We Happy Few, We Band of Brothers

Wes Janson sat on the most uncomfortable chair in the galaxy, his face in his hands. A bacta tank stood three meters away, humming softly as it did its work. If he opened his eyes, he could see the soft glow it cast over his boots.

Save for the medical droid that appeared every hour to check the tank's settings, the only sound in the room was the tank's hum and the rhythmic hiss of its breathing apparatus.

Hobbie floated inside the tank. He'd been there for seventeen hours, and he still hadn't woken up.

Sleep dragged at Wes's bones, but his mind frantically replayed yesterday's battle, tracing possibility after possibility, cataloging different outcomes. He still wore his flight suit, having only shed his life support harness before claiming this chair and daring the medical droids to try removing him.

He scrubbed his hands against his face but couldn't make himself look up. He didn't think he could handle another glimpse of Hobbie suspended in the bacta like a ghost without losing whatever control he had left.

Behind him, the door to the medical ward opened with a whoosh, and Wes heard boots moving toward him across the floor. He didn't move.

"Sithspawn, Janson, are you still here?"

Wes lowered his head even more, his fingers sliding into his hair.

Two hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him upright, pressing him into the back of the chair. Wes glared up at Luke and Wedge, who both looked at him with the sympathy and concern usually reserved for funerals and suicide risks.

Luke straightened. "Please tell me that, since we left you here yesterday, you've been to your quarters, caught a few hours of sleep, a meal, then put your flight suit back on out of some sense of solidarity and returned here to stand vigil."

Wes looked away.

"Yeah." Luke sighed. "That's what I thought."

Wedge looked at Hobbie for a few seconds, then turned back to Wes. "Go get some rest, Janson. I'll sit with him until you get back."

Wes shook his head, and he had trouble stopping once he started. "No. I'm fine. Go away."

"Wes—"

"I'm fine."

Luke crossed his arms. "I could order you."

Wes glared at him. His hands itched to hit something. "I don't care if you court-martial me. I'm not moving."

He waited for Luke to pull rank, to haul him out of his chair and try to physically force him through the door. Hero of the Rebellion or not, Wes knew he could take Luke in a fist fight, and he had no problem proving it. He could take Wedge, too, if it came to that. He wasn't leaving.

Luke cocked his head a little and studied him, but the anger Wes expected never came. Instead, that damn sympathy merely intensified.

"It's not your fault," Luke said.

Wes flinched, but the words found their way through one of his many, ever-widening cracks, and the last of his control shattered.

"But it is!" he cried. Somehow he was on his feet. "I'm his wingman. I'm supposed to have his back. I'm supposed to keep the damn Imps from shooting him out of the sky. It's my job. And I failed. I didn't get to him fast enough, and now he won't wake up, and—" His voice started to waver and he clamped his mouth shut against it. He pressed shaking fingers into his eyes, forcing back the burn of grief and guilt and fear.

He felt Wedge's hand squeeze his shoulder but didn't acknowledge him. He was too busy taking long, steady breaths.

"You did all you could," Wedge said quietly. "You kept the Imps off him. You marked his location so the shuttle could find him that much quicker. You kept him alive. You did your job."

Wes shook his head again. "Not well enough. He's still in there." He stabbed blindly toward the bacta tank.

"Look," Luke said, "he's our friend, too, but—"

"He's more than just my friend!" The words rose from somewhere deep inside Wes and burst out before he could stop them. "He's my brother."

Silence reclaimed the medical ward, settling over them. The weight of it pushed Wes down into his chair. He could feel the stares of Luke and Wedge, and he focused on the glow of Hobbie's bacta tank reflecting on his boots.

"I know what you mean."

Wedge's voice pulled his head up. Wedge gave him a small, crooked smile, and Wes tried to return it.

A medical droid shuffled in. All three pilots watched as it ignored them completely and moved straight to the tank's readout. It tapped the screen twice, seemed to nod to itself, and turned.

"Ah, Commander Skywalker," it said. "You will be pleased to know that in three hours and forty-two minutes, we will be able to remove Lieutenant Klivian from the bacta."

Wes straightened, his hands gripping his knees.

"He will require twenty-four hours of observation and bed rest," the droid continued, "but then he should be able to return to duty."

"Thank you." Luke smiled that sunny farm boy grin he wore so rarely these days. "That's great news."

The droid nodded again and left, and Wes let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since he'd watched Hobbie's X-wing break in half above some unnamed moon.

Wedge clapped him on the shoulder. "There. See?"

Luke nodded. "Go grab a couple hours of sleep, some food. We'll stay with him while you're gone, and you can come back in time to be here when he wakes up."

Wes hesitated. The stress and fear drained out of him, leaving only exhaustion in their wake, and it was suddenly hard to think. That in itself, he realized, made his decision for him.

"Okay." He stood slowly, digging for whatever energy he had left. It kept slipping away from him. "I'll be back in three hours."

He headed for the door. It swooshed open, and he paused to give Wedge the severest look he could manage. "If you ever tell Hobbie that thing I said about brothers, you will regret it. I have the imagination and the supplies to make your life miserable." He looked at Luke. "That goes for you too. Just because you're a Jedi doesn't mean I can't prank you into the Dark Side. Got it?"

Fighting smiles, Luke and Wedge both nodded. Wes didn't think they believed him, but he didn't have the energy right now to make his point in a more solid fashion. He'd deal with them later.

He looked past them to Hobbie's silent, motionless form floating in the soft glow of bacta, and felt a smile of his own. Hobbie would be fine. Hobbie would always be fine.

Wes let the door shut behind him and went to get some sleep.

end

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