Hi! Wow, I haven't posted anything in forever! It's been almost two whole months! I have been writing, though, and this is something I've been working on for the past couple of weeks. It started out as a completely different idea, but when I let the idea stew in my brain for a while, it morphed into a little something called Brothers Until The End (aka what you're reading right now). It's been really fun. I won't hold you up any longer, though - enjoy reading!

PROLOGUE

CT-5772 was bored out of his mind.

They had been speeding through hyperspace for hours. Their mission wasn't all that exciting in the first place. They were just delivering food and medical supplies to the Republic base on a Seperatist-controlled planet. 5772 sighed. His first assignment ever, and of course he had to be the delivery boy.

Bolt, his squadmate from Kamino, turned to look at him. "I know," he said, reading his thoughts, as Bolt tended to do. "But we're almost there… maybe the Republic will let us fight!" Next to him, Lev smiled, hoping.

"That's likely," said Shadow sarcastically. Another of 5772's Kamino squad, he had always been the most pessimistic of the five. He pushed his long dark hair out of his face as he said, "We're just gonna be sent back. They don't want a batch of shinies that just got off Kamino getting in their way."

The door slid open with a hiss. In came Flyer. "Get ready, guys. We're approaching the planet." Flyer moved to stand, somewhat reluctantly, next to Shadow. "Shadow… don't tell me you've been filling the heads of these three with your endless supply of darkness yet again." He smirked and gave Shadow a playful nudge.

"Well, Flyer, you're going to be getting a big disappointment. Shadow-" Lev broke off as the ship rumbled and shook and the five troopers were thrown off balance.

"What's going on?" 5772 asked. "I thought there weren't any Separatist forces in this area!"

The ship shook again. Bolt gripped 5772's arm for balance. "You thought wrong," Shadow muttered.

An alarm started blaring. An announcement came over the comlink: "We have been hit. Repeat, we have been-" The pilot's voice was replaced by crackling static as the ship violently rolled to the side. 5772 and the other four troopers put on their helmets.

"Get ready for a rough landing," Flyer said. Although he tried to keep his voice light, it trembled slightly.

"I'm going up to see what's happening," 5772 told his brothers. He punched the button to open the door, and it slid open with a groan. He sprinted up the hallway, hearing footsteps behind him. He threw a glance back and saw Flyer running after him.

The two troopers soon arrived at the cockpit. The pilot was desperately trying to get the ship under control. The ship shuddered as the ground rushed towards them, coming at them faster than 5772 would have liked. There was nothing they could do. 5772 and Flyer gripped the back of the pilot's seat. 5772 squeezed his eyes closed, heart racing, the alarm blaring in his ears, preparing for impact. He hated feeling this helpless, unable to defend himself like he had been trained to do. His life was no longer in his own hands. 5772 tried to focus on the things that he knew for sure were going to happen, which boiled down to about two things. Neither of them were very reassuring.

The ship was going to crash.

He was going to live, or he was going to die.

The world shattered, and 5772 saw nothing but darkness.

5772 blinked his eyes open. He seemed to be laying on the ground, on his back. His helmet was no longer on his head. He felt a soft, cool breeze blowing over him. His face felt like it was on fire, and his head pounded. He put his hand up to his face. The wound stung when he touched it, and when he drew his hand back, his black glove was soaked with blood.

He rolled over and got up onto his elbows. He grabbed a piece of metal above him and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He winced as he put weight on his right foot. It was sprained, maybe broken. He took a look around. Light streamed through the shattered windshield. Close to 5772, there was a large hole that had been torn out of the wall.

5772 was starting to feel dizzy. He suspected it was a mixture of blood loss and his ankle, but 5772 wasn't a medic. He didn't know these types of things. Flyer was a medic, though. He'd have to check 5772 out.

With a jolt, 5772 remembered that Flyer had come up to the cockpit with him. He took a quick look around, still leaning on the wall for support. "Flyer?" he said weakly. "Are you okay?"

His gaze caught on an armor-clad figure sprawled on the floor a few feet away from him. There was a bright red medic symbol on the shoulder plate. Flyer. He wasn't moving.

5772 stumbled over to him, a spurt of pain shooting up his ankle. He collapsed beside him. "Flyer…" he whispered. 5772 removed his friend's helmet, his hand leaving a bloody handprint on it. Flyer's eyes were closed, his face still. 5772 grasped his hand, trying to find a pulse, some sign that Flyer was still alive. "No, no, no!" 5772 said, panic in his voice. "Come on, Flyer, wake up, I'm right here!" His voice cracked.

There was no heartbeat.

Flyer was gone.

5772 squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress the choking sensation in his throat. His eyes burned, and his vision blurred. He bit his lip, fighting a sob. He had to hold it together.

As he stood, cringing in pain, he noticed a blinking red light on the ship's control panel. 5772 didn't know much about piloting, but he did know that blinking red light equals bad. He had to get out of there. He noticed his helmet laying a few feet away from him. He picked it up, but didn't put it on because of his face.

A deep rumbling sounded within the ship, and 5772's heart pounded in fear. He wildly looked around for an escape route. The only way out was the shattered window and the hole in the wall. He was going to have to jump, something that 5772 was not looking forward to, because it would probably make his ankle worse. But it was that or get blown up, so that made 5772's choice pretty easy.

He stumbled to the hole, and without allowing himself to think about it any longer, threw himself out of it.

Pain sparked up his ankle as he collapsed. Black spots clouded his vision as he shakily got up and started limping towards a large rock. He eventually reached it, slumping against it, breathing heavily, wondering what was going to happen to him. He held a small hope that the rest of his squadmates had survived.

A loud BOOM interrupted 5772's thoughts. He looked over the rock and saw the shattered remains of the ship. It had exploded.

"NO!" 5772 screamed. "No!" Just speaking made 5772's head spin. He lay down against the rock again, feeling depressingly hopeless. His whole squad, gone, just like that. He thought he heard ship engines, but it could have been a figment of his imagination.

"Over here!" a voice yelled in the distance. Or at least 5772 thought it was in the distance. He couldn't be sure. "A survivor!" 5772 was slowly slipping away.

"Get a medic!" someone yelled. That was the last thing 5772 heard before the world went dark.

5772 blinked his eyes open to a blinding white light. In one panicked moment, he wondered if he was dead, but his eyes soon focused and he realized he was in a medbay. His head pounded as he slowly got up onto his elbows. He looked to his right and saw a window. Stars blinked beyond it. In the window, he could see a faint reflection. He looked closer and gasped.

The face that looked back at him looked like the face of another trooper, not 5772. A long scar ran across his face, starting just above his left eye, taking a sharp turn across his nose, and winding all the way down to under the right side of his chin. He lifted a hand and gently felt it, not used to scars.

5772 quickly pulled his hand down as he heard the door hiss open behind him. In walked a boy with almost-white blond hair, wearing Jedi robes. Behind him, there was a green-skinned Twi'lek man, also in Jedi clothes. So these were Jedi, then. They looked more… normal than 5772 had imagined. A clone trooper, captain by the looks of him, strode in after the two.

"You're awake!" the boy exclaimed. "How do you feel? Are you okay? What was the crash like?" 5772's head spun with all the questions being thrown at him.

"Slow down, Zak," the Twi'lek chided. "Please excuse my Padawan," he said, giving 5772 an apologetic nod. "He's new."

"So am I," 5772 croaked, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"Your ship crashed. There were no other survivors," the Twi'lek said grimly. "You're lucky to be alive."

"What's your name?" the Padawan - Zak - asked.

"I'm CT-5772," 5772 told him.

"No, I mean your real name. Not your number," Zak said.

"I don't have one yet," 5772 said. 5772 had been the only one in his squad without a nickname. Perhaps it had been because of 5772's strict rule-following, his following orders down to the word in training. While all of his brothers had developed their own unique personalities, 5772 hadn't. If they had to shorten his name, they just referred to him as "seven-two". He was nothing more than a number.

"Oh," Zak said, and was silent. After a moment, his master spoke.

"It's time to leave," he said.

"Can I stay? You can leave," Zak pleaded.

The Twi'lek sighed. "Fine. But only for a little while."

Zak smiled. "Thank you, master." The older Jedi nodded and left the room. Zak hopped onto the bed beside 5772.

"So…" Zak said, thinking. "What happened to you? How did you get that scar? My master told me your ship crashed, but that's all I know."

"I… I don't want to talk about it," 5772 said shortly.

"Well, sometimes talking about it makes it feel better. You aren't all right, and I sense it isn't just your injuries."

"They're gone," 5772 said softly. "My squad is gone, dead because of me." He started to cry. "And it's all my fault."

Zak replied, "It's not your fault. Of course it's not."

"It is. If I had stayed… looked for them, instead of just running… maybe they would still be alive."

"But you got out just in time. If you had stayed, you would have died too."

5772 sighed. "But why do I live? Why do I exist? So that the Republic has men to fight for them. To die for them. And I'm not really sure what it is we're fighting for. What they died for. We were raised in a laboratory, trained from birth to kill. Accelerated aging made us able to be deployed at ten years old, instead of twenty. They died at ten years old, you know that?" 5772 put his head in his hands. The galaxy was screwed up.

"You know, in a way, we aren't so much different from each other." Zak gave 5772 a serious look, wise beyond his years. "I was taken from my family at birth. All my life I was trained in the Jedi ways. And now I'm fighting a war. What's happening to us?"

5772 pulled Zak close, ruffling his hair. "I don't know, kid. I don't know."

They sat there for an indefinite amount of time. Eventually the door slid back open in front of him.

"Now it is truly time to leave," Zak's master said. "Say goodbye."

"Goodbye," Zak said as 5772 helped him up. "Maybe I can convince my master to let you fight with us," he whispered.

"I'd like that," 5772 whispered back. Zak slowly walked to stand at his master's side.

"But just in case…" Zak rushed back to 5772 and threw his arms around him. 5772 stood there awkwardly, eventually hugging him back.

"Goodbye, kid," 5772 chuckled. "See you around."

"'Bye!" Zak said, waving as he left the room. "I hope-"

He was cut off as the door closed. 5772 felt a surge of affection and protectiveness. He wasn't going to let anything happen to that kid. Zak was too young to be fighting a war, and certainly much too young to die in one.

But then, so was he.

So... yay? nay? okay? I really hope you're liking it so far. Please tell me what you think in a review! Updates will probably be either every week or every two weeks, I haven't decided yet. Depends on how much time I have to write.

Now to turn up the Star Wars soundtrack and go write some more! May the Force be with you :)