of her face, letting him see how it's pinched with worry. "You're hurt," Omega says, eyes wide.
No kidding. He can hardly stand – the waves of agony washing over him are momentarily dulled, but not enough. Not nearly enough – not to fight their way out.
"It's not bad," he hears himself saying, just not talking about the hole through his heart or the disturbingly deep cuts on his stomach – it's not like they're bleeding though, so it can't be too bad. It hurts, but they are healing.
Omega's already moving, though, reaching up to touch him. She closes her eyes, and her hands are still burning, flickering with white fire, though he doesn't find it half as disturbing as he should. This is fire, and it's supposed to hurt, but he's not afraid.
Her hand lays on his stomach, and the fire flickers and burns into him – he feels the energy prickling across his skin, sliding into the breaks and beneath. It's warm. It feels warm, but it doesn't hurt.
Air catches in his lungs.
The fire nips across him, closing over and burning through – he sees the whiteness fading from her hands, drawing into him. Her veins are glowing white.
He's gasping mostly because he can breathe again, and it finally doesn't hurt.
The relief is only momentary as Omega stumbles, knees buckling as the fire dies away.
"Omega!" He drops to a knee, catching her before she hits the floor. Her eyes are closed. She's breathing evenly, fine, and doesn't look pale – not too pale, at least. What happened to her? "What's –"
"She may have overexerted herself," Emerie interjects, "Her ability to heal is not a trait she has explored, and it is exhausting."
She can heal? Okay then. That figures – Omega has always been so light and kind. Of course, she can heal. There's nothing that suits their little sister or explains her need to help people better. Hunter understands it, but he also doesn't care – all that matters to him in the end is his family.
The energy was familiar. Hunter has felt it a thousand times before. Omega can do anything with her abilities, and his... are not the same.
He is death.
"Crosshair, can you carry her?" he asks.
His little brother takes her from him, grunting a little and wincing, but he holds her still body against his chest. Omega twitches into it, drifting closer even sleeping.
Crosshair's face is pale and drawn, tensed, and whatever last little self-restraint he has shatters.
Maybe it's been breaking for a long time. Maybe he genuinely couldn't hold it in anymore. Maybe he's finally letting it, that he finally needs to and sees what he can do.
It doesn't really matter.
He's tried so long and he's tired of trying he can't he can't he can't do this he's – he's hit the lowest of something and shattered into a million glassed shards.
He is furious, and he won't just take anymore.
He wants this place to burn.
"Stay behind me," Hunter orders them both, "And stay down."
He stands, hands igniting.
His fire is black. Black, like ash and his heart and all he's ever been. It's crackling with vibrant charge, lightning but black. He can feel everything. Every flicker of electricity in the floor and walls and ceiling, every heartbeat and life, every buzzing life on the floor and below and entire facility.
He slams his hand on the wall and it falls, crumbling into dusty ash.
Dying.
It feels good to move.
To tear this place apart.
The escape is lost in a blur. Hunter remembers finding Wrecker. He's as deathly pale and panting as Crosshair. Can hardly stand, but he makes it work, and Hunter runs to him, the approaching troopers and blasterfire forgotten, the flames dying from his hands, and he pulls Wrecker into a tight hug.
It's cut short, and Hunter pulls back, hands on his brother's face with a "you look awful" that Wrecker scoffs over and promises to be fine. Hunter doesn't believe it. He kept saying he was fine before Bracca and Hunter knows what this pain is like.
He remembers Crosshair's face, pale and ashen as he tries to stay upright.
There's a reg with black, mid-growing wings there, one who was with Wrecker, and Hunter asks him to come, though he declines with a laugh of "I know you'll come back, I know Rex our general will find us, they always do." There's a tattoo on his head – a five – and wonders how that's familiar, but the reg wanted to stay with his brothers, so they go. Hunter's not sacrificing the twins or Omega for anyone. There's no time to get them all. That's – a different mission. Not his.
They pick up their armor – that's the fastest Hunter remembers getting dressed in his life. Feels bad Crosshair can't, but his armor is safely on the Marauder. He burns a hole through Wrecker's back armor to let him get it on. Feels a little bad for that, too – watching the metal crumble into ash is hard, but Wrecker needs this. (They should've listened to Tech. Shouldn't've come.)
(Not that he regrets Omega, or even Crosshair.)
They make it out into the forest through where the hounds are kept – one of the said hounds joins up on the way.
Hunter remembers destroying what must be four dozen walls on the way. Could be four hundred. Lost count.
When the Imperials catch up to them, Hunter rips their blasters away, and Emerie joins with him. She looks perfect with black fire blazing down her hands. She's as angry as he is. Almost.
They don't stop moving.
The twins have to stop a few times. Hunter covers until they can keep moving.
He half-flies to the Marauder, firing up the engine and taking off.
He remembers sinking into the pilot seat, heart pounding and burning even if it shouldn't be there at all – his chest is still on fire.
Emerie slides into the co-pilot's seat.
Hunter remembers the wide-eyed, childishly awed face as he yanks the lever to send them into hyperspace, so different but parallel to Omega. Tech's gone the same as Crosshair was, and they just got someone else even if they're down Echo.
(They left him. Hunter left him. He promised he wouldn't leave Emerie, but he left Tech and he – he promised. He promised Tech, too, and Hunter knows he's going to regret this just as much as he did leaving Crosshair. He can never stop making the same mistakes, can he? This is gonna come back and hit him in the face, blowing up the family and home they've made for themselves. There is no way for this to end without a disaster, but Hunter knows Tech, and – Plan 99 – Tech sacrificed himself for them. This is what he would want.)
("He made a sacrifice, Omega. And we're not gonna waste it.")
(Because whether Tech is dead or alive, he still made that choice, that sacrifice, and Hunter will remember the "Plan 99" "when have we ever followed orders" and Wrecker yanking him back for as long as he lives.)
(Hunter knows him, and he knows his little brother would never hate him, could never hate him even if he should. He didn't want to hurt him. He wouldn't. This is what he would want, even if it's gutting and Hunter hates himself for every minute.)
Hunter throws a glance over his shoulder. Crosshair's slumped in his seat, panting, eyes closed, chin on Omega's hair, who's curled sleeping in his lap. Wrecker's across from him, watching Crosshair with his unseeing eye, but some things, Hunter guesses, twins don't need eyes to see.
All his kids are fine.
And finally, for the first time in months, he can breathe.
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