Summary: "'Wrecker, back off.' Echo orders, stepping forward. 'He's scared.'" Being injured and exhausted is not a good combination with being in a position not unlike the last time one was choked. One-shot. Set sometime after S1E7.
Shadows Of Submission
The air reeks horribly- of blood, of sweat, of smoke, of death. The crackle of fire and the crunch of the dirt beneath their boots is all they hear other than their own heavy breathing. Bodies litter the scorched ground, nameless troopers staring lifelessly at the sky.
Tech's helmet can't filter out the smoke properly, and he can't hold back a cough. His goggles leave the armor piece incomplete, for they hang in his hand, lenses cracked and the nosepiece broken apart. He tries not to let it bother him- the smoke or his lack of vision. Neither haven't happened before.
Ahead of him, Omega tags along at Hunter's heels, Echo leads the way, and Wrecker tries to lighten the situation- blaster shot at the junction of his neck and shoulder or not.
Tech's ankle aches- he twisted it making a risky maneuver while dodging blaster fire- and his head pounds from the hit that snapped the strap of his goggles. But he limps along, trying not to trail too far behind the others.
He still has to treat Wrecker's wound before he can see to his own.
The Marauder stands tall as it awaits their arrival. Tech thinks that the groaning of metal beneath their feet on the ramp is a greeting, and he feels his shoulders relax a little now that they're in safe territory on home turf.
He sets his helmet and goggles on top of the gonk droid- it's one of the only surfaces not cluttered with his projects that doesn't happen to be the floor.
Wrecker sits down nearly heavily, has Omega help him take his chestplate off. Tech almost trips over it when he tosses it to the floor in the middle of the room. He rolls his eyes, grabs his medical kit and sets it on top of a vacant chair.
Omega follows Echo and Hunter to the cockpit as the pair work on powering up the ship.
"I hate gettin' shot!" Wrecker moans.
"Have you considered being more careful?" Tech shoots back.
"Careful's no fun." He huffs.
The medic sighs, prepares a bacta injection shot as he peels back the neck of the other clone's blacks. "Fun is going to be the death of you, Wrecker."
"Fun is going to be the death of you." Wrecker retorts childishly. Then something in his eyes shifts, and a large hand reaches out. "Hey, is that-"
The moment his brother's hand touches his flesh, something in Tech snaps. A sudden panic tearing through him, he lashes an arm out. His other reaches for his throat, because he's not sure if he's imagining the unexpected flare of agony tearing through it, the hand squeezing the life from him with malicious intent.
As he reels back, he stumbles over himself, his ankle jerking painfully. With a choked gasp, he falls onto his back. He scrambles away as fast as he can. Get away. Get away. Get away.
He doesn't see the horror in his Wrecker's gaze, the confusion and lack of understanding of what he's done. He doesn't see the flash of movement on his left, of the others racing from the cockpit in worry. All he sees is anger, in the eyes of his brother, a cold mask of judging for turning on the dominating, unjust Empire.
He doesn't even notice that he doesn't have his goggles on, that they're broken for the time being, because the vision of the memory before his eyes is very clear.
His back hits the wall, and he stops moving.
He's trapped.
He's trapped.
He's trapped.
His chest burns with something that begs to be let free. It hurts more than his ankle, more than his pounding head.
"Tech, you alright, bud?" Wrecker asks, frowning distortedly, a blur of a hand extending down towards the fallen clone. He towers over him.
Tech stares at his hand. Why is it getting harder for him to breathe?
"Tech, are you okay?" Omega's concern is evident, and he almost turns to look at her.
He can't muster up the strength to speak. When he opens his mouth, a gasp escapes it. He thinks his eyes are wet, but no tears trail down his cheeks. What's happening to me?
"Wrecker, back off." Echo orders, stepping forward. "He's scared."
"Scared of what?" The larger clone asks, not understanding.
"Of you." Hunter's eyes widen as he catches on.
"Why? I'd never hurt him."
"The inhibitor chips." Omega suddenly murmurs.
That's all she needs to say.
"Oh. Oh, Tech..." Wrecker sinks down to a crouch, leveling himself to Tech, who blinks back unshed tears and averts his gaze as he struggles to get his fearful heaves of breath under control. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it. I swear, I didn't mean it."
He winces when his older brother places his hand on his bent, shaky knee. "I..."
Don't touch me.
Hunter settles himself beside him, rests his hand on his shoulder supportively. Omega presses herself into his other side. He thinks Echo gives an encouraging nod and a small smile, leaning against the cockpit doorway.
A sound escapes him that he hadn't known he could make- something between a sob and a laugh- and he grips Hunter's arm, ducks his gaze away from the others.
"Tech, Wrecker will never willingly hurt you." Hunter tells him. "I promise."
"I-I know." He chokes out, wipes at his eyes. "I'm just...tired."
Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of surviving.
Why is this life so exhausting?
"You're safe here, Tech. Safer than anywhere else." Hunter promises.
Tech smiles softly and nods a little. He lets himself lean on the sergeant's shoulder, sinks into him as he relaxes, drawing Omega closer. "Thank you."
Wrecker grins sadly and pulls the three of them into a tight, almost-painful hug. He winces as the movement aggravates his wound. "Ow."
He sighs, tries to slip free, but the others don't let him.
"I can do it." Echo offers, stooping to collect the fallen needle. "You deserve a break."
Tech blinks gratefully at him.
Everything's going to be fine. Because they're family, and family never hurts one another.