Anakin

Mayday

Week 5 Prompt: "You're a bad liar." Alt. Prompt: "Need a hand?" @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 6646 Summary: Crosshair falls incredibly ill during a storm, and his family does what they can to help him. Only, there's not much they can do. READ ON AO3

Rain pattered down hard against the stone roof, and against Crosshair’s window above his bed. The dark night had turned into a gloomy, gray dawn, and he could even hear the waves crashing tumultuously against the rocks. For some reason he couldn’t discern he didn’t want to get out of bed. He just didn’t have the energy.

Thunder rumbled, and he winced. Oh, that had been too loud.

A knock sounded on his door (ow), and he tried to suppress a quiet groan, but it came out anyway. He took his pillow and put it over his head.

“Crosshair, you getting up?” Hunter asked. “Wrecker and Tech made breakfast.”

Thank god. It’ll be something palatable.

He wanted to tell Hunter that bit of sarcasm (Hunter actually was a good cook thanks to his enhanced senses), but he felt sluggish, mind moving slowly.

Maybe I’m getting sick.

“Yeah, yeah,” he eventually grumbled at him.

Crosshair sighed, moved his pillow back under him, and slumped down on it.

“Omega’s waiting,” Hunter added.

“Fine,” he breathed.

That was enough to get him moving.

Today typically wouldn’t have been a rest day on Pabu, but they’d all seen the storm coming the night before and had prepared.

Lightning flashed as he finally sat up. Ugh. His limbs shook slightly, and he passed a hand over his tired eyes.

What is wrong with me?

He’d slept the whole night, to his surprise; maybe those medicinal herbs the healer had given him really were helping with his nightmares. So what was the problem?

Crosshair clambered out of bed. He went through the motions of getting ready, wincing at the soft glow of light from his lamp each time his eyes passed over it. Everything took longer, like he was trying to move his limbs through mud.

Eventually he was sitting at the kitchen table with his family. Tech was on his datapad, half-ignoring his food, his two mechno-fingers on his left hand gleaming. In the dim light their lamps provided the scars across the left side of his face looked deeper, more jagged from the shadows.

Omega sat next to Crosshair, excitedly eating the pastries Wrecker and Tech had made, nudging Crosshair, trying to get him to eat something.

For some reason nausea curled in his stomach, but he tried a few bites.

He admitted to himself that if he wasn’t getting sick the flaky pastry with the tangy fruit filling would have been delicious. Yet he was sick, or something was wrong.

Crosshair sat with his hand under his chin, eyeing everyone tiredly.

His family was talking about Phee and whether she was safe today (though she could easily handle herself), and Hunter was trying to keep Batcher away from the food, but Crosshair wasn’t really taking it in.

Omega nudged him, and he glanced at her.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

Crosshair sighed, and pushed his plate away.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.

“Not hungry.”

Crosshair thought of the projects he could work on while inside, something to bring life to Pabu, and earn his family some money or traded goods. He supposed he could try to work on his paintings, but there wasn’t really good lighting for that. Maybe there were some nets he could weave?

“Here, maybe this’ll help,” Wrecker said, handing over a mug of caf.

What is the logic in this? Yet…

Knowing Wrecker it was strong, and bitter. The thought turned Crosshair’s stomach.

Yet, if he put a lot of cream and sugar in it like he did for Omega’s small, small cups (he did not want her drinking so much caf so young, but they let her have some or else she’d steal theirs) maybe it’d taste good. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want the sweetness of the pastry, but suddenly wanted a sweet cup of caf.

His movements were slow as he prepared it.

Crosshair ended up moving to the couch in their living room. The living room was actually in the same room as the kitchen, no wall dividing them since the open space had better air circulation, so he wasn’t being too antisocial. Was he?

Crosshair grabbed one of the nets he’d been working on the night before, right hand trembling as he tried to tie the knots. This wasn’t like painting. For some reason painting stilled his hand. This was more difficult, but when he took his time everyone said he was even better at this than any of his brothers.

Batcher rushed over, and instantly put herself under the net. She wasn’t trying to steal it at the moment, just nudging her head up into it, so he didn’t admonish her.

Omega, another pastry in her hand, sat next to him, taking the net off of a disappointed Batcher. But the smell of food had her nudging at Omega.

“Don’t get that on the couch,” Crosshair told Omega about her breakfast.

Mouth full, a crumb falling onto her lap that Batcher immediately licked up, she mumbled out, “I won’t.”

“Mm hmm.”

A few seconds passed, Omega thoroughly enjoying her food, and Batcher trying to climb up into her lap.

“How are you not full yet?” Crosshair ended up asking Omega.

She shrugged.

Maybe it was something to do with how she’d sprouted so much recently, and all the growing pains she was dealing with.

The others set to their own tasks after breakfast. Tech started working on something at the table, and Crosshair glanced over, curious, seeing tech strewn about, accompanied by the flash and hiss of a solder. Wrecker was also at the table, looking over architecture plans for an aquarium he was helping to make in lower Pabu, though he kept getting distracted talking to Tech about the fish and marine life they’d be helping. Hunter was washing the dishes.

Rain continued to pound down in thick sheets, the ocean’s wrath a constant roaring reminder. Batcher decided hiding under the kitchen table, nestled between Tech’s and Wrecker’s legs was the safest place to be for the moment. She whined a bit from the storm, and Wrecker pressed his leg against her to try and comfort her.

Lightning flashed, blue and brilliant. Even with the curtains closed Crosshair saw the flash, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Thunder boomed around them.

It was so loud!

Argh!

Crosshair put his head down, wincing.

Suddenly, Wrecker complained, “Tech, don’t do that with your eye.”

“The lightning is too bright. I’m simply making an adjustment so I don’t get a headache.”

“At least take it out in your room.”

“You have a cybernetic eye too.”

“Do you see me taking it out at the kriffing table?”

“Language,” Hunter reprimanded.

Omega giggled, though Crosshair could now feel her watching him, and she put a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmph.”

Crosshair fumbled a knot, and had to untie it, starting over. Hunter finished with the dishes and sat in a chair by the window, probably taking note of Crosshair struggling with his work.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

Can’t they all just leave me alone?

“No.”

His body froze up for an indiscernible reason, even as weakness flooded his limbs like cold water.

Something’s… wrong.

Something’s…

Crosshair wanted to tell his family. He wanted to…

The net fell from his hands.

He wanted…

He…

Crosshair was no longer sure what he was looking at. His mind took in that yes there was something, but what? The words seemed to have been erased from his head. Comprehension and language floated away. He could feel it leaving him.

If only he could…

He looked around, feeling like everything was thumping through his body. What that “everything” was, he didn’t know.

There was a sensation at his arm, a… a face in his field of view. But whose face?

What was… a… face?

Crosshair’s head (he thought maybe it was his head) started pounding, and pounding, and aching, like someone was hitting him with a stone, or a wooden beam, like they’d bypassed his skull and directly hammered his brain. He could have sworn someone or something was trying to scoop out his right eye with a spoon, the pain going all the way down into his teeth.

He curled in on himself; maybe he was groaning, maybe he didn’t make a sound.

Where am I? And why did it matter?

Who… who am I?

What am I?

Crosshair—is that my name? What’s a name?—couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend anything.

And the pain. Oh, stars, the pain. He just wanted someone to stop hitting his head! Why couldn’t they stop?

Please…

Everything seemed to be… shaking.

There was pressure against his arms, his back, his field of view changing, body moving. Dizziness nearly had him collapsing.

He was lying on something now, something glowing too bright in his vision, searing his eyes.

He groaned, and rolled over, head sloshing.

His ears picked up on sound—maybe language—and it all hurt, like someone was puncturing his eardrums with picks and getting right inside his brain.

There was pressure on his shoulder, his back. Something was placed over him, and he perhaps felt a bit warmer, maybe more comforted.

The light was thankfully turned off, and he was left alone. Head swimming, not knowing a thing, he closed his eyes, and wished for it to end.

Instead, he floated in the madness, the suffering, the confusion, the raging tempest.

Help.

Omega was drinking Crosshair’s cup of caf, even though it was no longer hot. Holding the mug at least kept her hands from trembling. They’d gotten Crosshair in bed, but he hadn’t been able to say a word to them. He had just mumbled and moaned, and was otherwise completely unresponsive. But he was in pain. Omega had seen it in how he had curled in on himself, had heard it deep in his rasping voice.

Batcher was trying to go into his room, but worrying she’d be too loud, Wrecker was on the floor in front of the door, deterring her.

“We need to get AZI,” Omega said. “I think he was last at Shep’s checking on Lyana’s cold.”

“I agree,” Hunter told her, rising.

“I’ll go,” Tech volunteered, also standing, albeit with a slight hitch when he put weight on his left leg.

Omega took a big sip of the incredibly sugary cup of caf, and decided, “I’m going with you.”

“I’ll watch over Crosshair,” Wrecker volunteered, petting Batcher hard as she nuzzled into his hand.

Hunter crossed his arms, looking thoughtful.

“I’ll stay too. Tech, Omega, be quick.” Hunter stepped in towards Tech, and asked, “Do you still have that brain scanner you used for the chips?”

Tech pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

Hunter put a hand on his shoulder. “All right. Be safe. This is a bad storm.”

Omega and Tech got ready in their ponchos to head outside. She glanced at his left leg. Was it acting up today?

He didn’t bring it up, so Omega didn’t ask him. Her gut was clenching, and she kept leaning forward a bit, putting weight on the tips of her toes, feeling the horrible need to get going.

What was wrong with Crosshair was… scary. She’d never seen anything like this before. He had been completely unresponsive, and his eyes had been unfocused (when they were even open). His breaths had been coming in quick pants and gasps.

A groan sounded from his room.

Tech put an urgent hand against her back. “Come on.”

Rain pounded down on them as soon as the door was open, pattering at least a meter into the kitchen.

Omega headed out first, ignoring the discomfort of the storm upon her, Tech following behind her.

She walked fast, but it didn’t feel quick enough. They passed house after house, lamps and plants and other various decorations blowing in the harsh breeze, soft light leaking through the curtains out into the dreary day. Some trees had fallen down, but most of the outdoor furniture had been tied down the night before so it could stay in place. Still, there were a few tables and chairs strewn about in their path, along with various debris. Omega hoped Phee was okay, but reminded herself she probably was. The problem was Crosshair.

“How’s your leg and hip today?” she asked, huffing slightly as they went up the winding path to Shep’s, the wind fighting against them. She had an arm up to shield her face from the rain.

“Fine,” Tech answered, voice faint under the roaring of the rain and wind, the booming of thunder.

He gripped his hood tightly. Omega had completely given up on hers.

“You’re a bad liar too,” she called to him.

“Fine. Yet I do believe I am well enough to jog,” he admitted.

That was all Omega needed to hear.

Lukewarm rain pelted them in the muggy air. Lightning flashed. Thunder sounded. From the sea wall she could see the grueling, foamy waves, homes that had been evacuated being pounded by water before it receded for a few seconds, only to flood around them—and possibly in them—once more.

And Omega couldn’t stop thinking about how Crosshair had held his head, how his eyes had grown unfocused, the agonized groan he’d let out after dropping the net.

There could be something wrong with his brain.

“Have you seen anything like that before?” Omega called to Tech, who raced beside her, his left hip dropping lower than the right one.

They dodged an airborne flower pot, clay smashing against stone.

“No, not really. But perhaps he’s having a seizure of some sort.”

Fear gripped Omega’s throat tight, and she broke into a run, not at all caring for the slippery rock, and the puddles she splashed through, soaking her from head to toe.

“Wait up!” Tech called.

“Why did you volunteer?” Omega asked, voice accidentally coming out much snippier than she had wanted. Oops. “I can tell your leg needs a tune-up. Did you take all your medicine?”

“Stop mothering me.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Only in one way,” Tech pointed out. Then eventually he said, “I wanted to help. I wanted to do something useful for once. I… have much to make up for.”

Omega couldn’t help how she stopped in the rain, almost slipping, but catching herself, and turning to Tech: Tech, who looked so different after his Fall, his imprisonment, his brainwashing. She met his eyes unflinchingly—the brown, and the cybernetic.

“Tech, you have nothing to make up for.”

“I… know.”

From the way he bowed his head she could tell he didn’t.

“Well, let’s do this then.” She took his hand, lacing their fingers without a care that she was touching his two cybernetic ones. “Come on.”

Tech fought against the storm with her.

By the time they made it to Shep’s and Lyana’s, Omega was sweating and soaked through with rain. Tech was too. They were both panting as they knocked urgently on the door.

Lyana opened it up, hair gusting back violently, her eyes squinting against the wind.

Omega could hear AZI saying, “I do not think it wise to go out in the rain in your condition.”

“Omega? Tech? What’s wrong?” Lyana asked, sniffling, voice stuffed with congestion.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and Omega wished she had more time to check up on her. Though she was glad that she’d picked up on their obvious distress so they could skip the pleasantries.

Lightning flashed, and the resulting thunder seemed to shake the whole island.

“It’s Crosshair. He’s sick or—or something,” Omega panted out. “We need AZI. Quick.”

“Oh, I do not like rain.”

Omega raced in to grab him, gritting her teeth against his reluctance. “You were made on Kamino. It’s fine.”

“I never said I liked Kamino either.” Then he shot back at Lyana, “Stay inside.”

As Omega was leaving, Lyana put a hand on her arm, “Please let us know if Crosshair’s okay. As soon as you can.”

“We will,” Tech assured.

The race down the island was harder with the wet rock, and Omega’s shins were burning. Tech was managing all right, and even managed to pull Omega out of the way of an errant, flying deck chair.

They were filling in AZI on Crosshair’s condition as they hurried back home, and Tech suggested he could be having some kind of seizure.

AZI started running through the potential problems, and Omega felt her eyes trying to fill with tears. She lied to herself that it was just the rain, but she was a bad liar too.

There was so much that could be wrong: brain aneurysm, migraine, seizure, cranial hematoma, stroke, apparently even a heart attack. It all sounded so horrifying. Omega hated that she wasn’t by his side right this instant. Tech picked up the pace, only slipping and needing to catch himself a couple of times, though he winced. Omega wondered what this was doing to his lower back.

Yet she could see his love and determination as he raced back home, a love that Omega shared. Crosshair was an important member of their family.

They made it back home, and Omega didn’t bother taking her poncho off, leading AZI right to Crosshair’s room down the main hall.

She turned on the lamp, which caused Crosshair to groan, and roll over onto his stomach. He was shivering and sweating. She felt his head for a fever, but he was cool to the touch.

She did her best to not say anything, wondering if sound was hurting him too.

She pulled up a chair, and waited as AZI started what tests he could.

Hunter was pacing outside Crosshair’s room. He’d monitored his breathing and heart rate the whole time that Tech and Omega had been gone, able to hear it clear as day. Wrecker sat on the couch, hands clasped, rocking back and forth. Batcher had nestled in beside him, but her head was in the direction of Crosshair’s room. Clearly she knew something was wrong.

Hunter could hear AZI performing various tests, Crosshair groaning the whole time.

Omega, still soaked, suddenly rushed to the doorway.

“We need a bucket.”

In a flash Hunter was moving to the refresher, grabbing a bucket from under the counter, and unceremoniously dumping the cleaning supplies it held onto the tile floor. He belatedly realized that the clattering might have been too loud for Crosshair. He rushed back to Omega, handing it to her. She was back in the dimly lit room.

The sound of a hand smoothing against fabric reached his ears, and when he peeked in Omega was rubbing Crosshair’s back.

She and AZI had managed to get him hunched over the bucket.

A terrible moan left him, and Wrecker stood up, Batcher whining since she had just been placing her head in his lap.

Hunter held him back.

“He needs his space.”

Wrecker groaned, and hung his head.

Tech was leaning against a wall in the kitchen, dripping water, datapad in hand, fingers typing away faster than usual—a sure sign of his anxiety. He winced when he switched which leg held the most weight.

Hunter leaned his head down, and put his back against the wall when he heard Crosshair throw up. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Thunder shook the house.

He was tapping his toes against the floor, wishing there was something he could do, anything! He wanted to be in the room with them, but he worried it’d be too overwhelming. And, he didn’t trust himself to not get in the way. Crosshair needed these tests, not another person taking up his space.

But please, anything to help Crosshair.

“That’s it?” Omega suddenly asked, tone straightening Hunter’s spine. “No, no, that can’t be it. Please, there has to be something!”

That’s it.

He made to enter Crosshair’s room.

AZI floated over, blocking the doorway, and in a flash Wrecker and Tech were by Hunter’s side. Omega leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, lower lip trembling.

Hunter blinked at the sight, and reached out to her, rubbing her arm. Then he brought everything back into perspective, looking to AZI, who tapped his fingers together.

“Well?” he asked.

AZI held his little arms out in the approximation of a shrug. “I have tested him for everything I can think of, and was able to scan his brain. From what I can see there’s nothing wrong.”

Omega just about stamped her foot.

“Something’s obviously wrong,” Wrecker argued.

“I agree. These symptoms are quite unusual for the tests to not show anything. Perhaps this is just a migraine.”

“Just a migraine?” Hunter asked.

“Migraines can be quite severe,” Tech chimed in.

AZI floated closer to Hunter, and asked, failing to whisper, “How has his hand been?”

“The—the same,” he responded, taken aback by the question. Then it dawned on him. “Wait, are you saying this could be trauma related?”

“It is quite possible.”

Hunter glanced back at Tech, thinking about all his trauma symptoms he suffered from as well. Though, his didn’t make physical manifestations quite in the same way Crosshair’s seemed to. And Phee seemed to help. Crosshair didn’t have that, though maybe he didn’t need it. He had them.

“Was there anything that happened on this day?” AZI asked. “Anything you can recall?”

Hunter frowned, rubbing at his chin.

“No,” Omega sighed, chest caving with defeat.

“We were apart for some time,” Hunter said, that old regret an uncomfortable, lukewarm ache right above his stomach. He looked back at Wrecker and Tech. “Did he mention anything to you?”

Wrecker rubbed at the back of his head, looking down. Tech lifted his head from his datapad, squinting as he thought.

“No, nothing,” Wrecker said.

“I can’t recall anything either,” Tech responded.

“Will he get better?” Hunter asked.

“I assume so. Whatever is causing this in his mind will pass. Sometimes the body remembers things we do not. He could very well be better tomorrow.”

“And what if he’s not?” Wrecker asked. “What are we supposed to do? AZI, I don’t even think he knows where he is.”

“It is quite possible he does not know. We can treat symptoms for now to keep him comfortable. I have given him some injections for the nausea and pain.”

Hunter peered around AZI and Omega to where Crosshair was lying in bed, hopefully asleep. His shaking had thankfully subsided, and his breathing was a little easer. His heart rate had slowed.

“Well, thanks for your help, AZI,” Hunter said, tone low, deflated that there wasn’t more they could do.

His body was tense, the chemicals in his brain telling his whole system that there was a problem, and as a soldier he had been able to fix many problems and dangers with physical action. Now, there was nothing he could do. His nerves were shot.

“I can stay in case he needs more immediate care,” AZI suggested.

Tech chimed in, a pointer finger raised, “I would like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wrecker agreed.

“Looks like you’re sticking around,” Hunter said.

AZI gave a little bob and retreated back into Crosshair’s room, Omega doing the same, hugging a pillow to her chest as she sat in the chair she’d pulled up before his bed.

Hunter didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself.

Wrecker put a gentle hand on Omega’s cold, wet shoulder, kneeling down beside her. She was tense, body as hard as the stone walls keeping them safe from the storm. He glanced at Crosshair, who might have been sleeping; he hoped he was. AZI was in the corner, monitoring things.

“Hey, I need some help making lunch,” Wrecker said to Omega.

“I don’t want lunch.”

“Well, everyone else does.”

Which wasn’t exactly true, but Wrecker couldn’t let Omega keep sitting here doing nothing. Tech had fallen into his work, though his right leg bounced anxiously, and Hunter was using the living room to workout and roughhouse with Batcher. Omega needed something.

She finally pulled her gaze from Crosshair, and Wrecker felt some success at this.

She sighed. “What are we making?”

“Can’t tell you yet,” he said softly. “I won’t have you making lunch in wet clothes.”

Omega frowned, looking down at herself. She was even still in her purple poncho.

“Oh.”

He wasn’t surprised she’d forgotten. Wrecker had often forgotten his own physical state while watching over his brothers when they were sick or injured. Once he’d forgotten about a deep slash to his arm, and had bled everywhere, and then had barely felt a thing as a droid stitched it up. He’d been so focused on Hunter at the time, who had fared much worse than he had on that particular mission.

Wrecker wasn’t sure he wanted food, either. But there was nothing they could do for Crosshair for now, and in case he did need them they had to keep up their strength. Besides, he had a fun recipe planned that he knew Omega would usually feel joy from. It was worth a shot.

She nodded, and winced slightly, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah, I’ll change.”

“Good. Meet you in the kitchen.”

Wrecker was getting out the ingredients for the noodles by the time Omega came over in a fresh set of clothes, her hair wrung out. She took a seat at the counter, kicking her legs.

“So what are we making?”

“I dunno the name,” Wrecker admitted, the dialect from the culture it had come from flying right over his head even faster than basic tended to. “But, we start with noodles.”

Omega brightened somewhat at that, as Wrecker had hoped she would. They always had a good time making noodles together.

This recipe called for milk, rather than egg, which thickened up the dough quickly once they’d made the well in the flour and started to mix.

In no time at all, Wrecker and Omega were at the counter, rolling out their own separate sheets of the blue dough. Though, she kept her head down, maybe in concentration, but there was a stiffness to her neck, and she kept angling her face away from him.

“Crosshair’s gonna be okay,” Wrecker told her.

“How do you know?”

Wrecker shrugged. “I guess I don’t know for certain, but AZI thinks he’ll be all right, and… well, with whatever’s going on with him, he can get through this. He’s strong.”

“Yeah. He is.”

Omega pounded her dough a bit too hard, but Wrecker let her do it. She had to get out her feelings somehow.

Wrecker tried to hold in a grin as they started slicing up the dough to shape the noodles. He picked up a thick strand, and then flung it at Omega. It hit her face, sticking to it a bit before dropping down.

She gasped, but then lifted up her head, grabbing the noodle and flinging it back at him. A hitched giggle left her, as if she were surprised by it.

As they started to fling noodles at each other, cutting them fast and haphazardly into the dough, Tech groaned and moved his stuff to the other side of the room. “Please do not get those on my work!”

Omega dodged a noodle, and Batcher caught it.

Wrecker didn’t exactly want Batcher eating their food, but he couldn’t help but laugh.

Hunter was up now, panting a little from his workout, a surprised smile on his face.

“How are we going to have anything to eat if you throw it all at each other?” he asked.

Wrecker stopped, noodle in hand, its own weight stretching it and making it drip down onto the counter.

“Oh, right.”

Omega giggled, and they got back to work, trying to be very serious about it. Wrecker flicked a noodle in her direction, and she snorted.

Hunter ended up helping, chopping up the various squid and octopi and shrimp they’d need. Omega was soon cleaning out the clams, and Wrecker chopped up the herbs, tomatoes, and peppers.

Together Wrecker and Omega breaded the squid, and Hunter was frying up the seafood, asking Wrecker repeatedly for instructions and how he wanted all the ingredients added together. The other pan for the squid was heating up.

Omega set water to boiling for the noodles, and Wrecker started frying up the squid.

Sizzling and bubbling and the scent of good food filled the kitchen.

“That smells very good,” Tech complimented.

“Can I have the wine?” Hunter asked.

Omega grabbed it for him from their little pantry near the counter, and passed it over. Hunter splashed some into the pan with all the seafood. Omega leaned in over the counter, and checked the pot.

Wrecker almost said a watched pot never boils, but it was good to see her occupied.

Batcher had padded over, lured by the scent of cooking seafood.

Wrecker almost snuck her a piece of the fried squid, but he resisted the temptation. Yet she was so cute! It was hard not doing everything she wanted.

She started pawing at Hunter, and he asked, “Tech, can you give Batcher some treats?”

“I’m a little busy.”

“What are you working on?” Omega asked.

“I am creating a new brain scanner… just to be safe.”

Crosshair moaned, and five heads turned towards his room.

Omega tensed from where she was perched on the counter.

“Should… should we check on him?”

Tech stood, breath hitching a little at first, a fist pressed against the table. “I’ll do it.”

Wrecker was dying to check, but he did have to get the noodles in the water if they wanted everything cooked on time. He craned his head around the cabinets, wishing he could see into Crosshair’s room rather than just glimpse a dark doorway at the beginning of the hall.

Tech limped as he went over. Wrecker wondered if the storm was bothering his scarring and permanent injuries. His own scars ached today.

Lightning flashed hard enough to shake the house, and Batcher ducked down, Omega reaching over to comfort her.

Somewhat reluctantly, Wrecker got back to work, putting the thick blue noodles in the water.

An ache was running up into his head, and he realized his jaw was clenched tight.

He breathed out hard, trying to release the pressure.

Hunter put a hand on his elbow, and just that acknowledgement and reassurance centered him a bit more. Yet he realized he felt like the ground was going to fall out beneath him, like he wasn’t standing in his kitchen making lunch with his family.

Tech came back in, and Wrecker widened his eyes, taking in his tired stance. He took a seat at the counter, engineering project abandoned for now.

“He’s… he’s holding up okay,” Tech said. “I think. It’s a little hard to tell, but AZI isn’t overly concerned. Though he did mention he might need an IV.”

“We don’t have those supplies,” Omega said.

Hunter was drying his hands as he said, raising his voice over the sizzling pans, “I could go to the healer’s, see if she has any available.”

“I believe she had to evacuate to upper Pabu,” Tech said. “I’m not sure where she is, or that she’d have what we need with her.”

Idly, he tried to reach over to the pan with the squid, and Wrecker slapped his hand away.

Tech rolled his eyes at him, but settled down.

In about ten more minutes, almost all of them were sitting at the table with their delicious lunch, noodles piled high with seafood, Crosshair’s vacant seat a horrible reminder of what their brother was enduring.

Tech kept glancing at it, stomach feeling hollow.

He forced himself to eat, tried to take the time to enjoy the various enriching flavors that bit pleasantly at his tongue. And he tried not to groan from where he sat in his chair, body aching in more places than he wanted to count.

There seemed to be a pit in his stomach, a dark shadow writhing inside his brain.

A part of him kept blaming himself, as it always did, murmuring, You did this. You hurt them. You hurt all of them.

The wind smashed one of their flowerpots (hopefully not one Crosshair had made). Hunter groaned, and Wrecker and Omega sighed. Tech flinched, tensing. Unable to release the tension, he tried to ignore it, and speared a piece of the fried squid onto his fork.

Eating sometimes felt… odd, which was to be expected with a branded tongue and memories of normalcy, and it felt odd now. But more than that, Crosshair’s seat was too empty.

You hurt him.

He knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t help but feel the blood rushing through him, pounding, pounding; couldn’t help the thorny darkness that expanded in his lungs, stealing his breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head, the squid forgotten on his fork.

Wrecker’s foot nudged him under the table, a subtle reminder of where he was, who he was with, and yet…

You hurt them. Your hurt all of them.

Tech tried to inhale, tried to fight the darkness back, but it just fought back harder, an equal reaction to him pushing on it like it was some sort of real force within him. It expanded into his stomach.

Tech put his fork down.

Crosshair groaned, making everyone at the table tense.

Tech, feeling horrible that his family had made such nice food and he couldn’t eat it, tried to stutter out some excuse, and then gave in to the tether he felt pulling himself inexorably towards Crosshair’s room.

Besides, it was surely his turn to sit and see if his brother was safe.

Tech missed the companionship of his family as he sat in the dark, watching over Crosshair, but at the moment he didn’t feel like he could be anywhere else.

He wished he could talk to him, tell him it was going to be okay, but he imagined even the sound of his voice would be like a knife through his head.

Tech waited.

Recognition slowly came back to Crosshair, though he was unsure how long it had taken, time still out of reach of his weekly-grasping mind. He was in his room, in near-darkness, a droid—AZI?—hovering in one corner, and… and someone beside him.

Crosshair groaned, and lifted a heavy arm to rub at his right eye.

Pain was subsiding.

Outside, the storm had calmed to a gentle rainfall, wind only whistling slightly instead of gusting and bellowing.

“What time is it?” he grumbled into the dark room, wondering if someone really was there.

“I believe it is eight p.m.” Tech responded.

Crosshair let out another groan, and slowly turned his head towards him.

He almost remembered what had happened, and there were lingering remnants: nausea, vertigo, some pain. Things were very slowly starting to make sense.

Tech pulled out his datapad (that’s what that was, right?), and held it close, keeping the light away from Crosshair.

“Correction,” he stated. “It is eight-oh-four p.m.”

“Thanks.”

AZI floated over, and the light almost didn’t bother Crosshair. “How are you feeling?” AZI asked.

“Like I got hit by a speeder,” Crosshair responded. “A large one.”

Or like he had the worst hangover of his life.

“We believe you suffered from a severe migraine,” Tech told him.

“Why would that happen?” Crosshair asked, grunting as he sat up in bed. He leaned over, rubbing at his eyes.

The silence was deafening.

He looked over. “What?” he spat.

“All of your physical tests came back normal,” AZI responded. “We believe your migraine was due to trauma.”

“But I didn’t hit my head,” he argued.

“Mental trauma,” Tech clarified.

Crosshair gritted his teeth, holding in a growl.

Kriff!

Energy suddenly flooded him as he had the urge to throw something, but the sickness in his body kept him in the bed. The two battling forces ended up with him breathing hard, shaking.

Tech put a hand on his shoulder, and Crosshair leaned into it slightly. He didn’t tell him it was going to be okay. Sometimes you just weren’t okay. How could he be?

He had thought maybe he was getting a handle on this, expressing himself through painting and even the spare bit of pottery-making, the tremors stilling as he worked. But now there was this? Did that mean this could happen again? Crosshair had never been so sick in his entire life.

He realized he was hyperventilating, sobbing, snot dripping out of his nose.

“Breathe,” Tech told him. “Just breathe.”

I am!

Though from anyone else the words would be condescending. From Tech, from someone who shared pain deeper than their very marrow, it wasn’t. He knew. He understood, even if his brain wasn’t stupid enough to come up with things for his body to feel because he couldn’t handle it.

Oh, kriff, he was so scared.

He turned, leaning into Tech, instinct and pain telling him he needed protection, that he had to watch his back. With Tech there, he knew he was safe.

In a few minutes Crosshair had calmed down somewhat, exhausted body simply not letting his panic attack continue.

Finally, in the silence, Tech asked, “Are you all right?”

Crosshair shook his head.

“That’s okay.”

“Excuse me,” AZI said, “just to be safe I think I should run more tests.”

Crosshair gave the barest of nods, and leaned back so AZI could have access to him.

In a few minutes he was given a somewhat clean bill of health. Though, he wasn’t sure what he could do for his mind. Helplessness surrounded him, pressed in through his pores, his orifices, seeping down into his bones.

Tech had a hand on his knee, which… it was something. He was with his family, he was home—home, a word he had once thought he’d never have again.

This was all so exhausting, and yet his stomach grumbled, and he thought he could smell leftover remnants of a good meal.

The uncertainty of his situation, of his health, dug into his brain like wire and spikes, settling along his brain stem, making his spine rigid. He didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He just never wanted this to happen again.

AZI explained that perhaps his body remembered something traumatic that he hadn’t been able to keep track of. He supposed that was a reasonable explanation.

With a long-suffering sigh he managed to drag himself out of bed.

He sat at the table, Batcher sitting under said table so she could lean against his legs. No places but his were taken, everyone in the living room to give him some space. It was… nice to have them around, and nice not to be crowded by them immediately. Tech kept glancing his way, though he was pretending to have his nose buried in his datapad. Wrecker, Hunter, and Omega were doing the same, “busy” with other pursuits.

Crosshair sighed.

“I don’t know what happened,” he admitted. “I… don’t know what today could have been an anniversary of.”

Everyone seemed to take that just fine, but Crosshair didn’t.

He wondered, he wanted to know. He couldn’t remember.

Nothing came to him as he ate the admittedly scrumptious meal his family had made for lunch while he had been sleeping, while he had been… suffering, completely lost, mind gone. He was still slowly coming back to himself, not fully recovered just yet.

What could it possibly be?

Crosshair hadn’t been keeping track during his late days with the Empire, but his body knew, and it would always know: it was a year to the day that Mayday had died beside him, killed at the hands of a cruel, and uncaring Empire.

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geeelle

11 months ago

I miss Tech