Written for Whumptober 2020

His helmet trembled beneath his arm. A brief moment of weakness; a luxury he couldn't afford.

Thankfully, the lift was empty. The only one present to witness him falter was Rex himself. So, he tightened his grip and stiffened his stance.

The journey upwards seemed to go on forever, and yet, it still didn't give him enough time to prepare his mind, to steel his soul, to ready himself for the terror that was General Krell.

He wasn't afraid of the Jedi, per se, and he certainly didn't fear anything Krell might do to him personally. No, what scared him the most was what the monster might do to his brothers.

So many vode left behind… So many wounded, deserted because the general lacks effective leadership skills.

Fives and Jesse had just risked their lives to patch up Krell's already botched mission. And what had General Krell done? Thanked them? No. Never. He'd court-martialed two of the bravest soldiers Rex had ever known.

And he couldn't help but feel it was all his fault. Somehow, all of this was his fault.

Because I can't stand up to Krell. I can't do anything short of mutiny to make him see reason. To make him see how deeply he's cutting his men—my brothers.

Now, it was up to Rex to try and fix things, to remedy what damage his compliance had done.

The doors slid open with a sharp hiss and the captain swallowed down his nausea. There was no time for weakness. He had to be strong for Fives, for Jesse. For his men. His men, not Krell's.

As usual, the general's back faced the lift, his large bulk silhouetted against the gaping windows by the glow of the control consoles. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder hammered the cloudy sky, mimicking the erratic beating of Rex's heart.

You can do this. You have to do this.

He could never live with himself if Fives and Jesse were court-martialed. He'd sooner resign from his beautiful GAR himself than subject them to such a fate without doing everything in his power to reverse their undeserved consequences.

"General Krell," Rex began, approaching the Besalisk with a confidence he didn't quite feel. "I respectfully request that you reconsider court-martialing Fives and Jesse."

There. That was as good a start as any.

Now, he just had to wait. And waiting, he'd learned quickly, was the worst part.

One never knew how the general might respond.

Krell's reply was swift and brutal. "The actions of ARC Trooper 5555 and CT-5597 were a clear act of treachery and disregard for my command."

Rex winced despite his initial resolve to keep his reactions in check.

"If punishment is not swift," Krell continued, "their actions may inspire others to follow suit."

"Sir," Rex interjected before the general could go on, "the men are with you. It's just that,"—and oh, how should he phrase this so as not to fan the flames of Krell's anger?—"some of them feel like you are putting their lives in danger… needlessly."

There were so many things he'd wanted to say, an entire argument he'd carefully planned out in his mind hours prior to this meeting.

But Krell opened his mouth once more, forcing Rex to bite his tongue and choke on his next sentence so that the general could speak.

"All the more reason to send a clear message that I am in charge and insubordination will not be tolerated. The truth is…" And Rex suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "These clones have had a difficult time respecting my command since the beginning. I've seen it before. Some clones are just… defective."

Rex forced air into his lungs before he accidentally made himself pass out—though, the prospect of slipping into a soundless black void grew more appealing with each negative word that spewed from Krell's mouth.

Are you sure you know exactly who the defective one here is, sir?

"They aren't able to succumb to authority." Rex parted his lips to reply, but Krell wasn't done. "You're right, Captain. I don't think I can court-martial them."

Right… So why wasn't Rex feeling relieved?

"It will only be a waste of time." In an instant, Krell had turned on Rex and was now invading his personal space. Again. The captain had to force himself not to take a step back. "And that's something we don't have. I'm afraid they'll need to be disposed of."

While his mind was thoroughly numbed by this declaration, his body was still running on adrenaline. Rex jolted so sharply, it was a wonder he hadn't caught the attention of his brothers manning the consoles.

What? He couldn't think past his own shock, couldn't process anything. No…

He can't mean—

Krell's hand was on his shoulder now, gripping tight and merciless. And stang! How Rex hated when the Jedi touched him. Degraded him. Shoved him around like he was a mere droid. Like he was nothing.

"Prepare a squad for execution," Krell commanded, and then he was strolling away as if the matter was settled. As if it were all right and proper.

As if it was okay.

Now, it was Rex's turn to spin on his heel. "What? B-B-But, sir!" And he cursed himself for stuttering, but he could kriffing help it. The situation was spinning out of control far too quickly for him to try and fix it again. And he had to fix it again!

"You heard me, Captain!" It was this aggressive growl from Krell that finally succeeded in drawing the attention of the other troopers. Rex vaguely registered their presence out of the corner of his eye. "Have it done immediately! Or I'll do it myself."

Eyes wide with a level of terror he'd never felt before, Rex surged forward.

"Sir! Please, you can't—"

When Krell rounded on him, his own eyes were blazing with fury. "I thought I'd made myself perfectly clear, CT-7567. So why do you feel the need to continue voicing your opinions?"

"Sir," Rex tried once more, mentally exhausting himself in an effort to calm down. "Please, reconsider. You can't just throw away good men like that—good soldiers! We need every man we get on this mission and—"

"Those clones," Krell's snarled, "are traitors. Beyond that, they are expendable. Without them, we still have the numbers necessary to make this a victory. In the end, victory is all that matters."

But Fives…

Jesse…

As Krell turned towards the lift, Rex saw the lives of his closest brothers slipping through his fingers like sand on Geonosis. And he hated Geonosis.

"General, please!" If he sounded desperate, well… Rex was beyond any state of caring right now. This was their last chance. He had to save them because who else would?

General Skywalker, he realized with a pang. I bet General Skywalker would be able to save my brothers.

But if his general had only been there in the first place, none of this would be happening. Rex wouldn't be about to lose his blasted mind trying to reason with the one man in that tower who should have been looking out for his troops.

"If you would only reconsider," he went on, following the fleeing general. "I'll do anything, I swear it! Punish me instead. I'm their captain. I'm equally as responsible for their actions—more so, even!"

And then, the general paused, forcing Rex to take a quick step backwards to avoid collision. Because wouldn't that end up being a horrific mess.

"I believe we've already been through that, Captain," came Krell's cold response. "They—and they alone—must atone for their disobedience."

"But with death, sir?"

"Give the order,"—Krell turned his massive body ever-so slowly until his yellow eyes were glaring down at Rex—"or I will."

Never in his life had Rex felt so small, so helpless. Not since Kamino had there been anyone to make him feel so insignificant.

And he would prefer a thousand Nala Se's to one General Krell.

Fives…

Refusing to let his shoulders sag, he met the general's gaze. "Sir, please. What can I do to make you reconsider?"

Jesse…

He felt his gloved fist clench so tightly that he was sure he would bust a blood vessel.

Silence like none Rex had ever known settled over the room, choking the life out of everyone present. Everyone, that is, except for General Krell.

Who was grinning. Why was he grinning?

"Beg me, Clone."

And Rex nearly sputtered, catching himself just in time.

His arm tightened against his helmet. What?

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Only dust. Dry and suffocating, it turned his tongue to sandpaper. He could barely breathe through it all.

When Rex didn't reply, Krell took a step closer and repeated himself. "Beg me for their lives, CT-7567."

Isn't that what I've been doing?

"Now!" Krell shouted, the veins in his flabby neck bulging.

Rex swallowed, steeling himself against another rising wave of nausea.

"Sir… General," he began, choosing his words and tone carefully, willing his voice not to shake. "I beg you… Please, recons—"

"On your knees, Captain," Krell commanded, spitting out the title as if it were the foulest curse imaginable.

And for a moment, Rex couldn't move. He was acutely aware of the other troopers eyes on him, burning holes into his blue-streaked armor.

You've got to be kriffing kidding me…

"I said," Krell repeated, invading Rex's personal space once more, "on. Your. Knees."

And suddenly, Rex felt his body being lowered to the floor, though his mind had yet to catch up with the degrading movement.

Taking one knee didn't seem to satisfy the general and Rex was shoved down the rest of the way.

If it had been anyone else, Rex would have reacted far differently. He wouldn't have caved so easily—but was this really easy? He would have put up more of a fight; tried to reason his way out of it all, respectfully or not so.

But this was Krell.

Krell, who could put a lightsaber through Rex's chest in a rash moment of unchecked rage, or tear Rex to shreds with his bare hands. All four of them.

Krell, who held the lives of his brothers in the palm of his hand; who was about to throw them away, to squash them as if they meant nothing.

So, when Rex felt his knee pads hit the ground, he knew he would redo this same scene a thousand times over if it meant saving his brothers from death.

"Now," Krell continued in a cruel voice that told Rex he was relishing every minute of this, "if you wish to change my mind, beg me for your friends' lives."

Rex kept his gaze fixed on the ground, not daring to look Krell straight in the eye. Tinges of red crept up his neck as he tried not to think about his men dotting the corners of the room.

What must they be thinking right now?

What must they be thinking of their captain? Of me?

This is for Fives and Jesse, he reminded himself as he wet his tongue, trying to get it working again. They can't die. You can't let them die…

"P-Please, s-sir…" He began, quickly clearing his throat in an attempt to fix the stutter. "Please, reconsider… Retract your orders, sir. Let them… Let them live. Please…"

And for a single, seemingly endless minute, Rex truly thought the general would change his mind.

Please…

When the general finally spoke again, his chilly voice sent shivers down Rex's spine. "Give the order."

"What?" Rex's eyes darted upward, his head jerking back violently. "But I—!"

"Did you really think anything you could say or do would change my mind, Clone? You are a slave of the Republic, and as such, it is your duty to do my bidding. Now, give the order."

Rex heard the lift doors swish open; heard the general's heavy footfalls reverberate across the floor, punctuating his heart with each step; heard his stunned brothers slowly go back to their work.

Heard the whispered conversations, whispered comments that they thought were too soft to reach his ears.

He had to get up, get up! But try as he might—and kriff, did he try—he couldn't pull himself up off the floor.

Fives… He was going to lose Fives.

And Jesse.

And so soon after Echo and Hardcase. Too soon.

They were both going to die.

Because of me.

Because I can't stand up to General Kriffing Krell. Because I'm just a weak pawn.

A weak…

And I don't know how to fix it…

Not for the first time in the past ten minutes, he wished General Skywalker were there.

The General could help my brothers where I can't.

And I can't.

His heart was so heavy, he thought it might drag his body down the rest of the way. No. No…

He had to get up, so with as much dignity as he could muster, Rex pushed himself to his feet.

Keeping his eyes on the lift—he couldn't bear to look at his brothers, not now (though he knew they were looking at him)—Rex strode out of the room, stiff as a rod.

Was he broken now? He couldn't tell, he was too numb. Despair ate at his heart while embarrassment gnawed at his skin.

The lift continued to descend. Down, down, down to the depths of the airbase tower, where the prisoners were held.

Prisoners. Rex tightened his grip around his helmet. They're kriffing heroes.

He still couldn't tell whether or not Krell had succeeded in breaking him.

And if he wasn't broken yet…

Rex glanced at Fives and Jesse, cut off from the rest of their vode by that awful blue ray shield.

No, he wasn't broken yet…

… But he knew he was about to be completely shattered.