Moonlighting as Medics

Chapter Summary: Reunited, the Batch races to their rendezvous to get proper help for their badly wounded vode. It's a short journey, but there's no time to be idle. It's all hands on deck... including a certain somebody who should be resting.

Chapter Notes: Hello, Exalted Ones. I found this chapter extremely challenging to write and it took me forever and ever to get it into a shape that I thought might be remotely postable. I have a question about Echo for those who know CW 7.4 "Unfinished Business" and TBB 1.7 "Battle Scars" pretty well. Do any of you remember Echo doing this thing where he brings his scomp-arm up to his head and waves it around like he's analyzing data somehow by doing that? I think I saw him doing it in the intro of CW 7.4 when he's in medical on Fort Anaxes, and again when he's assessing Tech post-op after they get inhibitor chips removed. Does anyone know what that is? The gesture just looks too specific and too conspicuous to me, to not be something important... idk! But I did channel that in this chapter with a HC I had about Echo not always needing to physically scomp-in to stream data. Lmk what you think!

Echo sluggishly bestirs from a very heavy slumber, only to find himself swaying on the edge between oblivion and awareness. He tries compelling himself toward the latter, but he's so exhausted, that it's almost impossible to resist dozing off again. There's also pain involved, making it even more difficult to resist going back to sleep. He legitimately can't ever remember his body feeling so overworked, his mind so fatigued, and his whole constitution so utterly bereft of any energy at all.

At this point, it's glaringly obvious to Echo that he isn't just trying to wake up for duty after a standard sleep cycle here. Echo's not a gambling man, but he'd bet all the beskar in the galaxy that he's either been wounded, drugged, or both.

Another detail he'd gladly bet on is that, while he was dozing, he'd been situated horizontally aboard a vessel that's now moving. It's almost peaceful, and it's so tempting to melt back into the folds of unconsciousness, that it takes all of his ARC training and trademark stubbornness for Echo to successfully resist it.

Finally gaining at least a semblance of enduring perceptiveness, Echo decides to find out where he's been wounded and how hefty the damage is this time. Vaguely, he notices the light pressure of an oxygen mask cupped around his nose and mouth before he clocks the distinct throb of two direct blaster wounds. There seems to be one in his shoulderblade and one in the back of his thigh. It's nothing he hasn't experienced before or woken up to after rough missions in the past, so there's no major cause for alarm just yet. Then, he registers that awful, grinding, pins and needles sensation that usually accompanies some serious kinks in his cybernetic anatomy. Again, not something totally unfamiliar to him, so Echo doesn't necessarily suspect that their latest operation went too far off the rails.

That is, not until he discovers something else.

LULA…LULA…LULA…LULA…

Taking any alarmingly longer time than it should have, Echo realizes that he's blatantly broadcasting a transmission from his cybernetic headpiece. Not only is the message obnoxiously playing on repeat in his neural net, but it's available for digital reception to anyone with high-powered GAR-issued transducing technology.

Wow… now that seems professional.

The intention of this merry, little announcement entirely eludes him and, oddly, Echo isn't as bothered with it as he probably should be. On the contrary, he'd rather just ignore it for now. Gradually, he dials his inner reception volume down, reducing the signal to mere background noise within his skull.

As soon as the name of Wrecker's beloved tooka doll is no longer monopolizing his cybernetic stream, he attempts to form an impression of his surroundings. This broadcasting thing—whatever it's about, is new, so it would be very useful if he could get the skinny on whatever situation he and his vode are currently embroiled in right now.

With neither the knowledge of when or why he'd racked out, nor what caused him to wake up now, Echo doesn't have a lot of context clues to go on. But when the transport he's riding in suddenly veers and banks sharply, he suspects it has something to do with a turbulent flight. Luckily, the disturbance is short-lived, and he feels the ship hum agreeably as the pitch and yaw stabilize, and the craft regains a smooth course.

Unfortunately, the steadying of the ship's trajectory doesn't do much for him, personally. Echo's still contending with an overwhelming feeling of lethargy and general malaise. There's terrible pain in his occipital and temporal regions mingling with intense pressure that seems ready to split his skull apart at any moment. The rest of his body isn't faring much better. His natural and prosthetic limbs and muscles are sore and unresponsive. And all in varying degrees that range from severe to downright horrific.

He takes a labored, faltering breath to learn that his cybernetic respiratory components aren't working as they should be. He's only recently become accustomed to starting every new day aware of the fact that he's now more machine than man. Unsurprisingly, Echo finds that waking up in pain and extreme fatigue only serves to add insult to injury (or vice versa, he supposes) when it comes to coping with his new existence. Especially considering that he feels like he's had his organics and biotech pried apart piece-by-piece, then slapped haphazardly back together. And all by someone using tools that they'd found in a gutter outside the bar where they'd been binge-drinking for several cycles leading up to the job.

It's upsetting to Echo that he feels so damaged without knowing what happened, and this then makes him feel vulnerable. Becoming more distressed by the second, he's increasingly concerned that he's somehow being transported back into the custody of the Techno Union. He knows he needs to get some answers before he starts to go off the psychological deep end, but he's disoriented and unable to make sense of how to do so. Too bad he doesn't remember anything before he woke up to his ride banking sharply in flight... or does he?

Faintly, Echo recalls recently acquiring the ability to run some surprisingly comprehensive self-diagnostics. So, once he's pretty sure he's lying in a soft, cozy ship's bunk and not being suspended inside a frigid, stasis capsule in Techno Union Hell, he decides it's safe to put this new ability through another trial. He descends inward mentally, sends the necessary impulses, and lets his organic mind mingle and flow with the current in his neural net.

Very quickly, he discovers that he's been hardwired to something electronic— just like a droid would be. He shudders, the concept of being plugged into something as he slept making his skin crawl. However, either due to instinct, or due to the fact he simply can't spare the energy, Echo doesn't panic. Instead, he doubles down on assessing the connection before his anxiety can spin out of control. It's terrifying at first, but he knows it's strategically the best thing for him to do, so he asks the dreaded question.

What… what is this? What'm I hooked into?

Echo's eyes don't yet have the strength to decisively open, but coding flashes into existence and trickles forth to fill the dark void behind his closed eyelids. With some strenuous mental coaxing, the data is rendered into a shimmering 3-D schematic of his own body. Shortly after that, follow images and specs of the device that's been physically connected to him.

He feels an immense wave of relief when he recognizes that the external apparatus in question has Tech's digital fingerprints all over it. It's a device that's been designed and fabricated just for Echo by his clever younger brother, and it's meant to supplement his energy stores while recovering from trauma or extreme fatigue. It's also been digitally tagged by Tech in such a way that Echo can deduce these reassuring details in situations like…

Well... like the one I'm in now, Echo reflects.

Okay, he should trust this device, and he can feel safe being connected to it, so he may as well accept that he needs it right now.

But why exactly does he need it right now? Tech wouldn't take such liberties with Echo's cybernetics unless he had good cause, so Echo further consults his own diagnostics to learn more.

More coding and schematics slowly stream in, and Echo gets digital affirmation that he's badly wounded. He was spot-on about the two blaster wounds he has. Also, several red tabs of warning flash up and blink ominously, indicating damage to multiple systems, compromise of normal software and hardware, a nasty malware breach, and a slew of organic troubles too.

According to the report, Echo's energy is at a critical low, and he's been connected to the external power cell via abdominal port so that his prosthetics and cybernetics can remain safely synced with his neural system. That is, without siphoning any more crucial energy from his organic anatomy.

Alright, so I'm benched, Echo accepts as more details about his current condition continue to filter in. And this external power unit will help keep my neural net on standby, ample circulation through my cybernetics to prevent damage to my organic neurons integrated with the biotech… blah blah blah.

Yeah, got it, thanks, Tech. But what happened?

Echo does his best, trying to recall what transpired before he woke up. He works to piece together the events that led to the state he's in and what this means for the state of those closest to him. He remembers Crosshair's low, sinister chuckling, getting injected with a sedative, receiving incredibly tender first aid, boarding the Marauder, a free gravsled ride, captivity…

Tech and I were captives, Echo remembers. Tech was interrogated and… oh kriff, being saucy, and he… we were both wounded… we'd been on a hostage rescue mission.

Then, Echo recalls that heart-wrenching, intimate view of Tech's broken goggles and there, beneath the blood-flecked shards of transparisteel, his poor vod's broken face.

Abruptly, Echo recollects more details regarding where he is right now and why. He recalls the horrible adventure he and Tech had with some very ambitious bounty hunters who were looking to make a considerable credit in selling Echo's sorry shebs back to the Techno Union. Tech had not only gotten tangled up in all of it with him, but had loyally protected Echo throughout the whole ordeal. He also remembers being audible witness to a few moments of the savage beating that Tech was enduring, while elsewhere, Echo was being dissected like a faulty power converter.

Echo needs to know how badly Tech's been hurt, and he needs to make sure that his vod made it out of there safely.

As he feels the Marauder lurch into hyperspace travel, Echo's desperation to learn the status of his vode ratchets up several levels. If he's on a ship that's now in hyperspace, he really needs to verify that Tech and the other Batchers are all onboard with him. If he could just open his eyes and get himself moving, then he could find out what's going on with Tech and everyone else!

But even opening his eyes is impossible at the moment, and his head aches so badly that it's making him feel dizzy and sick. Still, he keeps trying to climb the slippery slope to full wakefulness, fighting through the pain and weariness because he has far more critical things to worry about than his own weakness and discomfort right now.

After failing to get his leaden eyelids to cooperate, let alone to get his listless body to sit up, Echo tries frantically to call out to anyone nearby. But getting his lungs and throat to form the words into an effective yell isn't in the cards right now.

Tech… Echo laments, his mind swimming from the efforts to fight off sleep, wanting so badly to shout out his brother's name and get some answers. Where is he? How is he? Are we close to a medical facility or a medical frigate? Are we able to get him the help that he needs?

"Retrieving…"

Uhhh what? Who… just said that?

Echo's dumbfounded when he gets a sudden response to his frantic ruminations about Tech's status. On second thought, though it seems inherently friendly, maybe he wouldn't label it a "response" because it wasn't said to him aloud… was it?

"Retrieving…"

No, someone or something is composing to him, and he can see the words flickering behind his eyelids even though he never mustered the strength to pry them open.

Oh kark, what else was in that hypo that Crosshair gave him? Because he must really be losing it if he's now having full-blown cybernetic conversations with himself…

"Retrieval complete."

Gradually, a redacted list of medical information flickers into Echo's mind. Echo doesn't know how he's being offered this data or if it's even real, but he really doesn't give a damn because it's better than nothing. He lets the data stream in, and coding appears and materializes into readable text. It's almost like slicing into a computer system, but it's increasingly draining for him to decipher the presented information in his injured condition. When he realizes that the list specifically contains Tech's medical data, he doggedly continues to retrieve, decrypt, and read everything his weary neural system can manage.

According to this data stream, which admittedly, Echo still can't be sure he's not hallucinating, Tech is… Tech's alive! And he's here, onboard!

The reprieve he feels is tremendous but loses some of its clout when he discovers that there's more. Tech may be alive and onboard, but it looks like he's in really bad shape. He needs help ASAP or else he's in serious danger of being listed as KIA or of suffering lasting damage. Actually, the whole Bad Batch is aboard their Marauder… all headed for… for the Star Destroyer Resolute. They have enough fuel, hypermatter stores, and oxygen… and should be there within 170 minutes… and...

Suddenly, it's dreadfully obvious to Echo that he's overdone it. He's gone way too far, tried to do way too much, and it's been very costly to his woefully low energy level. All at once, decrypting and reading any more information becomes too difficult for Echo to sustain. The data fades back into binary and digital code, then drifts away like dried leaves on a stiff wind. Echo's too tired even to consider reestablishing the stream, and darkness creeps into the edges of his awareness, once again, begging for him to succumb.

After another bout of overzealously pushing the limits of his physical and cybernetic existence, Echo's now beyond depleted. He feels the surge of warm, comforting energy pulsing into his composition from the custom external power cell and reminds himself that his squad is here, that Tech is here, and they're on their way to get Tech some proper help. He drifts off for another round of exhausted unconsciousness.

Hunter prefers a clean workspace and always has. Now that Crosshair is just about finished with Tech's extensive wound dressings, the sergeant makes himself useful by tidying up the Marauder's cabin, which is now serving as a rather impressive field hospital. He sweeps up the scraps of Tech's blacks that they'd had to cut away, the remnants of gauze, and the crumpled shreds of sterile packaging. He properly collects all the sharps, wipes down tools that may be needed again before the trip's end, and reorganizes their riffled medical stores for quick and easy access to more supplies.

Even amidst the cloying odor of bacta, the tang of synthetic, sterile medical devices, and all the usual ship smells, the scent of Tech's blood is staggering for Hunter. There are drying streaks and puddles of the vital fluid almost everywhere surrounding their wounded vod, as it had been spilling out of Tech in a sickening number of places.

Thankfully, Crosshair had worked tirelessly to identify, clean, and temporarily dress all of Tech's open wounds and lacerations. Although Tech's no longer leaking blood at a critical rate, Hunter can still smell it more than anything else. He knows it could be a psychosomatic phenomenon, but that doesn't make him feel any less disturbed by it.

For the last hour, Kix has been helping Crosshair render first aid and critical care to Tech and Echo. The two of them got started before Marauder even left the moon. Between managing Tech's severe trauma and working to get him stable, they've regularly checked up on Echo and made small adjustments when necessary.

Now, there's just under two hours of hyperspace flight until they can, once again, meet up with the Resolute. Hunter's more nervous than he'd ever dare to admit to anxious brothers, and he feels like time is ticking by so slowly that it's almost at a standstill.

"That'll have to do for now," says the harried holotransmission of Kix as Crosshair eases Tech's severely broken arm into a sling and activates the integrated cooling pack. "The only thing we can do is keep it steady until Ortho can get their hands on him."

It's tricky to immobilize the grievously injured limb to Kix's standards while simultaneously accommodating all of Tech's other wounds and equipment in use to keep him stable. Yet Crosshair manages it with a finesse that would be the envy of many experienced medics. For a commando with no formal medical courses under his belt, and an outwardly tenuous grasp on empathy on a good day, the prickly sharpshooter has really gone above and beyond to care for and protect his wounded vode.

Randomly, it occurs to Hunter that, out of everyone helping to render critical care to Tech and Echo, Crosshair just might have it hardest. Due to his ability to see every single unbelievably intimate detail, it's probably even more alarming for Crosshair to see his brothers in such a state— let alone be the one who's pushing the needles, wielding the tools, and wiping away the blood and grime. Because battle-hardened as Hunter is, even the sergeant wanted to gag, to scream, to weep when he realized what abuses his brothers had suffered during their cruel captivity. So, he can't begin to imagine what it's like to see it all in vivid Crosshair Vision… Although, when the fact that Crosshair doesn't taste, smell or hear it all as Hunter does is taken into consideration, the two vode may be cursed with a fairly proportionate experience.

Nevertheless, Crosshair has really stepped up to the role of team medic today and he seems to have found yet another way in which his exceptional eyesight and freakishly steady hands can be an invaluable asset to their team's success rate and survival.

Even more gold stars should go to Crosshair today for readily abandoning his deep-rooted contempt for working with regs and for freely deserting his own pride by asking the regs for help. Though admittedly, that particular piece of Crosshair's heroism was on shaky ground at first… very shaky ground.

…

When Kix first appeared on the holotransmission, he'd only been given data that had Marauder's patients listed by CT number. Echo's he'd recognized immediately because he'd seen it so many times before, but Tech's, he had not. What's more, all of Tech's most recognizable features, including his signature goggles, his effervescent chatter, his fair skin, younger-looking face, hairline, and hair color, were all either absent or distorted by the trauma he'd suffered. Even for a medic as professional, diligent, and devoted as Kix, it would have been impossible to recognize the hologram of the lifeless, badly beaten vod laid out under Marauder's scanty work lighting as "Tech."

Hunter had realized and understood the situation, but as ever, Crosshair was less forgiving. When Kix had respectfully asked for their wounded patient's name, Crosshair seethed and spat like a caged gundark, cursing Kix for his "inattentiveness" and "reluctance to recognize anyone who isn't also another lackluster reg." If not for Hunter's swift mediating, plus the undeniable fact that Tech and Echo's lives were depending on his amity, the sniper would've sourly ended the transmission right then and there.

But all in all, that explicit crisis was averted, and under Kix's shrewd instruction, Crosshair had been able to successfully stabilize Tech's condition while managing his shock. Hunter was helping in any way that he could, splitting his attention between assisting Crosshair with the more complicated procedures and monitoring Echo's status and precarious vitals too.

And Wrecker, bless his enormous, compassionate, overly-eager heart, had been tasked with various jobs that would keep him occupied and out of the way, while Crosshair and Hunter performed the more delicate medical procedures.

…

"Good," says Kix, appraising Crosshair as the lanky sniper deftly adjusts the tension in Tech's sling. "Echo's blaster-wounded shoulder should be immobilized as well."

"Already is," reports Crosshair tersely. "What about Tech's chest tube?"

"Keep monitoring his vitals as you have been, keep that IV going, and keep the dressing clean and intact," instructs Kix. "We'll take it from there as soon as you guys get to Resolute."

"Alright," Crosshair allows. "And you said it's working as it should be?"

"Looks good, from what I can see," says Kix, admiring the sharpshooter's handiwork. "Your instructor would be proud. Who was it, by the way? Judging by your technique, we might have had the same one."

"Nobody," states the sniper.

Caught off guard by his response, Kix gapes at Crosshair for a few seconds before he recovers enough to ask some follow-up questions.

"Wait. Wait wait," Kix sputters. "You never did the basic field medic's course?"

"No," Crosshair drawls as he checks over Tech's copious bandages.

"So, you successfully performed a field needle decomp and tube thoracostomy," continues Kix, incredulously. "And both… without ever seeing them done in practice before now? You can't be serious. You'd have to have seen it done…"

Crosshair's tolerance of Kix's leery confusion has worn flimsi-thin by now. The sniper impatiently grimaces and rolls his eyes, then shoots Hunter an imploring look and a curt nod in the direction of Kix's agitated hologram.

"What he means, Kix," explains Hunter, answering his vod's silent plea for him to step in. "Is that he has seen it done before. Just not from the distance you're thinking."

"Okay…," begins Kix, tentatively satisfied. "So, he got to stand in on a field demonstration?"

"Sorta," Hunter hedges. "It was more like, he watched one happen from his position in the field."

"Oh, you gotta be shitting me," says Kix rubbing a hand down his face. "Fine. You know what? Fine! Just please tell me it was close. Just tell me it was close and that you had a really good view and that the doc was competent. Please?"

"Uhh, Crosshair?" Hunter cues, unsure of any possible way to answer truthfully without giving Kix a heart attack.

"Five klicks," mutters the sniper, dispassionately. "Clear conditions. And the reg lived. So, I figured you did it the way it was meant to be done, Kix."

Hunter waits for Kix's furious response to that, but all the medic does is go red in the face, narrow his eyes menacingly at Crosshair, and take several deep, calming breaths, before casting his accusing gaze on Crosshair's sergeant.

"Alright," the medic says, breathlessly. "Alright. I'm going to just pretend I heard him say he went to a course. Okay? Ok. Moving on, then…"

Crosshair and Hunter share a brief moment of relief. If Kix really wanted to, he could have Crosshair written up for trying such a risky procedure on a fellow trooper without ever having been trained formally or otherwise. But the medic seems impressed and grateful enough to let it slide. Clone Force 99 had been in a tight spot after a long, harrowing series of trying events. What really matters, is that Tech's still with them, and that Crosshair had properly provided the severely wounded trooper with acute relief that could yet make all the difference for his ultimate survival.

"Continue to constantly monitor his vitals right up until you can turn him over to us," Kix instructs again, regarding Tech. "Alright, let's take another look at Echo."

Hunter takes a seat and remains at Tech's bedside as Crosshair and Kix shift their attention over to Echo.

…

As they'd suspected, their brave ARC has wounds beyond what care the Bad Batch can provide right now, especially with Tech down for the count. Echo's also in dire need of intensive care, and it'll be up to his squadmates to keep him stable until they can rendezvous with Resolute.

Kix admits he doesn't have much experience with cybernetically altered individuals, but says that if the Batch can keep his vitals within parameters according to their Echo-specific medical notes, then he'll be in good shape for treatment when they get him to an advanced facility. Kix also has a lot of concerns about Echo's cybernetics and prosthetics, but endorses Crosshair's decision to hook him up to the external power cell.

"You can think of it like an IV, but for his artificial anatomy," explains Kix, encouraging the Batch to abandon any misgivings or unease they have about hardwiring Echo into something electronic without his consent. "Echo's more stubborn than a damn falumpaset, but he'll understand when he comes around. So, as we talked about, keep him as is, keep him warm, hydrated, and keep tabs on his vitals."

Crosshair makes a few adjustments to Echo's bandages and adjusts the bedding to fit around his cybernetic headpiece more comfortably.

"His occipital implant's seen better days," Crosshair complains, as he mops away some of the dirt and dried blood that's congealed around the back of Echo's head. "You sure there's nothing else to do for it?"

"Unfortunately, not," Kix sighs. "But my unit's already started prepping surgery suites and bacta. I'll see about wrangling up some cybernetic specialists. I know we've got a few embarked on Resolute. How's everyone else holding up?"

"The rest of us are all good, Kix," Hunter informs. "Just anxious to meet up with you."

"Stay positive. Tech and Echo can pull through," Kix assures them. "I have some rounds to make and a few other patients to see, but this channel will be open."

"Copy," Crosshair says, "So if anything should change…"

"There will be a medic on standby for you on this channel. I just approved the watchbill for it," Kix says. "Let the duty medic know if anything changes, or if either of them wakes up so that we can reassess."

"Roger that," Hunter says. "Thanks, Kix."

Kix nods encouragingly and steps out of the frame. He's immediately replaced by another medic from his unit, who introduces himself and takes a seat in view of the open channel.

…

Not long after Kix leaves Hunter and Crosshair in the capable hands of one of his junior medics, Wrecker returns to the main hold. He's pleased to admit that he finished every task that Hunter gave him and is now available to help with Tech and Echo. He glances down at Tech, down at Echo, then takes a heavy seat in a nearby chair.

"What'd the reg medic say? They're gonna be OK, right?" Wrecker asks, nervously.

"If we take good care of them like we are and hurry to the rendezvous, they will be," Hunter tells him. "You'll see."

"Ok. Well, hey! We can do that!" Wrecker says jovially until he glances down at Echo again and his face falls with dismay. "Oi, what's this glowing box thingy next to Echo's bunk?"

"Don't touch it," Crosshair hisses. "In fact, don't even cast your gaze in its general direction. It'll probably combust."

"I wasn't gonna!" Wrecker whines. "I just wanna know what it is, is all!"

"Wrecker," Hunter says gently. "Please keep your voice down, brother. We need to be able to hear all the medical alarms."

"Oh! Sorry!" Wrecker loudly apologizes before modifying his boisterous voice into a harsh whisper. "I wanna know what it is, though."

"You don't need to whisper; we just don't want you to yell. And it's a special power cell that Tech made for Echo," Hunter explains. "It's helping keep him stable for the ride. Basically, it's letting Echo's cybernetics be in standby mode, but without leaching any more energy from his organic body. It's hooked into him in one of the only places that looks like it was tampered with by the bounty hunters or the Skakoan."

"Ohhhh," says the giant, whether he fully understood the explanation or not. "Hooked into him how?"

"Into one of his abdominal ports. See the cable? Try not to trip over it or step on it," Hunter tells him. "Crosshair says it's what Tech's notes recommend for him right now, and Kix agrees."

"Oh, man," says Wrecker morosely, warily eyeing the cable from where it leaves the power unit to where it disappears under Echo's blanket. "Plugged right into him? Well, he definitely ain't gonna like that, Sarge."

"Nope," Hunter agrees sadly, "he definitely won't."

"Echo not liking something… such a tragedy," Crosshair sneers derisively. "If you want, I'll happily remind him of the alternative."

"Good, 'cus I don't think I can do it. Thanks, Cross!" says Wrecker gratefully, completely oblivious to the sniper's mockery.

"Crosshair's being a dick, Wrecker," Hunter informs him, throwing the sharpshooter a disgruntled warning look. "Echo's not going to be upset with us for helping him. Neither of you is going to have to break any horrible news to him."

"So, does that mean you're volunteering to tell him about the lunatic's conversation he had with himself?" Crosshair challenges, a tiny bit of worry seeping into his tone as he looks from Hunter to Wrecker. "I can't be the only one who heard it."

"You mean all that stuff he was muttering about Tech? Right after we left the moon?" Wrecker asks. "Yeah, I heard it too. What'd all that crazy stuff mean? Did you hear it too, Sarge?"

Hunter thinks back to what Crosshair and Wrecker are referring to, and what he'd witnessed the wounded ARC doing as he slept. Echo was twitching and mumbling in his bunk, and Hunter could see his eyes darting back and forth underneath his closed eyelids. He'd thought that Echo was about to wake up... until Hunter was able to make out some of the words he was saying.

"Yeah, I heard him," Hunter tells the others. "I thought for sure he was trying to come around, just never fully woke up."

"Crosshair's the one who drugged him," blames Wrecker, gleefully.

"I sedated him, di'kut," Crosshair snaps back at him. "The notes said nothing about side effects including Echo having conversations with multiple people as he slept."

"Yeah!" says Wrecker with a guffaw. "Who the heck was he talking to?"

"I think I might know," says Hunter thoughtfully. "And I don't think he was talking to multiple people. He was asking specific questions about Tech, and then muttering numbers that matched Tech's vitals at that exact moment. He also mumbled a few things about the ship's status. It almost sounded like he was reading. Fellas, I don't think he was talking to himself. I think he was talking to—

"Havoc Marauder," realizes Crosshair, his eyes going wide.

"Exactly," confirms Hunter. "I know it sounds crazy. But I really do think he was talking to the Marauder. Finding out details about Tech."

Crosshair and Wrecker glance at one another, then they pin Hunter with rarely-matching expressions of awe and concern.

"But… but he's not… he wasn't scomped in," Wrecker says incredulously. "How's… how would he have…"

"It's not unheard of," drawls Crosshair. "Just not meant to be within his capabilities yet. If ever."

"Right," says Hunter, impressed. "Well, then, looks like Bad Batch's stock is going up, fellas. Crosshair sees ion trails, Wrecker listens to his inner reason in the heat of battle, and now, our ARC can talk to our ship without scomping. Cross, remind me to ask chain of command for a raise for us, will ya?"

"Glady, sir," croons Crosshair with an impish lilt. "Just as soon as you can tell us what you did that was so great."

"I," Hunter declares, regally, "successfully resisted punching my sharpshooter in the face for being such a pessimistic nerf-herder all the time."

"Huh," says Crosshair, amusedly grinning around the toothpick between his teeth as he consults Tech's vitals again. "How remarkable."

"Wait-wait, I got it. I know one for you, Sarge," Wrecker insists. "You barbecued that Trandoshan till he was good n' tender. You're a secret grill master."

"Ha, that's right Wrecker," agrees Hunter. "Still doesn't compare to you doing such a good job controlling your Wrecking Ball urges and thinking through the situation on this one, vod."

"Especially impressive for someone who can't even read," adds Crosshair over his shoulder as he remains mostly focused on Tech.

"Oi, I can too, read," Wrecker gripes back. "I just don't like to is all!"

"Oh, now that settles it," rasps the sharpshooter.

It's a few more minutes until Hunter is able to get his brothers to stop bantering so that the three of them can resume a peaceful routine of tending diligently to their wounded vode. All the while, the faithful Marauder races ever closer through hyperspace toward their much-desired destination.

Echo doesn't know how much time has passed, but he's still lying in a bunk onboard Marauder when he starts to groggily come to again. This time, his stomach only lurches once and he only panics for a few moments until he realizes the power cell that he's hooked up to is warm, friendly, soothing, and necessary. He still feels insanely tired, but the warmth and energy of the power unit have permeated into his damaged prosthetic limbs, allowing him a modicum of comfort.

He wants to check on Tech, but he can't make any connection again. He tries, unsuccessfully, a few times until even the mere idea of steaming data right now is so taxing, that it just makes him want to fall back asleep. But like before, he needs to know. Even if he can't muster the energy to do it cybernetically right now, he has to try to find a way.

Stubborn as ever, Echo starts forcing his eyes to drag open. Maybe he's somehow rested enough to be able to check in on Tech the conventional way. He pries his eyes open the tiniest bit to see a litany of equipment surrounding the occupant of the bunk across from him.

It's Tech's bedside, he knows.

Crosshair is sat in the middle, eyeing the readouts from two different medical scanners and making adjustments to various medical equipment. Echo lets his tired eyes track to the hulking mass of muscled clone sitting on the floor by his own bunk, and briefly makes eye contact with Wrecker. But before Echo finds out what happens next, he blinks, and the scene changes.

…

This time the cabin is dim and quiet. Crosshair is still looming amongst the medical equipment, but Wrecker is absent. Instead, Hunter's sitting on a chair between his bunk and Tech's bunk, with his arms outstretched so that he's touching both wounded vode at the same time. Hunter looks incredibly sad, and he's gripping tightly around Tech's right wrist and Echo's left, as if afraid they're both going to get sucked out of the airlock if he lets go. He senses Echo looking at him, but before Echo can say or hear anything else, it's too late. The tired ARC Trooper blinks, and the scene changes again.

…

Still on the Marauder, still feeling like absolute shit, Echo determines when he stirs awake again. The cabin is still dark, but Hunter's chair is now being occupied by Crosshair. Echo tracks his gaze over to his wounded brother in the bunk across from him. Tech looks… well he doesn't even look like Tech. Echo really hopes that they're rendezvousing with Resolute soon, because after being shot, beaten, tortured, and Force only knows what else, Tech looks closer to death than Echo's ever seen him.

Is he going to make it? Echo can't handle thinking about losing Tech. Anxiety and panic flood into his mind and reality warps and flips on its axis. Suddenly, Echo's not so sure where he is anymore, he just knows… he's gotta get to Tech. He's gotta get him out of that brig, and away from the sadistic bounty hunters before... before they kill him!

…

"Tech!" Echo gasps, suddenly and, at long-last, officially awake.

He's not able to move very well. In fact, he barely gets a centimeter off of the bunk before he collapses back down into it.

Ow.

Echo's got an exceptionally splintering headache. Probably the worst migraine of his life, including Skako. And nausea too, yay.

Crosshair, who is sitting nearby, stiffens in his seat. He peers around, quickly locking his clever eyes onto Echo's. And when he finds Echo panting and looking bewildered right back at him, he abruptly rises out of his chair, closes the small distance between them, and drapes himself in the chair beside him.

"Actually awake this time? Or just another sorry play for attention?" Crosshair drawls softly, sounding bored, but looking astute and worried as his eyes sweep over Echo's face. They then flit across the readouts on the various medical devices and the display on the power cell.

"Tech…" Echo mumbles, not wanting Crosshair to waste any more energy on him and needing to know how his younger brother is faring.

"He's right here, Echo," Crosshair assures him. "And still alive."

"He's alive?" Echo queries, still craving further confirmation and details.

"Yes. He's a stubborn di'kut. Like you," is all Crosshair is willing to divulge. "Thirty minutes more, then we dump you both on regs who actually know what the kriff to do with you two."

"Hmm," Echo acknowledges tiredly, his heart rate decreasing ever so slightly with the relief at the news.

"Be right back," Crosshair says, abruptly rising from his seat.

Before Echo can even think about it, he shoots his left hand out, madly grasping for Crosshair in order to stop him from leaving. Despite the pain it causes him, he seizes the sniper's long, slender forearm, and urgently clutches it.

"Cross," Echo begs him. "Wait…"

Now, Echo knows he must actually be dead, or at least in the process of dying. Because not only does Crosshair not flinch away from the contact, but he actually grabs onto Echo's hand reassuringly, and hovers even closer.

"What is it?" he insists, not cruelly, but adamantly. His keens eyes expertly sweep Echo's form until they eventually land on and bore right into Echo's own eyes again.

For a moment, Echo sees the protective, vulnerable, compassionate side of Crosshair. The one aspect that's usually buried deep beneath extraordinary eyesight, unparalleled marksmanship records, and a general you-can-go-fuck-yourself attitude.

"Echo," Crosshair prompts again, eyes now wide with worry because the ARC still hasn't answered. "Echo, what do you need?"

"No… nothing. I just…" Echo says lamely, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. "I just… Just, thanks. Thank you, Cross."

The concern in Crosshair's searching eyes ebbs away, and the lanky marksman lets out a sigh of relief. He also squeezes Echo's hand for a moment. Only a moment though.

"Hmph," he rasps as that moment passes. He carefully lifts his hand away to pry Echo's grip loose from his arm and narrows his gaze, dangerously. "Don't get used to it."

"I won't," Echo mumbles as he feels his arm being carefully lowered and tucked back into a sling at his side and under the blanket.

"Pretty sure your arm's supposed to stay in the sling," Crosshair hisses irritably.

"Ohh. See, I thought it was… for collectin' moon rocks," Echo snarks back at him with a yawn, his eyes sliding shut again.

"Be my guest, then, di'kut," drawls Crosshair as he makes gentle, precise adjustments to Echo's blanket and to the power cell helping to keep the ARC stable. "I'll gladly find the nearest moon and drop you off."

Echo suddenly, gratefully feels awash in comforting warmth.

Crosshair looks satisfied but still pensive.

"Said I'd let the reg medics know if you honored us with consciousness," Crosshair informs. "Don't expire while I'm gone."

"M'not," Echo mutters peevishly to the sharpshooter's grim instruction.

Deliriously drowsy, Echo drifts off again.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of hyperspace travel and of moonlighting as 'competent medics,' the Bad Batch drops out of hyperspace and once again, into the outstretched arms of the Resolute. Hunter and Wrecker man the bridge for this approach, as Crosshair is still back in the hold with Echo and Tech.

Tech gave them a few scares on the way and is still in dire need of a whole team of professionals at this point. Echo hasn't decompensated at all, but has already proven that he's prone to dangerously testing the limits of his precarious situation, so Crosshair has kept careful vigil over both of them.

Hunter contacts the deck officer, and they're all given proper clearance and directed to a landing platform. The assigned platform is not at all familiar and, as they make their approach, he quickly realizes why.

"Well, well, lads. Which of you made General without telling me?" Hunter asks, feeling more than a little star-struck. "Because this is the Flag Officer's hangar."

"Aw yeah!" whoops Wrecker as the absolutely massive hangar doors, emblazoned with the seal of the Jedi Order, gape open before them to reveal a vast, pristine, hangar bay and platform. "Roll out that red carpet!"

The Marauder glides down into the landing zone with a hiss, and Hunter allows himself to savor the feeling of relief as a team of medics, led by Kix, converges on the arriving shuttle.